Tathal could feel a ripple of anger—and fear—in the air, but not from the Blodyn Knight.
The Lady of the Lake.
Tathal had guessed she would protect her Sworn Shield. Given their bond.
“My Lady, my Fey Queen,” the wizard said. “The Lightbrands are the least of your worries. Respond to my summons or your Blodyn Knight—your lover—will die this night.”
The stream below the waterfall slowed to a standstill, and from its glassy surface rose a woman from ages past. Ethereal. Beautiful. Cold. Long blonde hair flowed about her head as if still in the water, framing a face both ageless and ancient. Nude and unabashed, she possessed an air of royalty, of prestige, of a boundless authority. Tathal knew a great deal about her but nothing had prepared him for this.
“I am intrigued by your Blodyn Knight, Lady,” Tathal began, keeping his voice steady. Now with the Mordred by his side, he could focus his entire attention on the Lady. “I have not seen one despite my many centuries. She is a vision to behold, to be sure.”
—She is beholden to me. As you have surmised. And to a higher service—
The voice not only filled his mind but the fairy glen as well, possessing power of the most balanced sort, like spring’s slow release of winter’s hold.
Tathal nodded. “I respect that service,” he said and meant it.
—I did not expect polite discourse, given your past, last wizard of the Fallen Court—
“Civility matters, especially among the powerful,” he said, gazing upon her. Her presence almost made him regret the way he had forced the meeting.
Almost.
—Yet no civility could ever account for what you have done this night—
“You have your tricks. I have mine,” he said. “You made your choice and I had to make mine. I did not do it out of meanness toward the fairies. They are ardent servants and are innocent in the way children tend to be. Choosing to capture them was a means to an end. And we are now approaching that end.”
—Choices. It has ever been so with you. And choices have within them consequences. Those consequences have begun to be quite dangerous for those around you, Tathal Ennis. Like Tinkham, the poor Shadowell fairy you befriended and destroyed. Like Old Wynn the bartender and his patron, Breena Roberts. You will sacrifice any and all to achieve the final end you desire. The path you walk upon is leading you to place you can never return—
Despite her beauty, Tathal was already growing tired of the conversation. He had come for answers, not lectures. “Are you so prescient to know why I am here, Lady? I would expect no less from one such as you.”
—I see possibilities and probabilities as you do. Unlike you, I see you playing with powers far beyond your limited control—
Tathal cocked his head. “Is that not how you became entrapped, Lady?” he asked. “Playing with powers beyond you?”
—I have embraced my role and my choice—
“As have I.”
The Lady smiled but without warmth.
—You are neither angel nor demon nor in between. You are Man, created beneath. What you seek is a test far beyond you. It has ever been the greatest test of Man yet a test that Man was never meant to take part in let alone pass—
“I will be the judge of that,” he said. “I do not believe the test is fair. I do not believe the tester is goodness. Not any longer.” He looked up at the stars. How they shone on him. “You know, some men—wise men, even—believe religion to be the greatest con perpetuated upon man by man himself. The real con is far greater.” He paused, the righteousness he had felt for centuries coming to the fore, bolstering him. “And you do not know me as well as you think you do. You do not know the man I am.”
—You do not know yourself as well as you think—
He was getting nowhere. Tathal decided to get to the crux of his visit.
“The Holy Grail. Where is it? Or those you love most will die.”
—It is lost. Like the goodness that she once knew in your heart—
Tathal skirted the edge of the pool then, feeling the cool spray upon the air. The Lady and the Blodyn Knight watched him. She had baited him with his past, using the very seed of his anger against him. It was all he could do not to lash out and obliterate the fairy glen.
But it would avail him nothing. And nothing he had not come for.
“Lost. I find that terribly hard to believe,” he said.
—The Grail is beyond all who seek it. It is lost but it is held. It is known but it is unused. It was once stolen and in turn it has been stolen. It has now been ceded to Annwn and Annwn will not release it so easily, last wizard of the Fallen Court—
Tathal snorted. “The land cannot steal an object.”
—Can it not? The land is a powerful entity. Surely even you know this—
The wizard did. The land had always been the most unknown quantity when it came to power and struggle in Annwn. It had a sentience wholly unknowable. The truth of what she said rankled him but it was truth nonetheless.
“Riddles,” Tathal spat. “Riddles. Just like that pompous ass of a glorified wizard Myrddin Emrys might speak.”
—There is no riddle. Finding the Grail will not bring Ailis Ennis back—
She had brought her up again, in the span of minutes. This time using her name. It had the intended effect. Her last moments flashed before him. The room. The bed. The uncertainty. The impotence. The last terrible breath that changed Tathal’s life forever. But worst of all, the lack of understanding. Of how it could happen. Why it had to happen when it could have been otherwise. That a choice had been made by an entity that did not care. Long-kept rage from that time surged forward into the wizard’s present. It made his decisions this night all the easier.
