The Dark Thorn (18 page)

Dryvyd Wood fell away as did Bran’s yelling.

A beast broke through his defenses to slash at his exposed side, its claws burying deep.

With a howl of fury and pain, Richard split the creature in two. Black blood showered the air, the demon wolf’s cleaved halves hitting the ground.

More beasts gathered beyond the carcass-ridden ground, waiting to attack.

“Lord Gwawl!” John Lewis Hugo commanded.

The beasts came again. This time Gwawl commanded Sanddev to lead his warriors alongside the onslaught of blackened razor-sharp teeth and claws. Concealing his grin at the opportunity given him, Richard swiped the air with Arondight anew, the flames leaping off the blade in thick spurts that shot at the legs of the attackers. The beasts and horses leapt aside.

It was what Richard wanted. The knight sent his power between them, driving them to alter the path of their attack—to slam against the tree trunks, limbs, and roots of Dryvyd Wood.

The forest exploded.

The trees, so packed together, came alive, snatching whatever intrusion awakened them. The demon wolves came on; the horses screamed in terror. Limbs shot out like lightning to wrap about the struggling twisted limbs and legs they encountered, squeezing with intensity born of wood and sap. The warriors struggled to get free, hacking at the limbs in horror, but for each one cut free several more took its place. Panic ensued. The roots greedily bore their captives into the black soil, men, horses, and demon wolves stuffed beneath the ground—some already dead, most suffocating as dirt choked their screams away.

One of the last caught, Sanddev slid into his grave, screaming incoherently for aid. He disappeared in moments.

John Lewis Hugo and Gwawl yelled orders at the remaining panicked men. The demon wolves milled about, unsure what to do.

“Keep bringing your pets to me!” Richard shouted. “They die!”

“Like Elizabeth McAllister?” John Lewis Hugo returned at a distance, his voice oily. “Without a
real
man to protect her.”

“What did you say?” the knight hissed ferociously.

“Your dead wife!” John Lewis Hugo yelled. “Or have you forgotten her already?”

Disbelief and anger filled Richard. The past he so wished he could forget came to the fore. He stepped ahead, leaving Bran against the granite outcropping, his rage pushing him to destroy the dozens of enemies between the two men.

Arondight winked out of existence.

Richard fought to reclaim the blade but it was too late. Maddened by the pain inflicted upon them and driven into motion by the disappearance of Arondight, the beasts flew forward in a frenzied rush, bounding between the animated trees to come straight at the knight. Richard charged forward, his anger overwhelming his faith and sense, until ice from the Cailleach pelted him backward.

He brought his arms up to ward off the frozen assault of the witch—just as the hideous things swarmed him.

Richard spun like a top and crashed into Bran before righting himself, dozens of shredded holes in his clothing and mewling bodies upon his back.

The knight locked eyes with Bran.

Revenge left as the knight knew he had to protect the boy. Arondight answered his call again, flames chasing its length. With a heave of desperation, the knight threw off his assailants, blasting the demon wolves still on him and around him, pushing them back. Fire hurtled from the sword in a concentrated arc, setting fire to wolves, horses, and the Templar Knights who fought to enter the fray.

A sudden hole of possible freedom opened.

“Run!” Richard screamed.

Bran whirled to flee. He vaulted over the charred bodies of blasted men and animals, given an advantage by the consuming chaos. He was through the gap in a moment, tearing across the hillside with Richard a step behind, the angry shouts of pursuit quickened.

“Where?” Bran cried.

“Anywhere,” the knight shouted. “Just keep running, no matter what.”

Dryvyd Wood passed in a blur. Guttural growls chased them. Richard ran all out, ignoring his wounds and not looking back, keeping away from the trees. Terror gave him powerful strides, enough heart to take him back to the portal.

Before he knew it, claws clamped over his legs.

Cradling Arondight, Richard went down into the forest mulch.

