by Dani Harper
“Nor did I.” It was obvious now that Eirianwen had planned Braith’s fate from the very beginning. My speech must have amused her greatly. Would he have done anything different had he known his brother’s true fate? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. I am here to help him now. Slowly he rose and approached the massive dog, noting that Saffir kept one hand on her dagger as he did so. He touched the animal’s heavily muscled shoulder but could not find his voice. Braith? he ventured in mind speech.
The majestic head lifted from Saffir’s shoulder, and a large pair of deep-set eyes regarded him solemnly. Was it the light that made them glow? Not only were they not his brother’s eyes, they were not the eyes of any Tylwyth Teg, and Trahern’s heart sank even lower. I have destroyed you.
I yet live, my brother. My form is not your fault. You had no choice.
It was hard to know which steadied him more, Braith’s familiar voice in his mind or the words that held no condemnation. We will argue over that another day, Trahern said. Aloud, he asked: “Are you injured?”
No.
“No,” said Saffir. “But the change is violent, and very hard on the body. It will take time for him to gain his full strength. As you can see, Braith’s appearance has changed much since you saw him last.” Her voice caught. “I have tried to slow it down, but my magic is primarily for healing, not sorcery.”
“I don’t understand. Eirianwen wanted him transformed to a hound, and that was bad enough. But why this?”
“Why would a mother do any harm to her own child?”
A lifetime of defending Eirianwen automatically brought an excuse to his lips. “Braith defied her wishes, and she was determined to teach him a lesson.” He didn’t believe it for an instant, however. And Saffir’s derisive snort informed him that she didn’t, either.
“Being taught a lesson implies that he would be restored once he had learned it,” she said. “Eirianwen didn’t care about the pairing with Idelle—and yes, Braith told me of that. I felt sure that something else was at the root of it, and I begged him not to go to Court.” She paused for a long moment before continuing. “Perhaps what your mother truly sought was an excuse to make an example of him, so that others would fear her all the more.”
It rang true. “Of course,” he murmured. “Who would dare to cross a woman who would punish her own son so severely? But surely being made a hound was enough to accomplish that twisted purpose.” He left unsaid that such would have been easily reversible.
She is afraid of me. Braith’s voice in his mind held absolute certainty. Of us.
Trahern stared at his brother, though he still couldn’t catch a glimpse of the man he knew in the creature’s fierce eyes. “Eirianwen fears nothing but losing her power,” he replied. “It is all that matters to her.”
True, and what she fears most is that we will take her place.
The notion seemed ridiculous, but he dropped back to mind speech just the same. Has she not always spoken of leaving the House of Oak in our hands? In my earliest memories I hear her voice, saying that we must pay close attention to everything she does, that we might be fit to follow her.
Perhaps that was her intention at the time, said Braith. But that was long ago. We are grown men now, with minds of our own. Though neither of us desires her position in the least, she sees only threat. Have a care, brother. My hand has been dealt, and yours will be next. I have seen it. Flee while you may yet change your destiny.
Trahern could not suppress a shiver as the truth of his twin’s words settled on him like frost. He did not fear for himself, though sense said he should. No, it was the image of the eternally beautiful Eirianwen coldly calculating the betrayal of her own children that interlaced his spine with fingers of ice. He had never once expected her affection, but he had blindly trusted in her loyalty.
Aloud he simply said, “It is long past time we left this place.”
“He cannot, or I would have taken him far from here by now.” Saffir’s voice was unexpectedly bitter. “Do you not know how grims come to be?”
“I know they are not born but made.” Trahern knew little more about the actual process involved. Until now, he’d never had a reason to study it.
“Most often a death dog begins its existence as a human, transformed instantly as a punishment for the wrongs he or she has committed. But Braith is not mortal. For a full-blooded fae, your spell was only the first step.” She waved a hand at their surroundings. “The grim kennels are enchanted, and it is their magic that completes the transformation for those whose blood runs blue. You see how much bigger he has become, how much stronger he is? His body has nearly completed the change.