“You really think I do this for her,” Tathal replied, letting those memories temper his rage like hot steel thrust into a cold bath. “No. Her death opened my eyes. I am here, standing in your home’s heart, for the countless millions who have faced similar anguish and heartache. The six-year-old boy who learns of death when his favorite dog dies—learning the dark truth he too will die. The son who endures his father’s hospital bedside request for death—because he just wants free of his misery. The daughter who sees her father go off to war—and return a shell of a man. And for what? These people deserve answers. These people are like countless others throughout time. I will find those answers. I will see justice done.”
—Those kinds of answers are not for Man to know. Those kinds of answers are unattainable and their pursuit will be your end—
“The very reason I need the Grail,” Tathal retorted. “It will sustain me when I need to be succored the most.”
The Lady shook her head sadly.
—It will only slow the inevitable death that will be your own—
“My death will not be the only one then,” Tathal said, tamping down the memories. He had gained control of the conversation once more. “Lilyth Imrel Ayr is not your first lover. You are willing to find another, it seems.”
The hair rippling about the Lady stilled, the woman’s eyes become ice chips.
—You threaten—
“I inform,” the wizard corrected. The Blodyn Knight had not moved during the entire discussion but Tathal could sense the Elf wanted to attack. He gave her a look. “I am willing to forego where this meeting is heading. If you give me the information I want. If you do not, whatever part of you is still human will remember how painful heartache can be.”
—You would ruin Creation—
“All must be held accountable,” Tathal growled. “And I mean all.”
—There is a darkness within the light, Tathal Ennis. The best intentions of a wayward heart can lead to great evil—
“The light has been darkening lives for ages,” Tathal replied. “You know, a famous writer once said a villain is the hero of his own story,” he quoted. Nodding to his shadowy protector, the wizard made sure he was safely out of
danger’s range. “And sometimes villains need champions of their own to do what is right, no matter the outcome. If you will not give me what I need through good will, I will take it through bad.”
The Mordred withdrew his sword from the ether, the very same blade that had once battled his father.
The Lady hissed and the fairy glen shook with it.
—That creature is an abomination—
“Yes,” Tathal agreed. “But he’s my abomination.”
The Mordred engaged the Blodyn Knight; sword against sword rang through the fairy glen like the striking of a terrible bell. Lunges and parries and pivots and retreats became a blur of ferocity, the sound of their battling steel echoing throughout the fairy glen. The Elf was fey and had speed and strength beyond humans; the Mordred possessed experience, his magical armor, and an anger that seethed into the night. They met again at the side of the stream, grappling one another’s sword wrist—the Elf hoping that she could get free and with her speed drive her sword’s edge into his neck, the Mordred wanting to crush her in his grip. For a moment, they were at an impasse, each one unable to get a clear advantage. The Lady watched even as Tathal observed her. He wondered what it would take for the fey creature to call an end to the battle and give the wizard what he wished—the only sure way to save her beloved.
With a grunt, the Elf disengaged, to sidestep and leap out of the Mordred’s range. He came after her again even as she stepped upon the stream, the water holding her up while he traversed slippery rocks with uncertain footing. They clashed again. She kicked water up at his face, trying to blind him. The Mordred ignored it. He kept pummeling at her even as she regained the bank and tried to find a way through his magical armor.
After long minutes, Tathal could see the Elf tiring. The Mordred did not weary. The Lady saw it too and in her eyes, the wizard saw the eventual outcome of the battle.
Lilyth Imrel Ayr acted as though it did not concern her. She came in low then, sliding across the dewy grass of the meadow, swiping at the Mordred’s legs. Before he could counter, she was up inside his inner circle, an Elven knife in her free hand trying to find its way into the Mordred’s throat. He grabbed her wrist and flung her through the air. She landed on her feet, springing toward him anew. He was still off balance and the Blodyn Knight beat him backward with a frenzy.
The Mordred leapt backward.
And the Elf pressed.
Lilyth Imrel Ayr saw the threat almost immediately but not soon enough. The Mordred empty faded, lunging back into the space he had just occupied with a speed that belied his size. He gained a hold of her knife wrist even as he rammed his sword’s cross guard into the bare white of her exposed throat.
Already choking and being bent backward by the Mordred’s strength, the Blodyn Knight unleashed her magic.
And it rolled from her in a wave.
The magic encased them both with immense power. While the Mordred’s invisible armor saved him—its own magic counteracting the Elf’s at least for a few minutes—Tathal had been prepared for this very attempt at trickery. Tethered to his shadowy protector for just this purpose, the wizard bolstered the armor of the Mordred, infusing it with the very elemental magic that assaulted him. Balancing the fight and making it an even battlefield was all the Mordred needed. The revenant crushed the Blodyn Knight’s wrist. The knife tumbled from her nerveless fingers. With his newly freed hand, the revenant gripped the Elf by her neck and threw her to the ground like a doll. He could have killed her then but did not. Instead, as the wizard wished, the Mordred pinned her in the mud, his thick, heavy knee on her lithe back. She tried to twist free but could not. The ancient wraith grabbed her auburn hair and yanked her head back viciously, exposing her neck to the glen.
Having released his sword to the ether, he grabbed her knife from the muck and held it at the ready.
