The Dark Thorn

Bran stared into the afternoon sky where the four dragons and the barge they carried flew, disappearing into the ether of the Snowdon.

In minutes they were gone.

What had taken days to ascend had taken an hour to undo.

Upon landing in Arendig Fawr, Richard ordered Bran to soothe Westryl and Lyrian before disappearing into the Cadarn to seek out the Morrigan and the lord of Mochdrev Reach. Bran remained with Arrow Jack, whose piercing eyes watched the mobilization of the city. The Tuatha de Dannan scurried about, dozens of races—short clurichauns and feline cait siths, ugly spriggans and hairy woodwoses, pointy-eared hellyll and many others. Fairies buzzed through the air, relaying messages. A few companies of coblynau had also arrived, adding their stalwart presence. From the depths of the forest, carts of armor and arms rolled passed, coming from Mastersmith Govannon. Even leprechauns tottered about, drunkenly trying to help.

All carried weapons of some sort, ready for the coming conflict with Caer Llion.

After the Rhedewyr were once again at peace from their chaotic journey through the air, Deirdre and Snedeker returned from the Cadarn, steely determination in the redhead’s eyes.

“That was an interesting ride, eh?” Deirdre commented.

“No kidding,” Bran agreed.

“Looks like we go to war.”

“So many races here.”

“The Tuatha de Dannan are proud,” Deirdre said. “This fight has long been needed. Even without Tal Ebolyon, the force gathering should be formidable.”

“When Richard spoke in Tal Ebolyon, the dragon lord said something odd,” Bran said. “He called you a ‘fair witch.’ Why would he say that? Are you really a witch?”

“My mother was a witch,” Deirdre said, looking toward the Cadarn with an eagerness that annoyed Bran. “She died when I was very young. I know a few small spells she taught me, nothing that powerful. A levitation incantation. A song to change the color of leaves or control ivy. That’s about it.” She smiled sadly. “She would usually put back right what I had done.”

“I’m sorry to hear you lost your mother so young.”

“Life has a way of severing love sometimes,” she said sadly.

Bran nodded, thinking. When his own mother died, he had changed dramatically and knew of what Deirdre spoke. Upon entering Annwn he had changed again, this time for the better. He no longer felt lost to the streets. Despite only being in Annwn for a few days, he had become a part of something much larger than himself. He had always wished it and, like his father, he now possessed a relic of great power in Arondight, giving him the chance to matter in a world where normalcy was sought and highly overrated. He may not understand Arondight or everything that transpired around him, but he knew he would never let the sword go.

And unlike Richard, Bran would use the magic blade to the best of his ability and never let it change him as it had the knight.

No matter who he fell in love with.

“Do you love him?” Bran blurted, suddenly annoyed at himself.

“Who do you mean?”

It was all Bran could do to meet Deirdre’s green eyes.

“Richard,” he said. “Why do you care for him?”

Deirdre looked away. “That is none of your concern.”

“He is a broken man,” Bran pressed.

“He is. But he will not always be.”

A pit of sorrow mixed with anger sank into his stomach. The feelings Bran had felt from the moment he had met the redhead had blossomed into much more. She was a few years older than him but he did not worry on that. There was something about her, an intoxicating rush of emotions she drew out of him. He wanted to kiss her, hold her. He wanted more. Confusion about how to act left him paralyzed. She had barely looked at him, the feelings Bran experienced also present in her eyes but not sent his way.

They were instead for Richard.

Frustration built inside. Bran didn’t understand.

He was about to say something he knew he would regret when Richard burst from the entrance of the Cadarn, striding with a resolve Bran had not seen in the knight before.

“We leave,” Richard said simply. “Now.”

“What happened?” Bran asked.

“The Morrigan is assembling what might the Tuatha de Dannan possess. Soon the entirety of those sent by Lord Fafnir will join the rest here. The clans outside the Carn Cavall are also amassing, near the headwaters of the Wysg River. In a matter of hours, the Seelie Court will again be gathered, even without Tal Ebolyon, organizing in the Forest of Dean, to march through the plains of Morgannwg province toward Caer Llion.”

“Well, that is good news, isn’t it?” Bran asked.

“It is. It will make what we must do all the easier.”

“The more people the safer we’ll be, I guess.”

“No,” Richard said. “We travel alone to Caer Llion, ahead of the army.”

“Shouldn’t we be with the bulk of the Queen’s army?”

“The Morrigan and I want answers,” Richard said. “The only place for them is inside Caer Llion.”

“If that is true, I am coming with you,” Deirdre interceded.

“No,” Richard said curtly.

“You will need my help,” Deirdre said. Bran could tell she was thinking quickly, as if her life depended on it. “The Rhedewyr you ride forth must be cared for. You do not plan to ride them through the front portcullis of the castle or leave them grazing alone in the plains, do you?”

“Still, it doesn’t matte—”

“I’m coming,” Deirdre said. “That’s that, knight. I knew this was coming before you did. My father has given me leave to go my own way in this madness and I will do as such. If you do not like it, take it up with him.”

Richard didn’t look at her. Bran could see the struggle going on inside of him.

“It will be dangerous,” Richard said.

“Kegan cannot go,” Deirdre said stubbornly. Bran hated how she fought. “And my family knows the plains from Arendig Fawr to Vyrridin to Caer Cleddyf. I am your best chance at success.”

With a grunt, Richard mounted Lyrian.

“Is this wise, Richard?” Bran asked.

“Apparently, I have no choice.”

