The Pendragon's Quest (The Last Pendragon Saga Book 4)

by Sarah Woodbury

  “Very well,” Cade said. “What’s our situation?”

  Geraint nodded at Tudur, who stepped forward to speak. “We’ve archers arrayed in a half-circle at the crest of the hill. They’ll do their work first, and we’ll see how many demons they can bring down. After that, it will be hand-to-hand, I’m afraid. We don’t have enough arrows to take care of all of them.”

  “We brought you a few more,” Dafydd said.

  Rhiann glanced at the quiver he wore and the bow in his hand, noting them for the first time. “Where did—”

  “It was to hand when I awoke.” Dafydd shrugged. “I put it on. Your quiver also has more arrows in it than it did, you know.”

  Rhiann had been so occupied with Cade that she hadn’t noticed that either. Shameful, really, because the first obligation of a warrior was to his weapons. Or hers.

  Hywel moved to stand beside Dafydd. “I’ve arrows as well.” He held up a bow and twisted to show the quiver on his back. “It seemed petty to question the gift.”

  “I know what you mean,” Cade said. “Not that any of us would have benefitted from turning the goddess down.”

  “It’s time to move, Cade,” Rhun said.

  “Right. You three go with Taliesin.” Cade stabbed a finger at Dafydd, Rhiann, and Hywel. “And no putting yourselves at undue risk! It would be a shame to have survived Caer Dathyl only to fall to an errant demon axe.”

  “We’ll protect her,” Hywel said, taking Cade’s words for what he really meant. Dafydd nodded vigorously beside him.

  “Just as likely to be the other way around.” Taliesin turned on one heel. “But no matter. Young ones, with me.” He set off along the top of the bowl on which they were perched.

  Cade called after Rhiann, imitating Bedwyr’s growl. “Rhiann—”

  “I know. I know.” She flapped a hand at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be careful.”

  “You’d better, cariad!”

  Rhiann waved again and then focused on the task at hand. She walked steadily behind the others until Taliesin came to a halt by a group of archers from Aberffraw. They stood in a row, gazing west towards the relentlessly advancing lines of demons. Rhiann read fear in the set of their shoulders—and perhaps a bit of misery, given the weather conditions. Nobody had yet strung a bow, as the rain would harm the bowstrings. But that meant nobody was really ready for this fight either.

  “Lady Rhiannon!” It was Llywelyn, the captain of the Aberffraw garrison. “You’re safe and whole!”

  “Quite safe,” Rhiann said. “I expect you to let me know if my draw isn’t as precise as you expect.”

  “Always, my lady,” Llywelyn said, to general laughter.

  The tension she’d felt in the men on the ridge eased for a moment. Then it ratcheted up again as Dafydd, Hywel, Taliesin, and she took their places alongside them—not because of them, but because the demons were approaching arrow range, though they still had a little time.

  Taliesin had positioned the four of them on the left flank, so they’d be among the first to shoot at the demons. Hopefully, the archers on the other side of the valley, some three hundred yards away, would do the same, and together they’d catch the demons in a pincer movement.

  “We’re going to be all right, Rhiann,” Dafydd said. “These demons aren’t so tough. We’ve fought them before.”

  Rhiann choked on a laugh. In truth, the demons were tougher than humans, as Dafydd knew well. But maybe not as smart. That had to help.

  “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Hywel said.

  Rhiann wrinkled her nose at his irreverent tone. The worst thing that could happen was that when the arrows started flying, the demons would charge at them, thinking to break through their lines, rather than flee the other way. If that happened, if the foot soldiers who stood on the slopes below them couldn’t stop them, the archers would be unable to defend themselves adequately. More lightly armed than the rest of the army, they might all die. At least as full-fledged knights, Hywel and Dafydd had swords at their waists. Rhiann had only a knife.

  “We planted stakes twenty yards ahead, on the uphill slope,” Llywelyn said, reading her thoughts. “If they try to get through them, the stakes will give us time to regroup.”

  “Or run away,” Hywel said. “That means you, Lady Rhiannon.”

