The Dark Thorn (26 page)

“Lord Caswallawn, your rancor is on your breath,” the Queen quipped angrily. “Still your tongue. You dishonor my guests.”

Caswallawn fell silent under her icy gaze.

“Why have you gathered us, Queen?” Lord Finnbhennach asked.

“There are events transpiring none of us can ignore. That
I
cannot ignore,” the Morrigan replied, touching each person in the room with her eyes. “We have been at war now for eight centuries, longer if you consider our last days in the Misty Isles. Slowly we have lost our place in Annwn and every day we retreat further—retreat from what we are. Philip Plantagenet controls more than just land; he controls our very lives.

“Mastersmith Govannon is right,” she continued. “The Court is fractured, weakened. Every sunrise our enemy grows stronger and we remain unchanged, unable to form a cohesive battle against Caer Llion. In time, far sooner than later, our Court will be ferreted out, and when that happens, each of our peoples will die in succession.” She paused, her features cold and certain. “Unless we of the Seelie Court unite—and attack.”

“Under the Rhyfel Banner,” Lord Eigion said.

“Finally,” Caswallawn mumbled, sitting straighter.

“Pardon me, Queen, but is that not an impossibility?” the human man appealed, scratching his red beard. “I know I lack the experience the rest of you possess—being human without an immortal life has that disadvantage—but the Seelie Court has been undone for millennia. By your own admission we lack the might of Lords Fafnir and Latobius. Not to mention that of Lord Gwawl and others who flocked to Philip. How can the Seelie Court raise a banner of war without them?”

“The threat of Caer Llion grows, Lord Gerallt,” the Morrigan addressed the room. “You know this as well as I. Philip and John Lewis Hugo move new pieces upon the gwyddebwyll board, pieces never before seen. Lords once friends are gathering at Caer Llion, their might added to the Templar Knights for purposes not entirely clear. Lord Gerallt has the right of it though; this will not be the Seelie Court of old. Too many seats here are empty. We will therefore leverage the new pieces delivered to
us
, with hope of renewing the Seelie Court and countering the dark elements set in motion against us.”

“Queen, why did we not do this a decade ago? A century ago?” n’Hagr rumbled.

“Lord Finnbhennach,” the Morrigan gestured. “If you please.”

The horned man grabbed a canvas sack from behind his seat and withdrew a limp carcass as black as pitch. The dead creature was that of a lynx, tawny muscle beneath shiny fur—but all resemblance to the cat ended there. Where four paws should have been, large talons like those of a bird sprouted; instead of a whiskered feline face it had the head of an eagle, its beak sharp even in death. With a long wingspan of sable feathers dangling freely from its upper shoulder blades, Lord Finnbhennach tossed the halfbreed on the Cylch Table with disgust.

“Lords, take a long look,” the Morrigan requested.

“What is it?” Aife asked.

Lugh leaned forward. “Some aberration of nature?”

“Worse,” Richard said, breaking his silence. “Far worse.”

The table turned to the knight. He stared back, unperturbed by the attention.

“You have the right of it, Knight Richard McAllister,” the Queen said. “It is a new fey halfbreed, a cross between cliff eagles and highland cait sith.”

“Like small griffins?” Lord Gerallt said.

“Aye, griffins,” Lord Finnbhennach agreed. “With some dark art, Caer Llion has bred these foul creatures. Like rutting cats, they multiply at an astonishing rate. In the skies they are like swallows, blotting out even the noonday sky, deadly. I lost an entire herd of my best cattle to these.” The lord pounded the table with a massive fist in emphasis. “
My best cattle!
Meat and milk for some of you here. Nothing but strewn skeletons, picked clean.”

“I do not see the link between the halfbreed and Caer Llion,” Lord Eigion said, gesturing mildly with a webbed hand. “We know nothing at all.”

“We know Philip is involved,” Richard countered.

“How, knight?” the merrow asked.

Richard looked to the Morrigan who nodded back. “When Bran Ardall and I came through the portal into Dryvyd Wood, we were met by unwelcome company. The Usurper sent his advisor, witch, and houndmaster to capture us, but he also sent some kind of halfbreeds—part wolves, part human. You know how difficult it is for these types of creatures to mate naturally and survive—only a handful have ever done it. If Philip has managed to produce these demon wolves, this griffin is more than likely his as well.”