Deirdre smiled, ignoring Bran, her eyes fixed on Richard. Without another word, they both mounted and rode after the knight who trotted southward through the melee, Snedeker a blur chasing the merlin. As Bran watched the city fade behind him, he saw Caswallawn emerge from the entrance to the Cadarn. Their gazes met. The former lord scowled after the three, the hatred he had for the outworlders palpable. In a swirl of practiced deftness, Caswallawn whirled what could only be his invisible cloak about him.

In a second, the lord disappeared.

Bran hoped the surly lord made it to Govannon’s armory safely enough to drink himself into oblivion.

Dusk settled in on the woodland after an hour, the final birdsong dwindling until silent. The path was wide and easy to navigate, the Rhedewyr plodding forward without hindrance despite the growing darkness. They did not speak, Richard leading, with Snedeker flying ahead, Bran and Deirdre coming after, and Arrow Jack a darting blur in the trees overhead. Nothing else moved. All of the activity was taking place in Arendig Fawr, leaving a world of sudden peace.

The trails wound downward, the Carn Cavall diminishing with every step the Rhedewyr took. The sticky warmth, once lost to the upper reaches of the Snowdon, had reformed around them amidst the pooling shadows that enveloped the land at the day’s end. The gloom plagued Bran, made him suspicious. The memory of his encounter with the Erlking resurfaced, crawling over his skin with electricity. If he had learned anything from being in Annwn, it was to not trust the moments he felt safe.

After several hours had passed, Deirdre turned suddenly to scrutinize the forest behind them, worry darkening her beautiful features.

“What is it?” Bran asked.

“We are being followed,” she said.

Bran shot a glance backward. Nothing appeared amiss.

“I know,” Richard said, barely flinching. “The forest went quiet behind about half an hour ago. Probably not the bodach. It would have caught us by now. Keep aware. Could just be another traveler but no reason to take a chance.”

The trail began to level as glimpses of the far-reaching plains came to them through the trees. The last glimmers of purpling light diffused the flatland. With the stars overhead slowly twinkling to life, Richard stopped to camp on the outskirts of the grasses where windblown pine sheltered a tiny bubbling brook, giving minor protection from prying eyes. Frogs nearby croaked their song while fireflies roamed the deepening darkness. All was still. The night drew peace like a blanket, a reprieve from the chaos Bran hoped would not come but knew would.

Settled near a small fire, Richard ate a meal while Snedeker puzzled over a blade of purple grass. Bran also sat by the fire and watched Deirdre care for the Rhedewyr, the redhead giving them a careful brushing after days without it.

“Now that we are alone, it is time we spoke again,” Richard said finally.

“I suppose it is,” Bran admitted.

“After I spoke with the Morrigan, I went in search of a waterfall in the Cadarn. It did not take long. Through the water, I contacted the other Knights of the Yn Saith. No, don’t ask how yet. It is a magic Merle or I will eventually teach you when this business is finished. The important thing is they know about you, they know that I am now the Heliwr. They also know to be watching their portals far more closely than they have been for the last few years.”

“You actually spoke with them?” Bran asked. “Like some kind of telepathy?”

“When you get on a roll, the questions are unending,” Richard sighed. “Yes, I actually spoke with them. In person. There is a lake on the north side of the Carn Cavall that surrounds a small island, the Isle of Achlesydd. Achlesydd is an ancient tree that wards our weapons. When not called by the knights, the relics reside on massive stones. You are now tied to one of those stones. Even now, Arondight rests there. In this way they are safe.”

“No one tries to steal them?”

“The isle is more guarded than Fort Knox,” Richard snorted.

“What of the other knights?” Bran asked. “Will they aid us?”

“It is too late for that.”

“Why?

“Scouts of the Morrigan have discovered the great amassing of an army at Caer Llion,” Richard said. “In mere days, maybe even hours, it will leave and travel to the Snowdon or one of the portals. Regardless, the knights lack the ability to get here in time. Their portals are spread all over Annwn, days away. It is just as well. It is better they protect their respective cities. There are failsafes like Dryvyd Wood in our world. Even if Philip does bring his army through, it will not be easy for him. It will buy us the time we need.” He paused. “Now call Arondight.”

With a thought, Bran held the blade in his left hand.

“Arondight is one of Govannon’s oldest creations,” Richard said. “The sword was forged long before Lancelot. You wanted to know more about it. I will tell you the most important lesson you will learn, right now. Can you feel its power, where the sword calls its fire from?”

“No.”

“Close your eyes, think it through.”

Bran gripped the blade, letting his thoughts flow along its length. He felt it then. A part of the power came from Arondight but most welled within, from his chest into his hand. The fire he had used against the bodach lingered just below the surface, a caged animal ready for release.

“I can, yes,” Bran answered, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“You and the blade are now one,” Richard said, peering closely at Bran. “While possessing it, you have the ability to protect yourself from those who would see you dead. That protection comes at a cost. The magic comes from you, but nothing comes from nothing. If not careful, you can be consumed from within, be bled empty. The power can also be addictive for some. I have seen it. I am sure Merle will have more to say about this if we return.”

“What do you mean if?”

“I won’t lie to you, we may not return, not amidst the hell we find ourselves in at the moment,” Richard replied. “Entering Caer Llion is a dangerous prospect even for the most trained. You are not trained. It’s unfortunate timing. The risk might be too much.” He paused. “But whether I like it or not, you are a fellow knight now and I need your help.”

“Being untrained, I don’t have to go in, you know,” Bran said.

“You do,” Richard said simply.

Bran was going to ask why when Snedeker, who had suddenly lost interest in his oddly colored blade of grass, flew to where the two knights were, sat on a rotting log, and listened to Richard with an intensity Bran almost found comical.

“What do you want, fairy?” the knight asked lowly.

“Nothing at all,” Snedeker answered.