“If he remains here, his mind will change as well. His coat is yet gray because he is not wholly grim, but it darkens by the hour. Once his fur turns black, he will suffer the same compulsion as all other grims. He will be drawn to the human world by impending death, and he will be unable to resist.” She paused and swallowed twice, as though the words were painful. “He will be lost to us forever once that happens,” she whispered. The great dog leaned his head on her shoulder and licked a stray tear from her face.
“All the more reason to leave. Why have you not taken him out of here?”
Braith’s own voice entered his mind then. I cannot cross the threshold. Something blocks my way.
Trahern had been so shocked by his brother’s appearance that he hadn’t paid attention to anything else. Now, as he stretched out his senses, the invisible curtain of magic that covered the doorway was obvious. Thinner than the skin of a water bubble and stronger than the stone foundation of the palace, it had no effect at all on him or Saffir. It was linked only to Braith, sealing him in to his terrible fate.
Renewed fury at Eirianwen’s cruelty churned in Trahern’s gut, but once more he forced it down. Now is not the time . . . but by the stars of the Seven Sisters, there will be a time! Instead, he felt carefully around the archway, judging the type of magic used, the flavor and color of it, the style. It was masterfully done—but he knew he could undo it. “Both of you turn your faces away,” he ordered, and pulled his sleeves back to reveal a few of the ledrith, the words and sigils of power that covered his entire body. Two of them glowed as he began a low incantation, almost a song. He repeated it, a halftone higher each time until suddenly a flash of blue light half blinded him.
The curtain of magic was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of burnt oak leaves.
“It is done,” he said aloud, rubbing one eye and blinking to clear his sight. Saffir turned her head and nodded, then drew her cloak away from Braith’s face. The great dog struggled to rise.
Trahern frowned. He could shift them all away from here with a spell—but the Royal Palace had been deliberately built upon stone that prevented that type of magic, lest enemies appear within the walls. “Brother, can you walk?”
I will crawl if I must, to escape this place. He proved it by taking slow, halting steps until he was well outside the kennel, where he shook himself with gusto.
Saffir quickly followed and placed a gentle kiss on his broad, velvety forehead. A tear fell upon his muzzle and glistened there.
Trahern knew better than most that appearances were usually deceiving. Nevertheless, he found himself believing that this woman genuinely cared about his brother. Pâr Enaid might be imaginary, but there was something between Braith and Saffir that he could not define. Was this what his brother had called love? Whatever it is, it cannot be worth the terrible price he’s paid for it. Aloud, Trahern chose his words carefully, not wanting to rob his twin of hope. “I came prepared to counter the spell from the Sancsiwn Teulu. But there are more complicated magics at work here than I first suspected, my brother. Much time and study will be required before I attempt to restore you.”
Saffir was much blunter. “There are several potions that will effect a change from two legs to four and back again. None that I know of will return a grim to his true form if he has once been fae.”
&n
bsp; He hated that she was right. While on rare occasion a human-turned-grim might be restored, the transformation of fae to grim was considered permanent. It wouldn’t stop him from trying, however. You know that I will never give up, he said to Braith.
Just let all of us be gone from here, and it will be enough.
All of us. Trahern found himself with a new problem. While he could use Saffir’s help to get Braith out of the palace, what would he do with her then? If he took her with them, would she slow them down? Worse, if I leave her behind, will she betray us? He sighed inwardly and turned to her. “I must tell you that I had not planned for another. There are but two horses, and one is fitted with a pannier to carry a hound. I had not imagined Braith’s very size would change. You are welcome to ride with me, but we must travel fast, and the way will be difficult—”
Without warning, a massive dark face filled his entire vision, and enormous teeth snapped shut a scant finger’s width from his nose. SHE COMES! His brother’s voice thundered within his head to the point of pain. Quickly Saffir soothed and patted the snarling beast into backing up a few steps. Keeping a tight hold of one pricked ear, she placed her body squarely between Braith and Trahern.
“Your plans will have to change,” she said. “Eirianwen has placed no less than eighty mercenaries by the main road. I do not know what they are, but I am certain they are not of our realm. The camp appears as a market, and they themselves are disguised as merchant kobolds, but they have not bothered to conceal the warths they hunt with.”