  “At the very least, the stakes will slow the demons down,” Dafydd said.

  “How did you know the demons were coming?” Rhiann said. “King Cadwaladr sent Bedwyr to warn you of their numbers, but he arrived when we did.”

  The little light at the end of Taliesin’s staff gave off enough illumination to reveal Llywelyn’s offended expression. “Scouts, of course. We’ve been ready for over an hour.”

  “And what is the hour?” Hywel said.

  Taliesin glanced at him and nodded his approval at the question. All of them had wanted to know the answer to that since they’d woken in the clearing.

  “Four hours after midnight, I reckon,” Llywelyn said. “Less than three until the sun rises.”

  “Dawn will not save us from the demons this time,” Taliesin said. “It will be over by then, come what may.”

  Now that the demons were closer, the archers settled into whatever stance they found most comfortable. Their joviality and humor, which had been false to begin with, was gone. The leafless branches above their heads continued to drip onto their heads in an offbeat rhythm which Rhiann couldn’t help counting out in time to the marching of the demons.

  Dafydd slipped a knife from his belt. Like the sword at his waist, the join between the blade and the hilt formed a cross, and he kissed it. Hywel, for his part, pulled his sword from its sheath, stabbed it into the ground in front of him, and knelt. Rhiann didn’t copy them, but said her own prayer, perhaps a mirror of Hywel’s: Dear God, keep me safe. Let all those here return to their homes in one piece, both in body and mind.

  Rhiann closed her eyes. As she’d been trained by the captain and friend who taught her to shoot, long ago at Aberffraw, she forced herself to stuff all emotion into a box in her mind and put it away, as if placing it on a shelf out of reach. Cade had told her that some men fought angry and it gave them power. For her, it was better to feel nothing—no anger, hatred, love—for it would distract her from the task at hand, and she couldn’t afford that. For now, there is no love for Cade; no fear for my friends; no regret for a life half-lived. There is only the bow in my hand and the arrows in my quiver, with death a widening abyss beneath our feet.

  Chapter Three

  Cade

  “The truth now,” Cade said, once Rhiann and the others had disappeared up the trail. “What do we face?”

  “Two thousand demons,” Geraint said.

  “That’s my count too,” Bedwyr said. “I caught up to them an hour out of Caer Dathyl. It was lucky that I had a horse to ride because I could never have kept up with them on foot.”

  Cade looked beyond his companions to the oncoming march of the opposing force. He might be a sidhe—changed by Arianrhod into a creature out of legend—but these demons were no legend. He’d fought them for two years on his own and recently with friends, and he knew their strength. Arawn and Mabon would have had confidence that such an army could overpower twice that number of men, and Cade had a paltry eight hundred foot soldiers at his disposal. Cade gritted his teeth. He was just going to have to prove Arawn wrong. Again.

  “The archers are well situated,” Geraint said. “Each have a dozen arrows to hand. I have confidence they can bring down a great number of the beasts.”

  “From what I could see,” Bedwyr said, “the demons are not well armored.”

  “It’s too bad we couldn’t have delayed them somehow,” Tudur said. “The dawn is too far off to count on its aid.”

  “The dawn might slow them down some, but not as much as it will me,” Cade said. “Besides, it’s raining. There won’t be a sun today. The clouds will protect everyone.”

  “Right.” Rhun rubbed his ha
nds together. “Archers around the sides, foot soldiers to the front as the demons come on, and cavalry to flank them. It’s the old way, but the best way.”

  “One thing they haven’t done is send out scouts,” Geraint said. “I don’t understand it. It’s almost as if they knew exactly where we’d be.”

  “They were being aided by Arawn and who knows how many other gods,” Cade said. “Arawn may have been banished to the Underworld, but that doesn’t mean he’s impotent—that doesn’t mean we still can’t lose everything.”

  “Or, if Arawn is otherwise occupied, we have Mabon to deal with again,” Goronwy said. “He isn’t in the Underworld with his father, right? Arianrhod was quite clear on that?”