“You’ve been acting strangely toward me ever since that night with the Lady in the fairy glen,” Richard pressed, clearly annoyed. “Watching me. I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you much. But I have to know. The Lady told you something, didn’t she? That night.”

Snedeker stared at Richard as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Answer me!” he demanded.

“Why does it matter?” Deirdre asked, having finished caring for the Rhedewyr and sitting at the fire.

“Oh, it matters. A lot. Every Heliwr has had a guide, a fairy, one that watches the knight’s back in time of need. Bran’s father had a fairy guide as well. Berrytrill, his name was. I think the Lady spoke to Snedeker there, asked him to serve. He has been quiet ever since that night and it has been grating on me.”

“Snedeker, is this true?” Deirdre asked.

The fairy glanced at the redhead, an iota of guilt crossing his woodland features.

“Red, I meant to tell you…”

“So it’s true? You are to guide Rick?”

“The Lady spoke to me, yes,” Snedeker said. “Asked me to serve the Heliwr. If I had known it would be McAllister here, though, I never would have agreed. Thought it would be Ardall. The lesser of two cow pies, that one.”

“Dammit,” Richard growled low. “Just my luck. What else did the Lady say?”

“That was it, darktard,” Snedeker snapped.

Richard looked as though he would call the Dark Thorn and incinerate the fairy immediately.

“So my father had a fairy guide?” Bran asked, trying to alleviate the tension. “What else haven’t you told me about my father, Richard?”

“There is much I haven’t told you,” the knight said, still staring hard at the fairy. “Not because I didn’t want to but because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to follow in his footsteps. To tell you more about your father would have accelerated what I had hoped to prevent. Turns out Merle is a tricky bastard, and he pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“Why keep me from anything?” Bran asked, a bit angrily. “It isn’t your place.”

“It is my place to protect those who can’t protect themselves,” Richard replied pointedly. “That was you. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, just as right now you still do not. Sadly, I need your help in Caer Llion and that cannot be avoided.”

Calming himself, Bran let Arondight vanish.

“Did you know my father well?”

“I knew him vaguely.” Richard leaned back into his bedroll. “You look a bit like him, but he had a kinder heart than you have. No doubt due your time on the streets. He had a hard work ethic and believed quite strongly in what he was doing. Few ever bested him and those who did didn’t last much longer afterward.”

“I have few memories of him,” Bran admitted.

“Died before you grew up, for sure.”

“I asked this of you before,” Bran said. “Do you know who killed my father?”

“No,” Richard said stoically. “It literally could be anyone or anything, from this world or our own. I know his time came in the United Kingdom. Other than that, Merle was not willing to share much more.”

“Then he didn’t die in a terror attack in Ireland?”

“Ireland, maybe. A terror attack, like the IRA?” Richard scowled. “No. Whoever told you that is either ignorant or lying. Whatever murdered your father had to possess a potent magic to do it. Overcoming the power of a Heliwr is not easy.”

“What magic did he have, as Heliwr?”

“You mean what magic do I have, eh?”

“I guess.”

“That depends on ability,” Richard said. “Remember what I did to Llassar?”

“Yes, the grass holding him firm. He called you a wizard.”

“A weak wizard, at best.”

“So you are a wizard?”

Richard smiled with no warmth. “You are as well now.”

“What do you mea—”

“In due time. In due time,” Richard repeated. “Tomorrow maybe.”

Settling back into his own blankets, Bran tried to picture his father with the staff, when he saw dozens of gimlet eyes glittering from the darkness, surrounding the campsite at the edge of the firelight. Bran couldn’t make out anything more than that.

“Richard,” Bran whispered.

The knight followed his eyes. “They have been there for some time.”

“What are they?”

“Llithiwch,” Deirdre answered, looking at the shadowy wraiths from her own bedroll. “Skittish little creatures, rarely seen. They are Unseelie, but do not hurt anyone or anything. My people consider them a blessing of sorts; if they are here, no other Unseelie are nearby.”

“Are they what follow us?” Bran asked.

“Could be,” Richard said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Spies?”

“No, not at all,” Deirdre said. “Odd so many are gathered here though.”

“Drawn by the power of Arondight,” Richard observed. He hunkered back down into his bedroll. “Sleep. They can’t hurt us. We are going to have a long day tomorrow.”

Bran relaxed, as Deirdre followed Richard’s example. Soon the soft snores of the knight and the even rise and fall of Deirdre’s chest left Bran with the first watch. The luminous eyes from the darkness still watched. Bran kept the fire going, distrustful of the creatures, his thoughts straying to home as he stared into the fire. Seattle seemed so far away. Merle had put Bran between a rock and a hard place, having maneuvered him to the exact spot he wanted. Bran knew one thing—Merle had a lot to answer for, not only for his machinations but also the hundreds of questions Bran had concerning his father, his new role, and what it all meant for his future.

When Bran looked up from the fire, the Llithiwch were gone.

As he was about to settle back and relax, a new set of eyes appeared in the night, flaming crimson with utter hatred and growing larger by the moment.

“Bodach!” Bran screamed, leaping up and calling Arondight.

Richard gained his feet as though he hadn’t been asleep, the Dark Thorn filling his hand in white flame just as the bodach jumped.

With a shriek, the Unseelie beast bulled over the Heliwr.

Richard rolled with the assault, letting the creature blow mostly over him and then blasted it with white magic. The creature reeled away, the flames licking at its shadowy form as it fought to break through. Richard did not let up. Regaining his feet in that afforded moment, he kept his staff between them. The shadow tore at him even as the knight backed away. Richard parried every swipe, keeping the Dark Thorn held before him, his eyes burning with concentration.

“Bran!” Richard roared, falling to the ground.