“Warths? Are you certain?”
“There is no mistaking them, and there are many. The mercenaries have used them to patrol both the palace grounds and the forest beyond since Eirianwen left. Whatever mounts you left out there are surely in their hands now, if the warths have not gotten to them first.”
Trahern cursed his mother’s lethal thoroughness. If the arrangement he’d made with the Bwbachod had been honored—and he had no doubt they had been true to their word—there were swift, strong horses waiting for him outside in a distant stand of rowan trees. Thus mounted, Trahern would have pitted his sorcery against Eirianwen’s hired thugs without hesitation. But against warths? As large as Braith, the striped predators were lithe and powerful, with long, serrated teeth. He’d never heard of anyone successfully taming them as hunting beasts, but they would make formidable hounds. Few creatures could outrun a determined pack of them, but most to be feared was the warthen sense of smell.
No magic could disguise a scent from them for very long.
While gods surely existed, Trahern had never paid homage to one. Still, he found himself praying silently to any that might be listening for their aid, vowing allegiance to whichever one would help his brother escape. In his own experience, however, the gods favored those who helped themselves. “What is to be done, then? I will not leave Braith in our mother’s hands.”
“Her men do not dare guard the Wild Hunt’s entrance. It is fortunate for us all that Lord Lurien values his animals, for there are several horses yet pastured in the Black Marsh at this moment that will come to me when I call them.”
“You suggest we steal horses from the Hunt? They are no ordinary mounts!”
“Exactly,” said Saffir. “And they are your best hope to outpace your enemies. Give them their heads, and they will take you where the Hunt rides nightly, to the only place that Eirianwen will not follow you.”
“The human world.”
“Braith was going to take me there.” She slid her arms around the dog’s massive neck. “For now, it will be up to you to help him escape, and I will follow when I can.”
You cannot stay behind! Braith’s anguished words were intended for Saffir, but only Trahern could hear them. The message was clear, however, when the great dog lifted his muzzle and began to howl. Bluish tears appeared on Saffir’s fine features, and she buried her face in his fur as he poured out his pain.
“If you die, my heart will die with you,” she said when at last he fell silent. “Do not ask me to give up both our lives when there is yet a chance we may be together. There is work to be done here that may make a difference to our future.”
At last Braith fell silent, leaning his lowered head against her as they made their way to the legendary lair of the Hunt. Saffir led them through the sprawling array of spacious stables with the ease of long practice, until they finally came to the entrance. It was wide and low, a grinning mouth at the base of the mountain that could easily accommodate thirty riders abreast, and overhung with tangled trees and thorny vines. She put up her hand. “Stay here,” she said. “I will get your mounts.”
Trahern couldn’t help but think it would also be a perfect opportunity to alert the mercenaries to their presence, but he quickly put aside that notion. To get his brother out of here now, he had to trust someone, and Saffir was all he had.
Through the trees, he could see her step out into an open area with tall tussocks of serpent’s grass surrounded by dark water. She made no sound that he could hear, yet two horses quickly appeared in the distance, standing shoulder-deep in the marsh as if they were deadly kelpies waiting for doomed riders. The pair swam to the fae healer at once and climbed onto the bank, shaking onyx droplets from their coats. Waterweeds fell away from their long legs as they followed Saffir to the cave. Trahern kept a number of blooded fae horses, the very best he could find, at his own stable. But nothing prepared him for these.
The golden one was dappled, with tail and mane the color of fine flax. Its broad forehead denoted intelligence—but what the backswept horns and clawed hooves signified, Trahern could not say. The other was as gray as fog, with strange white eyes. Tusks protruded from its dark lips. Both horses were exceptionally large and heavily muscled, and he noticed with a start that they floated a scant finger’s width above the ground.
“This is Cyflym the Swift,” said Saffir, with a wave at the gold beast. “The other is Cryf the Strong. They are steady and fearless, and among the best of Lurien’s herd.”