  Cade gave Goronwy a curt nod. His stomach roiled at the thought of what Mabon had done and could still do, loose in the world. Arawn hadn’t been able to control him, so Cade didn’t have much hope that Arianrhod could either.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rhun said. “Whoever it is, whomever we face, we have no more time.”

  The companions’ horses had come to Arfon with Geraint. Cade was glad to see Cadfan again. The stallion whickered as Cade rubbed his nose. As one, the companions mounted and led the other horsed knights and men-at-arms away from the camp, circling into the trees to the north of the valley through which the demons marched. When the archers had expended their arrows and the foot soldiers had drawn the demons fully into the valley, Cade would lead his cavalry to slam the door behind them.

  As they waited for that first flight of arrows, a hush descended on the human watchers, broken only by the muffled march of the demons’ feet. Cade had one hundred and fifty men on horseback. How could that be enough? They’d survive only if the archers were able to reduce the numbers of their opponents—and Cade’s men were able to catch them unawares.

  “Half.” Goronwy leaned in to speak to Cade. “If the archers can reduce their numbers by half, that will make us nearly even.”

  Cade nodded, although he wasn’t going to hope for such a positive outcome. Still, the demons had strength but no brains. Maybe that too could tip the balance in their favor.

  Then the archers released the first rush of arrows, their passage sounding as much like a flight of birds as wooden shafts, except for the moment they hit. Demons didn’t scream their pain. Cade wasn’t sure they felt pain, but they felt something and the calls among them were guttural and wrenched the ear.

  Goronwy stood in his stirrups, straining his eyes to see through the water-logged air. “What can you see, my lord? My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  Cade didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the idea that any of his companions were growing older with increasing frailties. Not that Goronwy would be frail for a long time, but it highlighted the fact that they didn’t yet know if Cade would age alongside Rhiann. Perhaps that was the next gift Arianrhod could give him.

  “Second flight … third flight … fourth flight …” Cade counted them out as the shafts flew past them. “The arrows are finding targets. They’re hitting and demons are going down, but they’re not turning. They haven’t lost enough of their numbers yet.”

  “That’s a side effect of not having a coherent thought,” Rhun said. “They don’t know when to run because they lack a sense of self-preservation.”

  “I hoped for a while that returning Arawn to the Underworld would affect them,” Cade said, “that they’d lose their motivation to fight.”

  “I guess not,” Goronwy said.

  The demons continued to march up the valley, pushing through the flights of arrows and climbing over the fallen bodies of their companions. At one point, Cade thought he heard Rhiann’s cry aim for the neck or heart! over the rush of battle. He hoped he’d heard it, anyway.

  He peered through the darkness, trying to make out what was happening. “They’re getting closer now. It’s almost time.” Fewer arrows barraged the demons now, but still they came on.

  “The archers don’t have enough arrows.” Rhun urged his horse to the edge of the trees. “The demons’ numbers are too great, and the arrows they have left they’ll need to save for the end.”

  “I know.” Cade met Goronwy’s eyes, and then Rhun’s.

  Rhun nodded and straightened in his seat. What more was there to say?

  Cade unsheathed his sword. He’d waited until this moment because as he raised it above his head, Caledfwlch blazed into a column of light. The air glittered around it, and the light shot into the trees above their heads, reflected off the raindrops, the branches, the burgeoning leaves, the water in the air, and onto the men. Even the demons couldn’t fail to notice.

  Cade stood in his stirrups. “We ride!”

  The knights and men-at-arms burst from the trees and rode down the slope in a rush, death a roar on their lips. They came out ten yards from the rear of the demon force and catapulted into it.

  One demon after another fell before Cade. It took only a few heartbeats, which neither the demons nor Cade had, of course, for the demons to realize that they faced a greater enemy from behind them than from the front. Rhun kept to Cade’s left and Goronwy to his right, each chopping and hacking with him.

  “By the Saints, they stink!” That was Rhun.

  Cade glanced at him, noting the greenish liquid coating him and his shield, even as the rain washed it from his face. None of the blood was red. None of it was his.