As it had in Caer Glain, the fey creature fought to pin Richard to kill him, going after its most powerful adversary.

As the bodach leapt ferociously upon the knight, Bran charged with Arondight.

Deirdre beat him to it.

Hurdling the fire, Deirdre had her sword in hand, charging the fey. Her red hair manic, she sliced at the occupied bodach with wild abandon, roaring at the top of her lungs—to little effect. Annoyed by the woman, the bodach lashed out finally with one massive clawed paw, connecting with Deirdre.

She landed on the fire, the embers setting her clothes ablaze.

When Deirdre rolled away, on fire, something snapped inside Bran. In slow motion, he witnessed another attempt on their lives and his own weak inaction. Anger turned to righteousness; passion crystallized into deed. The screams of the Rhedewyr faded. The roars of the bodach vanished. All that remained was his desire to see Deirdre safe and the bodach destroyed before it could kill another and the blame be put squarely on him.

Arondight grew incandescent, flaming wild magic.

Before he could reach the bodach though, reports echoed in the night all around them, explosions in rapid succession. Pinpricks of light bloomed inside of the bodach, dozens and then hundreds permeating every aspect of the Unseelie beast. The bodach pawed the air, angry, screaming as if struck by thousands of spears at once.

It took Bran a moment to realize what was happening.

The bodach was being shot by gunfire.

Bran spun about, searching.

From the darkness soldiers emerged, each one carrying assault rifles and pistols. There were two dozen of them, each dressed as black as the night around them. The odor of burnt gunpowder on the air, they unleashed bullet flurries into the bodach. The creature could not prevent it; the lead from the gunfire, anathema to the Unseelie creature, ripped through its smoky being.

Finn Arne, Captain of the Vatican’s Swiss Guard, ordered his men to press forward.

The warriors did. The bodach raged. With no thought to his own safety and the power radiating through him, Bran sent the magic of Arondight into the side of the bodach. The fire tore into the Unseelie beast, casting it off of the knight as though struck by a gigantic fist.

The shadow careened across the clearing, singed and smoking.

“Arne!” Richard roared. “Don’t let it flee!”

The noose of Swiss Guard tightened about the bodach. Sensing it was outmatched, the creature tore across the clearing to escape into the night.

Richard was too quick. He sent the power of the Dark Thorn into it. The bodach fell to the earth again, smoking, flames licking its insubstantial body. It regained its feet, eyes glowing hotter. With Deirdre behind them, Bran and Richard faced the circling fey assassin together, the guards from the Vatican preventing escape.

White fire ran down the Dark Thorn, and Bran held Arondight before him, ready.

The bodach tore at the sod, bounding toward them.

“Go after it with everything you have, Bran!” Richard yelled. “Into its deepest part!”

Bran gritted his teeth, bracing his feet. The attack didn’t come. Richard flung fire to one side of the bodach, forcing the beast away from Bran and instead toward him. It strayed from the blast and slammed into the knight. The bodach ravaged the magical shield Richard had readied—but suddenly the knight let the shield vanish. The bodach tumbled forward. As Richard let the Unseelie beast fall, he lashed out with a quick low swing, using the Dark Thorn like a sword. The fire severed the forelegs of the bodach, the limbs evaporating into the ether. The bodach dropped to the earth, screaming, scrambling in panic, using its remaining four legs to retreat in hopes of escape and regenerating its body.

“Now, Ardall!” Richard roared, diving aside.

Bran was on the bodach immediately. With all of his might and ignoring his own safety, he drove Arondight into the very center of the beast, letting the magic flow as it hadn’t yet.

The blade penetrated deep, burning so blue it became white hot. The bodach let loose a deafening screech, one of anguish and loathing. It fought the sword, biting at the steel as it squirmed to be free. Bran sent all his will through Arondight and into the creature, trying to incinerate it from within, wishing the evil assassin forever gone from world. The injustice of the things he had seen helped him wield the justice to do what was right. Images of Connal dying, the tears of Kegan, Hollick disappearing within Caer Glain, and Deirdre being tossed onto their campfire like a doll seared Bran like a cauterizing iron, bolstered his resolve, and lent him power he had never known.

Light shattered the night, intensifying, as blinding as the sun.

The bodach howled, pinned, screaming and thrashing from the onslaught. The shadow dissolved in the brightness, losing what corporeal form it had. Bran did not let up. He twisted Arondight deeper, its fire penetrating farther into the center of the creature, even as euphoria he had never before experienced but frightening in its delicious taste gripped him. Bran reveled in it—fierce glee at seeing the beast destroyed reinforcing his conviction.

Like a conduit, he sent his heart into Arondight.

The bodach shuddered, unable to flee, and in a final scream of unrequited rage disintegrated to ash.





“I will not continue to discuss this with you, Finn Arne,” Richard said angrily.

Deirdre listened to the knight argue with the other outworlders, but the pain racking her body sent darkness before her eyes as Bran cleaned her burnt back. Deirdre remained focused though. Finn Arne, the captain of the warriors, stared hard at Richard, his arms crossed, his one good eye appraising the knight. With the bodach dead, the soldiers now surrounded them, each one a bar in a new prison. The redhead should have been pleased by the death of the bodach. She knew they were lucky to be alive, and she had Finn Arne to thank for it.

But events had taken a turn for the worse, it appeared.

Snedeker sat in Deirdre’s hand, lending what sympathy he could, all the while giving the outworlders his darkest look. She didn’t know who they were but she knew for certain she didn’t like what they proposed.

“My orders are clear, McAllister.”

“Damn your orders then,” Richard said. “There is a great deal more going on here than you or your so-called superiors know. War has come. Not maybe. Not possibility. It is here now. I go to end it before it escalates into our world.”

