The Dark Thorn (53 page)

Embarrassment overrode her anger, but only for a moment.

“Would he tell you to protect the many?” Lord Gerallt continued. “Or do what made you happy?”

“He would never advocate being untrue to myself.”

“Are you sure?” he asked sadly. “Why do you think he is so dark, Deirdre? I know his kind, all too well. Men become like him by betraying the deepest chambers of their hearts with selfishness. He is ashamed of his life in some way.” He paused. “I did not want to be like McAllister, to destroy a part of myself or the love I have for you. Guilt will follow me to the end of my days, despite not fulfilling my oath to Caer Llion. For that, I apologize, and shall be judged accordingly in the afterlife. It is McAllister’s role to give up his life to protect the lives of millions between our two worlds. I am sure he would tell you to do the noble thing as well.”

The knight would at that, no matter how much it galled her.

“I know why you did it, even if I do not agree,” Deirdre said. “I guess we both have lied to one another these last days.”

“Your mother had a saying,” he said. “‘Forgive love its transgressions, for it forgives just as readily.’”

Deirdre nodded. “I like it.”

“As do I.”

Missing her mother terribly at that moment, Deirdre looked around the tent, the realization of what was to come settling on her like heavy armor. Preparations for battle were everywhere. On the morrow, death would come to many within the Forest of Dean. Centuries of tension would bleed upon the field. Coldness settled in her belly. She fought its uncertainty.

“Tomorrow I want you to not be involved in the battle,” Lord Gerallt said as if reading her thoughts.

“I
will
be part of the fight,” she stated adamantly.

“I thought you might say that. Stubborn like your father,” Lord Gerallt said as he walked around the table to stand before her. He gripped her hands warmly but the smile he often displayed was buried beneath the gravity of his words. “I must further complete my knowledge of the Morrigan’s battle plans but, before you go, know that I love you. You have been strong for a great many. Tomorrow will not be pleasant. Come what may and despite our decisions, we are still bound by love. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I already have, father,” she said, giving him a kiss.

“Keep that fairy out of trouble,” he said, his smile finally returned.

She returned it. “I will try.”

Lord Gerallt nodded, and after asking the hellyll to return, continued his study of the maps and the fey techniques for battle.

Deirdre left to care for Willowyn.

After preparing Willowyn and several other Rhedewyr mounts for the next day’s war, Deirdre walked through the moonlight to find Richard.

The sun had long since set, the members of the Seelie Court adjourning to their own areas. It was an army larger than any she had seen in her life; many of the Tuatha de Dannan could not sleep, still roaming the Forest of Dean in nervous anticipation. Deirdre felt the same way. With Snedeker flying ahead of her, she navigated clurichauns, spriggans, cait siths, and other fey in search of the Heliwr, hoping to see him one last time before conflict tore them apart.

After Lugh of the Long Hand pointed out the direction Richard had gone, she found him alone in a glen, just east of the army. It didn’t take long. An ink stain in the shadows, he leaned against an enormous fir tree, looking upward through a break in the canopy at the stars.

She approached on silent feet, unsure of what to say.

“You should not have found me,” Richard said, turning, wearing new clothing. “Your father needs you right now more than he ever has.”

“That may be,” she said defiantly. “Snedeker wishes to speak to you though.”

Richard followed her gaze to the fairy who flew to hover before the knight.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Snedeker folded his arms, staring directly at the knight, his wings a blur in the silver moonlight. “The Lady requested I be your guide,” he said.

“Yes. I know that, fairy.”

“Look, let us cut the tail off the cat as my gramps used to say,” Snedeker sneered, pointing at Richard. “I gave my promise to the Lady I would guide you in your duty. You do remember what duty is, right?”

Richard studied the fey creature darkly. “That tongue will be your death one day, Snedeker.”

“As long as it is not tomorrow. I want to talk abo—”

“Being my guide as the Lady ordained, I know,” Richard interrupted. “Then do your job.”

Snedeker looked confused. “But I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“It is not
my
role to make you fulfill
your
role,” Richard pointed out. “Watch my back tomorrow and do what I tell you, and maybe you will impress me. You can prove yourself that way.”

Snedeker nodded.

“Tomorrow we hunt John Lewis Hugo,” the knight continued. “You will be my eyes above the battle. Together we will find him. And kill him.”

“What of Philip Plantagenet?” Deirdre asked, thinking it odd Richard failed to mention the Usurper in his plans. “Would he not be a better target?”