As the knight blasted the demon wolf off of him, Bran was there, his face ashen. Grabbing Richard’s bloody arm and torso, the boy hauled the man to his feet and forced him to stumble away. Richard felt his adrenaline fading to haziness. Behind them demon wolves and Templars tore toward them, mere yards away.

“Go!” Richard roared, pushing Bran.

It was too late. In moments, Templar Knights circled the companions. The remaining demon wolves slinked across the ground, madness distorting the once human and wolf faces, but they did not attack.

Weakness stealing over him, Richard fought the darkness. It was inevitable. The fight would be over soon.

No longer able to will it into being, Arondight vanished.

“Richard!” Bran screamed.

Richard tried to stand but couldn’t.

“It is over, McAllister,” John Lewis Hugo condemned from the safety of his steed.

Breathing hard and weakened by loss of blood, Richard watched Bran pull a brown wooden box from his pant pocket. The knight thought he should know what the box signified but understanding had fled him like his wits. It didn’t matter anyway. Before Bran could do anything with it, the beasts swarmed them, the demon wolves’ eyes shining as they gripped him and Bran in bands of iron.

The black angular bodies bore Richard down like a wave.

The new day brought Bran cramped muscles, the odor of fresh horse dung, and a headache as strong as the leather bonds handcuffing him.

He stirred from false sleep, the nightlong pain racking his body heralding the morning. Around him the camp awakened, warriors rising to gather their bedrolls and possessions, preparing to leave. Bran took small note of the activity, the misery of being shackled to a pole for the night foremost in his thoughts. Other than his pack and coat being taken from him, Bran had not been touched; John Lewis Hugo had ordered his men to ignore the two prisoners under penalty of death.

Now with the golden aura of the rising sun spreading through the forest, Bran wondered anew what he had gotten himself into.

He looked over at Richard. The knight lay nearby where the giant had dropped him, similarly bound but unconscious, his bloody clothing hiding the wounds beneath. Richard breathed shallow, and it was harder for Bran to discern than the night before.

Trying to relieve a throbbing ache near his groin, Bran shifted his weight around on the pole. It didn’t help. Ever since the demon wolves had swarmed him, the pain had intensified.

Worried he was wounded, Bran looked down.

As before, there was nothing amiss.

“Awake, are we.”

Bran twisted to see John Lewis Hugo staring down at him.

“You know,” the leader said. “None of this would be necessary if I felt you would listen to truth and not flee. Your knight lies there. Dying. Broken. Why? Because centuries of lies precede this moment.”

Bran ignored him as he had the previous night.

“Still stubborn, I see,” John Lewis Hugo observed. “It is common in your world, from what I understand. The knight and his wizard in particular. Fools. Made a fool out of you also, did they not? They fail to tell you all. Does that not anger you?”

Bran turned away. The man echoed Richard’s warnings.

“That’s right,” John Lewis Hugo continued. “I see you know of what I speak. Myrddin Emrys hides much. There are factions everywhere, each trying to gain the advantage. The wizard represents one such group and he meddles, twists lies to truths to achieve an agenda. What does the wizard know of this world?”

“He says your king is a tyrant,” Bran said finally.

“And Myrddin is so wise, having not visited Annwn in centuries?”

Bran didn’t know what to say. Merle had coerced Bran to enter Annwn and yet had not come, his intentions riddled with mystery. Merle had also left Bran with a knight incapable of maintaining his power. It raised questions he did not have the answers for.

“I know you feel gratitude toward Myrddin Emrys,” John Lewis Hugo said. “It is only natural given your situation.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Everything,” John Lewis Hugo said. “Those who are lost can be found. Those who desire a path have it offered. There are those who ensure the sheep are shepherded by sheer will. Philip Plantagenet is one such shepherd. You are too if we have surmised rightly, if you are given the chance of course. The High King extends his welcome to you and offers a place at his side. No more sleeping out in the open; no more worrying about when your next meal will take place.”