“By traveling to Caer Llion, I know, I know,” Finn Arne said. “I still have orders.”

“Who sent you? The Cardinal Vicar?”

“It does not matter.”

“It does matter. Cormac O’Connor is only interested in attaining the services of the Heliwr, nothing more, nothing less,” Richard said. “He wanted the boy because Bran Ardall is the son of the last Heliwr, Charles Ardall. In the time since you tried to kill us, I—”

“I didn’t try to kill you.”

“I don’t care!” Richard said, cutting Arne off. “The point is…I am the Heliwr.”

Finn Arne frowned. “You are?”

Richard called the Dark Thorn. White light fell on Deirdre and the clearing. The soldiers raised their weapons but the knight ignored them. The staff shimmered darkly in the early dawn, the silver grains of the black wood catching the light and releasing it.

“You must have seen me wield it during the battle,” Richard said. “It wasn’t a trick. I will make a bargain with you, one we both will benefit from.”

“I am listening.”

“If you let us go, we will willingly return with you to Rome. Once we return from Caer Llion and destroy Philip and his ability to see into our world.”

“How do I know you don’t go to join him?”

Richard barked a laugh. “I go to kill him.”

“Who is the redhead?”

All eyes fell on Deirdre. She did not flinch. She had been surrounded by warriors all of her life, knew them as she knew herself, and despite their weaponry, those gathered were no different than any she had known.

“She is Deirdre Rhys, a lady of Annwn,” Richard replied. “She is our guide.”

“Is this true?” Finn Arne asked her.

“It is,” she said. “I go with the knights to watch over their mounts while they are within Caer Llion. If they went to join the enemy, they would have had no need for me. Nor would I be wasting my time.”

“What of my men?” Finn Arne asked finally. “I cannot bring my men into harm’s way. We are not to become involved in any direct confrontation here in Annwn.”

“I will tell you something, Shield of the Vatican, and you listen good,” Richard stated, his anger plain. “For you to not become involved is the real travesty. The Seelie Court gathers to the east, where the Forest of Dean covers the approach to Caer Llion. They do so to counter an army bred to destroy this world and our own, one filled with aberrations of nature more deadly than the Kreche you met in Seattle. It is you who should join that war, bring your firepower and training, to protect the last defense to our world.”

“It is not our place to become involved in the politics of Annwn,” Finn Arne said, although without the surety he previously possessed. “And what if my men and I don’t let you leave? We outnumber you.”

Richard let white flames run up and down the Dark Thorn.

“I will kill every one of your men,” the knight whispered, Deirdre barely able to hear. “You know how I feel toward your masters, toward your doctrine. I may not be able to kill you due to Prydwen, but your men are not so protected, are they? I will burn them away, your weapons and clothing away, and leave you naked as a jaybird. Then how easy will it be to bring young Ardall and myself to Rome, eh?”

Finn Arne and the knight stared one another down, neither giving way. Whether the knight would fulfill his promise and kill the warriors who surrounded them, Deirdre couldn’t tell. Richard clearly did not fear the captain. With Bran behind her and ready to protect Richard, they had far more power than their aggressors.

“You go to the east after you finish with Philip?” Finn Arne asked after much time had passed.

“Coming through the Rome portal and traveling across the south of Annwn, you must have witnessed the army amassing at Caer Llion.”

“I did.”

“Then you know what I speak to be true.”

“What does your wizard say about this?”

“I care not what he says, although we have not spoken since our battle in Seattle,” Richard replied. “Knowing him though, Merle probably has wheels within wheels turning right now that are changing how all of this is going to end up. The one thing I’ve learned is to not trust him and how he uses people around for his own benefit.”

“I don’t trust you any more than I trust your wizard,” the captain said. “I am not here to start or take part in a war. We are not equipped. I will wait for you to return, hold you to your oath, and take you back. If you do not keep your oath, I will rip Seattle apart to find you.”

Richard nodded.

At that, Finn Arne gave several orders to his men. They disappeared through the plains in the east as the sun just broke the horizon.

In minutes, they were gone.

Richard sighed and turned back to Deirdre and Bran.

“Bran, would you start packing the camp,” he requested. “We must leave here in all haste and gain Caer Llion by nightfall.”

Bran handed the damp cloth he had been using on Deirdre to Richard, giving the knight a dark look. Deirdre ignored the obvious animosity between them. Bran left to roll their beds and pack their things.

Richard sat down next to Deirdre and continued what Bran had begun.

“You risk infection,” Richard said flatly.

Deirdre grimaced as the knight cleaned her charred flesh. Her back and left arm were badly burned; the coals of the campfire had turned her skin to crimson and blackened wax. It could have been worse; the leather vest she wore had absorbed much of the fire.

It was clear, though, she needed weeks to recover from the injuries done her.

“You should go back,” Richard continued, dabbing brusquely.

“No,” Deirdre rasped. “No. I will see this through.”

“You are incredibly stubborn.”

Deirdre smiled through the pain. “I knew there was something you liked about me.”

Richard kept scowling, removing as much grit from her back as he could. She let him, happy for his attention. The heat of Richard sitting so close warmed Deirdre. She kept the growing feelings she had for the knight inside. It was difficult to do. From the moment she had sat at his bedside in the Cadarn, she knew he was the outworlder in her mother’s vision. It made no rational sense but there it was. He was strong, tempered by life, and intriguing. He was an unknown. While his past haunted him, he still possessed honor to see this business to its end. She had been with men, even thought she had been in love before, but nothing compared to this.

She thought back on the vision. It cooled her thoughts. The shade of her mother had said her future was intertwined with Philip Plantagenet. Knowing visions were riddles unexplained, she worried what the reality would be.