“And Lord Lurien will have both our heads for this,” he muttered.
She shrugged. “He will not be overly pleased, but he despises injustice more than the loss of good horses. Upon his return, I will ensure that he hears of what has been wrought in his absence.”
With a word, Trahern raised Braith to the back of the gray Cryf. The beast was as steady as Saffir had claimed, unmoving despite the inelegant process of organizing the great dog’s position until all four legs were awkwardly straddling the horse’s broad body. Trahern then uttered a fixative spell. “It will be uncomfortable for you as we ride,” he told Braith.
It is uncomfortable for me now. Surely I can run beside you!
“You cannot run fast enough yet.”
Saffir agreed. “Speed is everything, with warths on your trail.” Braith nosed her shoulder, and she pressed her face to his massive muzzle. “Be strong, dear one. I promise I will join you when I can. There is nowhere you can go that my heart cannot find you.”
Trahern reached over to pat the great dog’s shoulder. “The spell is strong, my brother. You can dismount whenever you wish, but I swear by all the stars that you will not fall.” He mounted the dappled gold horse with ease, despite the lack of a saddle, and wound his hands into its long mane. He looked down at the woman beside them just as the howl of a warth could be heard to the east of the mountain.
“Come with us,” he said.
She shook her head. “I cannot. For the sake of your brother, there are tasks I must perform.”
Nothing Trahern said would persuade her to elaborate further. It made him uneasy—was Saffir planning something? Was this all an elaborate ruse to ensure that they were pursued and slain by the Wild Hunt? Eirianwen would emerge blameless, of course. Yet he found he could not entirely discount the relationship he’d witnessed between Saffir and Braith, even if he didn’t understand it.
“It cannot be safe for you here,” he said at last.
“It is safe enough.
None dare enter the den of the Hunt.” She put a hand on her dagger. “And I am not without my talents. Now go. Let the horses carry you where they will.”
He bowed from the waist, as if she were a woman of high standing. “Be well. Meet us when you can.”
When she could no longer see them, Saffir pulled a tiny crystal bottle from an inner pocket. With a silent prayer for Braith’s safety, she pulled the stopper and pressed the bottle to her lips . . .
THREE
No sooner had he brushed Cyflym’s side with his heel than both horses erupted from the cave entrance like bats escaping into the night. For a brief, frantic moment, Trahern wished he’d glued his own body to his mount with magic. A few rapid heartbeats later, he adjusted to the frenzied rhythm. These were like no animals he’d ever ridden. Their speed was incredible—and deathly silent, save for the wind rushing by his ears. No hooves touched the ground as they dashed beyond the marsh and into the deep forest beyond. Veering as one, the horses left the main trail almost at once and galloped single file along a narrow stag path. Trahern ducked over the horse’s neck to avoid the branches and saplings that slapped at him, glad that Braith was already as low as possible on his own steed.
Leaping over riverbeds of amethyst water, dodging impossibly tall trees that sported monstrous glowing shelves of fungus, the fleet horses didn’t slow for an instant. Trahern had traveled much, yet this part of the realm was strange to him—but then he’d never followed the Hunt, nor used their gateway to the human world above. The landscape became ever more alien, filled with plants and terrains he had not imagined—
The warth came out of nowhere, knocking him cleanly from his horse and into a thicket of red-leafed bushes. Trahern recovered faster than he had when Saffir had attacked him, driving his dagger deep into the big animal’s chest and binding the still-snapping jaws with a wordless spell. Another warth quickly appeared, however, crouched to spring.
And another.
Braith appeared and tore into one of the warths with a terrible gurgle of rage, shaking it by its long, striped neck until the light faded from its yellow eyes. It gave Trahern the chance to yank his tunic over his head, baring his upper body. Though he could draw energy from the earth through his clothing, direct contact with his skin allowed him to pull it from the air as well. Immediately, the ledrith that marked his body began to glow as if his flesh had cracked to reveal a molten core. The intense magic was a shiver to the skin, a burn in the blood, a fire in the bones. He pressed his back against an outcrop of rough stone, joining its strength to his.