Bran flushed angrily. “You have been spying on me.”

“We leave nothing to chance, Bran Ardall.”

“If that is true, then why try to kill me?”

“Is that what the knight and his master told you?” John Lewis Hugo clucked. “Do not be so quick to trust McAllister. He has failed a great many times in his life. Care he does not fail you.”

“I’m here because a cu sith attacked me,” Bran said. “I wanted answers.”

“I know not of what you speak,” the deformed man said. “If you were attacked at some point, I surely do not know from what quarter. We have watched you but nothing more. You were not harmed yesterday even by the demon wolves. Think on it. How can that be, if I wished you dead?”

“If this isn’t about me, then let me go.”

“I could,” John Lewis Hugo answered. “But my king commands your presence, and I do not trust you to not flee out of ignorance. You therefore are an enigma, but one the High King believes can serve a purpose.”

“And what would that be?” Bran asked darkly.

“That is for him to explain,” John Lewis Hugo answered before rising and leaving.

As the scarred man barked further orders, Bran looked to Richard. The knight lay unmoved, broken, the physical damage minor compared to that within. John Lewis Hugo had used Richard’s painful past to an advantage. At one time, Richard had a wife. She had been killed. That death was tied to the knight in some way. Bran did not know more than that. Yet Richard distrusted Merle just as John Lewis Hugo and his king did. Could Bran be on the wrong side of things? Or did the severely scarred advisor weave lies to suit his agenda?

Like his cramped muscles, the questions would not leave him.

The group broke camp. After the giants picked up the poles bearing the fettered prisoners, John Lewis Hugo traveled east through the new morning. The Templar Knights and remaining men led by Lord Gwawl surrounded Bran and Richard, their eyes hard and proud. The houndmaster scouted far ahead with his canines while the Cailleach remained behind to maintain control over the demon wolves that brought up the rear. The ache from being carried like a slung pig grew worse as the day progressed, the swaying motion tightening his bonds to agony. The dawn stretched to mid-morning as the forest thinned, the larger oak and maple trees giving way to beech and alder. Through breaks in the woodland, Bran caught glimpses of rolling verdant hills broken with white eruptions of granite, the stone like shattered bones through emerald skin. Atop one of the higher hillocks, the ruins of what had once been a great castle stood, its walls, towers, and buildings crumbled beneath the onslaught of time. It looked like one of the paintings Merle had in his bookstore, a remnant from an age long past.

Bran wondered why John Lewis Hugo led them within the shadows of the forest when it would have been easier and quicker traveling out on the plain.

He found his gaze focused on the mounted Evinnysan.

“Boy, do not look at me so,” Evinnysan growled, his green eyes flashing hatred. “Or I’ll shove this here sword up your cave.”

The men around him laughed, mean glee in their eyes.

Richard moaned then, his eyelids fluttering.

“Give him aid!” Bran pleaded.

“Why ever would I want to do something that helpful?” John Lewis Hugo replied. “You should be thankful the High King has not thrown you in with the knight’s lot.”

Lord Gwawl frowned. “Was the knight meant to not be—?”

“Harmed?” John Lewis Hugo finished. “No, no he wasn’t. But not everything goes to plan. I will explain this to the king. None of you will be culpable.” He stared at each man around him. “But the boy must go to Caer Llion—unharmed.”

Bran turned from the mocking stare of Lord Gwawl.

“My Lord,” Gwawl continued. “The wolf things you brought…”

“Ahh yes, the demon wolves,” John Lewis Hugo intoned. “They are terrifying, a small part of a much larger force. If you are worried about your men fearing or spreading rumors, let them. It might make them sharper than they were yesterday.”

“I think—”

“
That
is your problem right there, Gwawl,” John Lewis Hugo said angrily. “You think too much.”

“You sent my men to die in that cursed forest,” Gwawl countered, before spitting on the ground. “While the Red Crosses of Caer Llion watched from safety.”