Especially given she traveled toward Philip willingly.

Lord Gerallt had been more supportive than her mother. Upon returning to Arendig Fawr, her father had seen the look in her eyes and knew she would never marry Plantagenet. He made the decision then to fight. Deirdre would aid the Morrigan while he returned to Mochdrev Reach to bolster what guard they had in the fight against Caer Llion.

He had no idea she had chosen to lead Richard and Bran.

“Damn creature,” Richard growled as he cleaned her arm. “Should have been more ready for this. I just didn’t imagine the beast could cross the distance from Caer Glain so quickly.”

“You could not have known, Rick,” Deirdre said softly, gritting her teeth. “A bodach is a formidable creature. Besides, I know this area and even I was misled. It is not your fault. That belongs to someone else.”

“Plantagenet,” he said. “At least it is gone.”

“Who were those men?”

“Trouble from our world. They are gone now though.”

“You have a knack for protecting us.”

“Juding by your back, not enough, apparently,” he said.

“I appreciate it,” Deirdre whispered. “And you.”

Richard did not respond, still focused intently on her arm. The two were mere inches apart. Deirdre had never wanted to reach out to someone more. The tickle of his shaggy hair on her bare shoulder. The musky odor of travel emanating from him. The act of his caring enough to see her wounds cleaned, to touch her. It all made him more desirable.

Before she knew it, Deirdre was leaning forward, seeking out his lips.

Richard gripped her stronger as she fell into him. Her lips brushed his briefly before he jerked back suddenly, obviously figuring out she did not faint from the pain but instead had other ideas. She looked deep into his eyes. He stared back. She saw the past and present of the knight mingle there and the former win.

“We must be going,” Richard said, standing.

“It will take us most of the day to cross the plains,” Deirdre said, cursing inwardly at her weakness and readjusting the remnants of her clothing. “We will be exposed unless we revisit the outer folds of Dryvyd Wood and take the long way.”

“Circling the plains will take us an additional day we cannot afford,” Richard said, looking away from her. “Best we get a move on.”

After Bran finished packing their bedrolls, Richard mounted Lyrian. Bran and Deirdre mounted their steeds as well, and together they rode through the bars of trees and into the plains beyond. The day had dawned as those before it, blue sky littered with tiny white clouds, the world heating as the sun climbed. Rolling grasses as tall as Willowyn’s legs swished around them, bleached golden by the hot summer. Tiny birds erupted from their business as the Rhedewyr startled them into the skies. On their distant left, the outline of short mountains sat on the horizon like bruised lumps; on their right, the green stain of the Dryvyd Wood grew, an invitation back to the place Deirdre had met Richard.

The day progressed and with it more pain. Even the memory of the brief kiss could not dampen Deirdre’s burns. With the last few trees long behind them though, a growing uneasiness also built up in her. She felt exposed, as if she were being watched. It was the first time she had been out in the open since actively choosing to defy Caer Llion and an uneasiness grew. Occasionally the group passed ruins of weathered stone foundations, Annwn slowly reclaiming the castles and keeps men or fey had built, but furtive movement caught her eye and disappeared just as quickly. Richard led, never looking back at her. Arrow Jack cruised high above them, ever vigilant, and Snedeker rode on her shoulder, still unsure of his new role as guide to the Heliwr.

Halfway through the day, after crossing the thin ribbon of the Tywi River, a dark stain filled the horizon, coming toward them from the south with an unsettling rapidity.

“What is that?” Bran asked.

“Deirdre?”

“I do not know,” she said. “Nothing Unseelie though, not in the daylight.”

As the mass grew near, swarming individuals became evident, some a hundred feet in the air, others hovering at the height of the grass.

“Fairies,” Richard said darkly.

“That is quite odd,” Snedeker noted.

“What do you mean?”

“What he means is what comes our way is a whole clan of fairies,” Deirdre said. “Something encroached upon their home to make them leave.”

“And they are obviously not afraid of us,” Richard observed.

The fairies drew closer and deviated from their path, slowing as they flew nearer to halt altogether before Richard and his companions—some settling to the grassy plains below, others continuing to hover high in the air as if on watch. Other than being of a similar size, they were not at all like Snedeker. Instead of twigs and leaves, the tiny newcomers appeared to be made from bits of the prairie, with bodies of straw, arms and legs of greener needle grass and plains flowers. Wings of incandescent gold held each fairy aloft.

One broke from the rest and flew straight for Richard.

“I am Richard McAllister,” the knight said, as the fairy stopped in the air.

“Grallic of the Grastolls.”

“Where do you go in such numbers, Grallic?”

“North, into territory less hostile,” the fairy answered in a dry voice. He had a short beard of grayish moss, and the wheat comprising his body was crinkled with age. “Where ‘tis safe.”

“Dark creatures roam the world,” Richard agreed.

“One was out here in the plains,” the fairy sniffed. “Scouts crossed it in the foothills as they sought a new home for my clan. ‘Tis now gone though.”

“Not gone. Slain!” Snedeker interrupted. “Killed by these knights here.”

“Knights?” Grallic asked, surprised. “I see no armor, no weapons of any kind except what the redheaded lady there carries.”

“A knight of a different sort,” Richard answered.

“That is well,” the fairy said. “Ye have an Oakwell with ye.”

“Snedeker is one of our guides.”

“Driven from his clan, more like,” Grallic snorted. “A fairy without a clan is a fairy who has betrayed his clan.”

“The fairy is of no consequence,” Richard asserted, cutting off what Snedeker was already beginning to say. “From where do you hail?”

