“That tittweak smelled of wanton power.”
Charles said nothing more, thinking on what had just happened. Berrytrill gave the knight a frown but flew ahead. Climbing up through the catacombs, the Dark Thorn held before him, Charles cursed the situation. Myrddin Emrys. Some days, the knight reviled the name. For the wizard to share his concern and the truth so openly meant his auguries were nearly split. The day could be won; the day could be lost with his death. There was no way of knowing which.
That wasn’t what bothered Charles though. He had accepted his knighthood and its danger. His wife knew the risks as well. The unborn child she carried did not, though, and the fact that Merle had already seen a future where that child played an integral part in the wizard’s machinations left Charles more than unsettled. It left him frightened—and angry—of what else he didn’t know.
Could he fulfill his duty as Heliwr safely? Ensure his child had a father? And teach that child to be wary of Merle? Or was it time to step down from his role as the unfettered knight?
No answers were forthcoming.
Eventually Charles came to a fork in the tunnel. Berrytrill, guiding the Heliwr, nodded and flew ahead. Charles knew the subterranean depths better than most alive and had been here twice before on hunt. His guide had too. The first time, a leprechaun had managed to trick Bruno and invaded the Vatican just to drink ale on Church grounds—an outrageous blasphemy to the Vigilo but great fun for the fey creature. During the second incursion, a troll with fists the size of cinder blocks had battled its way destructively upward into the Sistine Chapel.
Both times, Charles had saved the Vatican and kept his world ignorant about the Tuatha de Dannan. That was the role Merle had bequeathed him.
Now something far more dangerous called his attention.
He had taken several different passages, following the path the Dark Thorn had shown him, when his sixth sense blared in warning.
“Wait!” Berrytrill screamed at the same time.
The warnings came too late.
Behind large sarcophagi interred in the walls, two vampires leapt from the shadows upon Charles, teeth bared and powerful grips forcing him down.
The knight barely had time to react. The magic of the Dark Thorn burst from him like a solar flare, driven by the adrenaline of fear and surprise, the power from two worlds infusing his entire being. The white fire flung the vampires aside like rag dolls, slamming both against the tunnel walls. They did not stay down long. Even as Charles fought to regain his balance to counter the threat, they were already on him again, one trying to gain his neck through sheer force and the other attempting to wrest the Dark Thorn from his grip.
Even with the staff’s power lending him more than mortal strength, the vampires were stronger, stronger than anything Charles had encountered. He had become the prey.
All would have been lost if not for Berrytrill. The fairy zoomed out of the darkness, yelling the battle cry of his clan. He attacked the vampire grappling for Charles’s neck, ripping dust out of the tiny pouch on his back and throwing it upon the undead horror.
The silver dust fell upon its face and golden daylight erupted. The creature screamed, falling back and pawing at its former face, the radiance blinding and flames licking its pale, dissolving skin.
“Now, Charles!”
Sudden half-freedom bolstering his desperation, the Heliwr rammed the other vampire against the wall. Rib bones shattered. Snarling in pain, the creature lost its grip on the Dark Thorn but fought to grasp Charles anew. He did not let it. He clubbed the vampire across the face, driving it to its knees, and in one fluid motion swung the staff like a sickle at the other vampire.
The butt of the Dark Thorn penetrated its chest, killing heart and life.
Years of battle training coming to his aid, Charles yanked the Dark Thorn clear of the dead undead and spun to confront his last enemy. It didn’t matter. With broken bones and a jaw that hung awkwardly to one side from the strike Charles had delivered, the vampire had not moved from where it had slumped to the catacomb floor. Beaten, Charles thought. Berrytrill hovered nearby, fists full of silver dust if needed. It wouldn’t be. The creature from Annwn looked up at the knight, a broken thing, the hatred filling its eyes the only lively aspect about it.
“Geht et ovah wit, knight,” the vampire mumbled, barely able to speak.
“That’s what I do,” Charles said coldly. Without waiting for a reply, the Heliwr drove the Dark Thorn through the vampire’s chest like a stake.
The creature died with a hollow gasp.
“Thought you were done for,” Berrytrill said.
“No time for applause,” Charles said, catching his breath. He gave the fairy a dark look. “Don’t let that happen again, Trill.”