“I killed more than three dozen demon wolves freeing our guests,” the Queen admitted. “They did not die easily. They are unlike anything I have seen.”

“Then we should attack them now, end this threat,” Caswallawn maintained.

“There is more, Lord Caswallawn,” the Morrigan said.

“There is,” Lord Finnbhennach continued. “The Usurper is drawing all possible resources to Caer Llion—grain, fruit, weapons, men, other supplies. My scouts watch day and night, and every day there is more to fear.”

“The High King requested a marriage alliance with Mochdrev Reach, where my daughter Deirdre and I hail,” Lord Gerallt said. “Plantagenet is indeed drawing what might he can to Caer Llion. I can only assume it is to move against you all here.”

“Lord Gerallt and Lady Deirdre are here offering their support if we rally our own,” the Morrigan said, nodding to them. “There is goodness in human hearts yet.”

“Philip is planning something large,” Deirdre confirmed.

“What that something is, Lady Deirdre, we do not know,” the Morrigan added. “But if the lord of Caer Llion intends to escalate the assault on the Tuatha de Dannan, our survival might depend on gathering what remains of the Seelie Court and countering him as soon as possible.”

“Lord Fafnir and Lord Latobius will not support that,” Lugh said.

“Without their might, we risk annihilation,” the Queen agreed.

“If they did not heed the summons…?”

“They will,” the Morrigan said. “Sitting to my left is Richard McAllister, knight of the Dryvyd Wood gateway and friend to the Seelie Court. With him is Bran Ardall, the scion of Charles Ardall, the last Heliwr. They entered Annwn with the intent to discover who tried to kill young Ardall in his native city by an assassin cu sith, only to become prisoners of John Lewis Hugo. There is more to this than I can see, events that do not mesh with what we know to be true; our visitors are intertwined in this madness as we are and have just as much to lose.

“As already observed, both Lord Fafnir and Lord Latobius have chosen to disregard the summons I sent them,” the Morrigan continued. “It will take an actual visit from a source both of the wayward lords respect to realize the error of their dismissal; it will take a strong voice to persuade Lord Latobius and especially Lord Fafnir of our mutual enemy—to convince them to leave their mountaintop dens and mobilize for war.”

“Who will go then?” Govannon questioned. “If not you, my Queen.”

“I have chosen McAllister to do what I could not.”

The Lords of the Seelie Court looked at each other and at Richard. No one spoke.

“Will you do this thing I ask of you, knight?” the Queen asked.

Richard met her stern gaze. He had known the Morrigan planned to use him in some way, the request he attend the meeting nonnegotiable. What the Queen of the Tuatha de Dannan advocated made sense; Knights of the Seven held noble status among the Seelie Court and would be given opportunities others would not. No matter how much he wished to walk away from the madness, a part of his heart beat to maintain his knighthood and duty. He may have never met the lords in question—only read about them in ancient books Merle kept safe—but what he knew put him in a strong position. At the very least, the coblynau of Caer Glain would respect Arondight for its past.

If he succeeded, the prospect of gaining a favor from the Queen could not be ignored.

“I will do as you command, Queen.”

“And young Ardall?” she said, looking at the boy. “What of you?”

Richard beheld Bran. Uncertainty deadened the eyes of the boy. It was a choice Bran had to make on his own, one the knight would not influence.

“Home is not an option, is it?” Bran asked Richard.

“It is if you wish to put yourself at risk,” Richard replied quietly. “I may not want you intertwined with what lies in that box, but what Merle said in Seattle is true. Whoever wants you dead will try until it is done.”

Bran stared at the dead griffin on the table before looking to the daughter of Lord Gerallt. Richard did not like the look. The boy truly had gotten himself into more trouble than he’d be able to handle if he had become infatuated with the lady of Mochdrev Reach.

When Richard glanced at her, he was surprised to find Deirdre had eyes only for him.

“I go where Richard goes,” Bran said simply.

“I have every faith Richard and Ardall will return the two Lords of Snowdon to Arendig Fawr along with all the might of the coblynau and dragons,” the Morrigan submitted. “The Seelie Court will be strong once more. Lugh will accompany the knight and his charge on their journey, choosing six warriors from the Long Hand for protection and answering any battle preparation questions Lord Fafnir or Lord Latobius may have. Kegan and one of his sons will share responsibility for the Rhedewyr mounts needed for the trip.”