“The area north of Caer Llion,” Grallic grumbled. “The plains are full of men, men with their iron and anger. They camped on our lands, unsettled our home, and we had no choice but to leave. Hidden we have remained for centuries but no longer. Now we flee for our lives.”

“How many men did you see?” Bran asked.

“Like the sea,” the fairy said. “Do not go that way. ‘Tis very dangerous.”

“A war comes to the land, one like none of us have ever seen,” Richard warned. “In a matter of days, if not sooner, the dying will replace the living. You are wise to leave.”

“Wisdom has nothing to do with it,” Grallic said. “Farewell to ye and yer clan.”

“And to you, Grallic of the Grastolls.”

Grallic gave Snedeker a dark look before flying around the Rhedewyr and heading toward the Carn Cavall. The swarm followed their leader. After a few moments, they vanished as though they never had been.

“What was that about, Snedeker?” Bran asked. “You told me the Firewillows came after you. You never told me why your clan kicked you out.”

The fairy crossed his arms and ignored the question.

“He has never told me either,” Deirdre said. “Says it is none of my business.”

“Pigcrack right, it’s not!” Snedeker shot back.

“I bet more than anything that this fairy deserved being kicked out of his clan,” Richard said. “Guide or no guide, sent by the Lady or not, when it is their neck on the line, a fairy will never do what is right or courageous. Remember that, Bran.”

Snedeker looked away into the distance, ignoring the knight.

Richard clicked Lyrian forward. The others followed. The plains grew humid as early afternoon pressed in. They passed down the length of the Tawy River, the waterway wider than the Tywi River but slower moving through the grasslands. The odors of the plains mixing with the musk of the horses settled in Deirdre’s nose. Sweat trickled into her clothing, uncomfortably, but it was the burn that worsened, the heat from the fire seared into her feverish body. She kept a wary eye on the horizon, dreading what it may bring. A sporadic crow or prairie falcon circled, the only life they had seen beyond the fairies.

Arrow Jack kept to himself, an untiring scout. As the day’s light purpled into sunset, the tall golden grass receded slowly and became greener, hearkening a new change to the land.

When the emerald smudge of Dryvyd Wood had devoured half the sun, Deirdre brought Willowyn alongside Lyrian.

“What is your world like, Rick?”

Richard raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “The only word I can think of is busy,” he answered. “It is filled with people rushing from home to work and back again. It isn’t like Annwn, where people live off of the land—maybe it used to be a thousand years ago, but no longer. Magic has no place there, as it so obviously does here, and machines are everywhere. Everything happens at such a fast pace that often people of my world don’t appreciate what they’ve just passed. People don’t believe in…any of this.” He waved his arm around. “Annwn is a myth only found in Arthurian tales and other such stories.”

“The Forever King,” Deirdre said. “Not a myth. We still recount the history behind his war with the Mordred, Medraut, and his other exploits in the Misty Isles. The people of your world seem to have a hard time believing things they cannot see.”

“Very true.”

“Sounds scary,” she said. “I could not live that way.”

“I used to be like them,” Richard said. “Before Myrddin Emrys ruined my life, I was a student at a university. He proved those legends to be all too true. Now a day doesn’t pass that I wish I could still be ignorant like the rest in my world.”

Deirdre turned away. “Do you have a…woman?”

Richard looked away, the line along his jaw hardening. “Once I did,” he said simply. “Long ago.”

“What happened to her?” she asked.

Richard ignored the question. Deirdre thought he was avoiding it—and maybe he was—until she realized his interest in the horizon. In the distance, a column of diffuse gray smoke broadened toward the cloudless sky. She knew what it likely signaled and its frightening import.

“What is it? A wildfire?” Bran questioned.

“No, a far worse animal,” Richard said. “See how the column has such a wide base?”

Bran nodded.

“That is smoke from hundreds of cook fires,” Deirdre said. “And thousands more men sitting around them.”

Arrow Jack cruised overhead, screeching, to land on a blasted tree in front of them.

Richard pointed out what the merlin warned. Just over the top of the plains, giant pointed structures of white, gold, and crimson erupted from the far-off line of emerald grass, their total height lost in the distance. They were the top of massive tents. War tents, Deirdre knew. The tents, coupled with the smoke, indicated what the Seelie Court and its allies were getting into.

“What are they for?” Bran asked.

“Tournament tents,” Deirdre replied. “For the games of jousting and arms Philip is fond of watching. It is how he picks his guard.”

“No longer,” Richard disagreed. “That time has come and gone. Philip has chosen his men and they now cover the plains, waiting for whatever he has planned. Smoke that thick only comes from an enormous host, and we must give it a wide berth.”

“If what you think is true and the numbers are that large, then Philip has amassed all of Annwn to Caer Llion,” Deirdre surmised. “They could not have come from southern Annwn alone. The men of the northern cities have joined him here. Philip must be planning a battle of epic proportions to empty his strongholds in the north.”

“Why no scouts?” Bran asked.

“You don’t need scouts when an army is as large as that one.” Richard squinted. “It seems we best turn westward.”

The tents faded from view as they headed for the border of Dryvyd Wood, avoiding the pillar of smoke. The last dregs of the day swathed them in stale light, and the promise of night solidified as they continued to ride south and west. Insects buzzed and sang to one another, an old song for a new night. Salted air like that found on the coast washed over them suddenly on a soft breeze, reminding Deirdre of trips to the ocean when her mother still lived. Stars twinkled into being. The coming night would be pleasant; it would help her forget the pain that ravaged every jostle upon Willowyn.

Regardless, she kept an eye to the east where the smoke faded into darkness; it was hard to believe a host as large and lethal as the one she knew existed waited mere miles away.

When they crested a rolling hill, even Deirdre, who had been raised around hosts of men, was ill prepared for the sight.