  Glad for Rhun’s dark humor, Cade returned his attention to the creatures in front of him. Horned, furred, bear-like, antlered, from brown to green, even some who looked more human than not. Cade met each one’s eyes as they fought, looking for some sign of humanity—some notion of what they were doing beyond mindless killing. He didn’t see it and Cade should have known better than to think that he ever would. Cade himself wanted to hold onto his own humanity as long as possible, but as he hacked and slashed at his foes, he admitted, yet again, that he would do better as a sidhe, that it was sheer stubbornness that kept him from releasing the demon that lived inside him.

  Still, he hesitated.

  Cade blocked the axe of a demon who was trying to behead Goronwy. His friend had been a hair’s-breadth from going down because of the creature, and Cade cursed himself for his stupidity. What was pride when his men’s lives were in danger? He needed that sidhe within him. It was why Arianrhod had changed him in the first place—not because he was evil like the demons, but because she knew that in order to defeat them, he needed the strength that the world of the sidhe gave him.

  In the time it took to lift his sword and let it fall, he released his power. It flooded him as if he were standing under a waterfall in full spate, or drawing a deep breath after swimming underwater for too long. Except Cade hadn’t drawn breath in two years.

  Goronwy spoke from beside Cade. “Mary, Mother of God!”

  “What?” Cade plunged his sword into the mass of demons again while half-listening for Goronwy’s response.

  “You—” Goronwy said.

  “Leave it,” said Bedwyr from beyond them. “It doesn’t matter.”

  The friends fought on, cutting a swath through the demon line. After the first rush of battle, Cade had led his men up the valley, heading around the perimeter of the demon force before turning into the central mass of bodies. He’d tried to cut off the bulk of the demons from the foot soldiers, hoping to alleviate the pressure on them and divide the demon force. In that, they’d been successful, to the point that some of the demons at the western end of the valley had finally turned to run away.

  At the same time, a few had gathered on the far side of the field for a counter-attack. Once he saw the danger, Cade called to his men. “To me! To me!”

  A dozen formed up and charged with him. Again, Cade’s arm rose and fell in a deadly monotony until he came out the other side and turned Cadfan, looking to renew the fight. Bedwyr pulled up in front of him, however, blocking his path back, and the red cleared from Cade’s vision.

  “You’ve done enough,
my lord,” Bedwyr said. “By the grace of the gods and your power, the demons are almost done.”

  With that, Cade came completely to himself. Bedwyr was right. Cade pointed with his sword towards the demons who’d begun to flee, and Goronwy understood without him speaking.

  “I’ll take them, my lord.” Goronwy stood in his stirrups and raised his voice. “After them!”

  “Go with him, Bedwyr,” Cade said. “I’ll clean up here.” His friends spurred their horses away, leaving only Rhun beside him.

  Cade let them go in favor of killing a few more demons. He urged his horse back across the field. But as he and Rhun rode forward, the remaining demons scrambled to get out of their way, tripping over each other in their haste and desperation. It was as if Cade had dropped boiling oil on an anthill. The demons streamed away in all directions, too quickly for Cade or Rhun to keep up, even on horseback—not with the piles of dead surrounding them on every side.

  His shoulders sagging in relief, Cade pulled up in the center of the field and turned again to Rhun. “Do you know what Goronwy was talking about earlier?”

  Rhun rested his sword in his shoulder and a smile hovered around his lips. “I couldn’t say.”

  That clearly wasn’t the whole truth. “It isn’t as if Goronwy hasn’t seen me fight before—he’s seen what I become. You all have.”

  Now, Rhun laughed, and it was an incongruous sound given the rain and the battle. He lifted his sword and gestured to the fleeing demons with it. “This time, even I have to admit that you look different. You can’t tell yourself?”

  “Tell what—?” Cade said and then stopped, finally taking a good look at himself and seeing what everyone else couldn’t help but notice. In the past, when he’d allowed the power to flow through him, he’d looked different from his normal self, he knew. His eyes shimmered green, and he emitted an aura that was just short of tangible—at least according to Rhiann. Now, however, he glowed with a white light. He glanced at Rhun. “How—”