“See to it, Lord Lugh, the Rhedewyr are not ridden to their deaths,” Aife said with threatening scorn. “Sacrifice them to gain Tal Ebolyon like you did last year at Caer Vyrridin, and I will not be pleased.”

“I will ride them as I deem fit,” Lugh said coldly. “You command me not.”

“If it means regaining my kingdom all the quicker, then let nothing stand in our way—including how we ride the Rhedewyr,” Caswallawn growled. “They will live. This is war!”

“Revenge clouds your judgment,
Lord
Caswallawn, as does Govannon’s ale,” Aife said, flushing with ire.

Caswallawn stood, as did Lugh, lightning in their eyes.

“All Horsemaster Aife requests is to ride the Rhedewyr with care,” n’Hagr growled.

“What do you know of restraint when you fish the ocean dead, n’Hagr,” Lord Eigion spat, his gills flaring pink in anger.

The room erupted into chaos. Each lord other than Govannon and Kegan were screaming at one another, pointing fingers, gesturing wildly. Richard looked to the Queen for guidance but she sat impervious on her throne, watching the bickering with cold eyes. Beyond her taut, pale features sadness emanated, centuries of worry weighing down the long-lived fey woman.

It became obvious it would take more than the Snowdon lords to unite the Seelie Court.

“Listen to yourselves!” Bran thundered.

The chamber emptied of noise, all eyes turned to the boy.

“You face death and you yell at one another?!” Bran roared, eyes flashing.

“Speak not of what you do not know,
lad
,” Caswallawn said, loathing twisting his soured cheeks. “Son of Ardall or not, you know nothing of us, of our trials. I lost my kingdom, my
people
, and all that I am to one such as you. For centuries I have waited for the opportunity to strike back at the outworlders. Now is the time, and sacrifices must be made!”

“Easy for you to say, someone who has nothing to sacrifice!” Aife shouted.

“I know petty bickering when I hear it,” Bran shot back. “I may not know you but that much I know.”

“Then you know
nothing
,” Caswallawn snarled.

“I’m surprised you know
anything
, other than the bottom of a beer keg.”

The room went deathly still. Tension tightened about everyone like a noose. Richard placed a steadying hand on Bran’s forearm while shielding him from any possible harm.

“Insolent
fool
!” Caswallawn hissed. “How dare—”

“Sit
down
, Caswallawn,” the Morrigan roared, her fairies fluttering behind.

“Bran Ardall is right,” Richard said, his hard eyes warning Caswallawn away. “None of you have the right to demand anything from one another. What you face is far more dire than the seeds of these arguments.” Richard turned to Aife. “Horsemaster, the clurichaun and I will ensure the Rhedewyr are kept sound. Of that I promise.”

“You are going to pin all of our hopes on these
outworlders
?” Cawallawn spat.

“There will be much to sacrifice,” the Morrigan interceded. “From all of you. For you, Caswallawn, I demand patience. Not all outworlders are thieves of lives like Philip, just as not all drunks are wise.”

Color drained from Caswallawn and he sat down.

“And what of the other knights?” Govannon asked. “Are they able to help?”

Richard pursed his lips. “They cannot. I will speak to them once we finish here, to warn them of what is coming. They fulfill the role handed them, guarding the portals with their lives. To leave their post and come here would leave the portals undefended.”

“But you are here,” Lord Gerallt pointed out.

“The portal is guarded, by one more than a match for anything to come through it,” Richard said. “Bran Ardall can attest to that.”

“And of Myrddin Emrys?” Lord Eigion inquired.

“He is weak,” Caswallawn scoffed. “Powerless.”

“Of that, Caswallawn is correct,” Richard agreed. “The wizard is as he has been for centuries—unable to perform even the smallest aspect of his craft. If he attempted magic, he very well could lose control unleashing dire consequences for the world. He cannot help in this.”

Silence pervaded the chamber. The uneasy truce between the lords lingered.

“It is settled,” the Morrigan said, rising from the Sarn Throne with elegant resolve. “On the morrow, Lord Lugh will lead Richard McAllister into the Snowdon, to speak with Caer Glain and Tal Ebolyon. With the sun you will leave Arendig Fawr and return the Seelie Court to its former prominence. Caer Llion will feel the might of our resolve once more. Please gather what might remains in each of you; McAllister will not fail us, and the need to move quickly once he returns will be tantamount.”