Caer Llion unfolded like a dark promise, a monolithic structure lording over the group from a purpling horizon. Dozens of towers stabbed the sky, connected by numerous parapets at varying levels, and a high wall as tall as Mochdrev Reach protected its innards, unyielding. Rectangles of yellow light flickered from top rooms, alive with inhabitants. At the castle’s base, a town of smaller buildings spread like beggars before a king, pushing up against the wall as if in need. To the north, hundreds and hundreds of giant campfires danced until they vanished over a rise where more assuredly awaited and each undoubtedly had dozens of men surrounding them. It was an awe-inspiring, terrible sight.

“Caer Llion,” Richard said.

“Now what?” Bran asked.

Richard dismounted. “Time we leave Deirdre. And time for me to find our way in.”

“How are you going to do that?” Deirdre asked.

“I am the Heliwr.”

“So?”

“Once, in the early days when Bran’s father was the Heliwr, a banshee slipped by me and into Seattle,” Richard said. “Charles found a patch of bare earth and jammed the Dark Thorn into it. After a few moments he came out of his reverie and knew the direction the woman had gone, up toward Capitol Hill. It didn’t take him long but he found her and ended her threat.” Richard paused. “I have that same power. To find things hidden from me. Like an entrance. Like a creature. Like an artifact. As long as they aren’t masked by magic. I only hope I am capable of doing it and that Philip has not guarded his entrances with spells.”

“At least we aren’t going through the front gate,” Bran mumbled. “That would seem to be pretty asinine, if I do say so.”

“I agree,” Deirdre said. “The front is no good.”

“Something else then,” Richard said. “If I find an entrance.”

“I am going with you, Heliwr,” Snedeker said.

“You cannot,” Richard responded. “Caer Llion has been warded by a series of curse tablet spells for centuries, placed at intervals in its walls. These won’t allow Tuatha de Dannan entrance. How do you think the fey folk haven’t been able to infiltrate and end the reign of the king? They can’t. The moment one does, Philip is alerted. So no, not going to happen, fairy.”

“Now, listen here, thornstick,” Snedeker said. “I do not pla—”

“We’ll be back soon,” Richard said to Deirdre, ignoring the fairy.

Conflicting emotions warred in Deirdre. A part of her wanted to go and aid the knights despite no one caring for the Rhedewyr. Another part of her knew she would be worthless as a companion due to her throbbing burn and fever that grew within her.

“Be quick,” she pleaded simply.

“Travel west to the outskirts of Dryvyd Wood. Hide just within the trees. It isn’t far. Care for the animals,” Richard said. “We won’t be long. Bran, with me.”

Bran gave Deirdre an encouraging smile before Richard traveled into the shadow toward the great castle, Arrow Jack disappearing in the distance with them. Soon Deirdre was alone with Snedeker to locate where their camp would be that night.

“You should have told me about guiding the Heliwr, Snedeker,” she said, still a bit rankled the fairy hadn’t shared everything.

“It felt…wrong, Red,” Snedeker said. “The Lady would not have approved.”

“So now you grow mindful of others’ feelings?”

Snedeker turned away from her, as he always did when he didn’t want to talk. Deirdre returned the favor. After a long walk she settled on a spot where several fir trees and mulberry bushes hid them from the plains. She cared for Willowyn and the others. She undid her bedroll. It would be a cool night, but she knew she couldn’t build a fire. With the stars winking overhead and Snedeker a faint outline on a branch above, Deirdre rolled into her bed the best she could given her wounds and stared up at the heavens.

“You like him a great deal, do you not?” the fairy said.

“Who?”

“The Heliwr. Richard McAllister. I have never seen you like this. You stare at him constantly. You act like you have never seen a man before.”

“I guess I like him. Yes. I do.”

“Ardall does not like that,” the fairy said. “Not one bit.”

“The boy is infatuated, nothing more.”

“Like you?”

Deirdre lay there, thinking. He had a point. She had tried to kiss Richard only to have him pull away. She had asked questions and received short answers. She had left her duty as lady of Mochdrev Reach in favor of helping Richard complete his role, and he hadn’t so much as asked or said thank you. Bran Ardall had called him a broken man; Deirdre had said he wouldn’t always be. Did she know that for sure? She could not help being drawn to him, but was it too much to hope that he would be whole again? What would it take for that to happen?

Could the shade of her mother have been wrong?

Could Deirdre?

“Red,” Snedeker hissed. “Listen.”

Deirdre broke her reverie, straining to hear what Snedeker did.

“I hear nothing,” she said.

Then she felt it. It wasn’t so much a sound as it was a periodic trembling in the ground. Something approached, something big, moving toward them from deep within the heart of the wild Dryvyd Forest. She got out of her bedroll and slid her sword free of its scabbard, backing against the tree Snedeker had taken as his bed. Long moments passed.

The shaking grew stronger until finally a rustle of limbs and movement gave way to reveal what approached. It stilled her breath. In the darkness she could just make out the outline of something mammoth, man shaped, far taller than she or any Fomorian she had seen, and as black as the night around it. Its features were hidden from her, the stars too weak, but the smell of fetid fish and oily tar came to her, pungent on the night air. Fear hammered through her veins but she held her ground, ready to give as good as she got.

“Lady Deirdre Rhys of Mochdrev Reach?”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Deirdre demanded, sword still held at the ready.

“We must speak, you and I,” the monstrosity rumbled gently. “And a fairer woman to talk with I have not met. The stars have aligned this night and I will certainly make the most of it.”

Deirdre already liked the newcomer.

“Why must we speak?”

“First, put that pig sticker away,” the hulk said. “Before I take it from you and make a beautiful woman look quite a fool.”