The elemental magic in the fairy glen receded.
“Give me the knowledge I seek,” Tathal said to the Lady. “How is that for a threat?”
The Lady gazed down at her champion. Emotions not of the fey but of her former humanity played over her face.
In the end, love won out.
—There are three who possess the Cup of Christ. And they are one. Not one of the three is more important than the other two. Two are not children. One is a warrior. The other knows the truth of what they carry. They are as lost as the Holy Grail—
She paused for a few minutes, considering.
—That is all I can say, without betraying the oath of my office—
Tathal thought about the words. They were a riddle of course but like all riddles truth existed within the words. The words were always the key.
—Now set her free—
“The Lightbrands. They are free,” the wizard said, letting dissolve the magical net that had held them in place. Still covered in the remains of Tinkham, the fairies fled and disappeared within the waterfall. Tathal turned back to the Lady. “You said there were consequences for actions, right?” He paused, containing the fury that had gripped him earlier. “The moment you sullied her name by speaking it was the moment you sealed your precious Blodyn Knight’s fate.”
Lilyth Imrel Ayr glanced at the Lady—even as the Mordred drew her own Elven knife across the Blodyn Knight’s throat.
Crimson gushed upon the grass of the fairy glen. A near-soundless wail burst forth from the fairy glen, angered sorrow shaking even the trees. Tathal paid it no heed. Instead, he watched with great satisfaction as the Mordred threw the head of the Elf down into the mud and, standing, returned to Tathal’s side, no evidence of the battle upon him. The Lady floated upon the air, head hanging. Small forest creatures skulked through the trees surrounding the fairy glen then, each one under her command. They went to the fallen Blodyn Knight. Tathal let them. They lifted the dead Elf and transported her to the water the Lady hovered over.
—Go. There are other lives for you to destroy. One of them will end you in turn—
“I plan to visit them. In due time. Especially this last you mention.”
Tathal turned then. Back to the portal that had brought him to the fairy glen.
He did not look back as he entered the veil. The Lady would already be sinking into her fairy glen pool, cradling her dead lover. The Mordred would follow the wizard, one step closer to the ancient knight’s revenge. The stars in the night sky would continue to turn and, in a few hours, the sun would rise, giving a futile hope to those who did not understand that the wizard was coming for them and their lives were already forfeit.
He would start where the Lady’s riddle took him.
He would return to Annwn.
* * *
Back in Wales, Tathal spun the possibilities.
The Holy Grail. The Cup of Christ. It was within reach. It had been his longest quest, one among many. He had traveled the sands of the Middle East. He had dug in the Misty Isles. He had ventured from one end of Annwn to the other to no avail. Until Annwn’s High King Philip Plantagenet lost his war with the Seelie Court and his stronghold of Caer Llion had fallen and been stripped of its protective magic—only then did he sense the Grail’s presence within the castle. Plantagenet possessed it; his witch, the Cailleach, had used its power. But before he could sneak into that greatest of castles and take the Cup, it had already been thieved away.
He had searched for the culprit in the city and beyond. He had found nothing, forcing his hand with the Lady of the Lake. But now he had a new clue. And he resumed his quest.
Upon the path from the river back to Betws-y-Coed, Tathal had become so deep in thought that he did not see the figure standing at the gate, a hunched man whose dark clothing blended into the remaining shadows of night.
And the shotgun the man pointed in his direction.
“You are up early, caretaker,” Tathal said, magic tingling at his fingertips.
The old man appraised the wizard and the Mordred, wariness in his stance. Lines carved deep in his fa
ce and his shoulders stooped, his eyes still shone with spry life. He had the taint of magic on him, someone who visited the fairy glen often. “Aye. Always up early. Gotta piss, ye know. Might as well start the day off right.” He paused. “But then I saw the lights. Down by the river.” The caretaker glanced toward the fairy glen. He held the shotgun with gnarled, strong fingers. “The kind that swirl. The kind that—”
“Fly?” Tathal finished.
The old man nodded, curiosity’s spark replacing his distrust. “Aye.” He hesitated as the Mordred stepped up beside the wizard. “There is a fable about the wee morning hours, before the sun rises but its glow is in the sky. It says the fairy, the wee folk, cannot tell a lie during that time of morning. As cannot those who have seen them during the night.”
“There is likely some magic in what you say, my crookedly bent friend,” Tathal said.
“Did ye see them then?”
“Never lie to a man carrying a shotgun,” Tathal said. He wove a quick spell with a hum that froze the shotgun’s trigger in place. He stepped nearer the old man. “I did see fairies upon the air, caretaker. When they tried to escape, I bound them with magic by killing my own fairy guide, a creature of dubious worth at best. I forced the leaders of the Lightbrands to call their mistress and the Lady of the Lake answered. When she realized I would kill them all if I did not gain what I wanted, she transported me to Annwn, where I could ask her one question—who possesses the Holy Grail? Only the Lady survived our meeting.” He nodded over his shoulder at the Mordred. “And my large protector there slayed her Elf knight bodyguard and lover.”
Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists Page 19