“Philip will meet his end. John Lewis Hugo is the one I want. In this my guide can prove his worth if he has the courage,” Richard said. He then eyed the fairy. “Leave us now, Snedeker. Wait for my return in the Morrigan’s camp tonight.”

Snedeker gave Deirdre an inquisitive look before darting through the night back toward the camp.

In a moment he had vanished.

“I meant what I said,” Richard said. “You should not be here.”

“It makes you…uncomfortable,” she said, moving to stand before him.

“It does.”

“Because you care for me?” she asked, staring into his eyes.

“Not the way you want.”

Deirdre found herself looking at her boots, thinking about the failed kiss. Richard said nothing either. The night shrunk around them, the moonlight highlighting the tension on their faces. She thought about her mother and her assertion Deirdre would meet the love of her life soon. What she felt for Richard was strong, his life intriguing, the depth of his soul a mystery. Even now she wanted to reach out, to lessen his pain, to find peace for him in their sharing.

“What happened to you?” she asked finally. “My father says only a man who regrets what he has done can have so much pain.”

“You don’t really want to know, lady of Mochdrev Reach.”

“I do,” she pressed.

The night seemed to coalesce around Richard, the darkness under his eyes growing, the sorrow permeating every line of his face. The stars moved overhead as time passed. Deirdre waited, knowing if she said anything he might run.

“My wife was an amazing woman. I killed her,” Richard stated flatly. “When I was in Caer Llion, John Lewis Hugo revealed the role he played in that murder. Tomorrow I plan on correcting it.”

“You did not really kill her?” Deirdre prodded, hoping.

“I was tricked, but it was my blade that slid through her chest,” he answered. “I can still feel it, still have the odor of that night in my nose, still see the look of betrayal in her eyes as her light faded from them. I was meant to protect the people of Seattle. But I could not protect my very own wife from myself.”

Horror filled Deirdre. Richard had killed his wife. Saddened by what he had gone through, understanding dawned. He would carry the hardship for the rest of his life.

All she could do was be there for him.

“Self-hatred has eaten my soul,” he said. “Now revenge rules it. I’m not sure I’m capable of loving again.”

“I see,” Deirdre said. “Then my mother was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I do not believe it. One day you will love again.”

“I am a broken shell of a man, Deirdre,” Richard said. “I have been for so many years I don’t know anything different. You would do better to embrace young Ardall. He is quite smitten with you. As for me, tomorrow a part of the pain I carry will be silenced forever. Or I will die.”

“You felt nothing when we kissed?”

“Nothing.”

Her heart sank. Unfamiliar tears stung her eyes. She suddenly felt a fool. For days she had hoped to trap his heart but in turn had only hurt her own.

“I am sorry that causes you pain,” he said. “As I said, Bran wou—”

“I
do not
want Bran Ardall,” she breathed, aggravated. “I am in love with
you
.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally.

Crossing her arms, Deirdre said nothing. There was nothing
to
say. When Richard moved to console her, she turned away, hiding her shimmering eyes.

“Leave me be,” she sighed.

Richard gave her a final silent look before he turned and walked from the glen. His fading footsteps were the saddest thing she had ever heard.

Deirdre let him go.

She didn’t want him to see her tears.

“I will not evacuate the Basilica!” Clement roared.

Cormac stared hard at the Pope, watching the color rise in the other’s cheeks despite the chill in the chamber of the Seer. A newly lit fire crackled in the hearth but offered only light. The Vigilo convened not in their usual private room but instead in the depths of St. Peter’s, where Donato once lived. It was unchanged. It still held his books, his clothing, his belongings, and it all reminded Cormac the loss he suffered. The Cardinal Vicar hated being there. The feeling of holding his lifeless mentor stayed with him. It would never leave.

“Never in the history of Rome has St. Peter’s been evacuated!” the Pope yelled, his anger filling the caverns.

“Your Eminence, there is no choice,” Cardinal Villenza said.

“There is always a
choice
. Always.”

The Vigilo stood in a half circle around the Fionúir Mirror, the relic draped with its sable cloth. Like Cormac, the men gathered did not wear their ceremonial dress of office; they wore simple attire beneath black rippling robes bearing the crest of St. Peter’s embroidered onto each breast, the clothing more functional and useful if they had to move quickly to respond to the poised threat on their doorstep.

“How did it come to this?” the Pope demanded harshly, directed at Cormac.

The Vigilo grew silent under the penetrating glare of Clement. Cormac returned his stare, unflinching. He would not give the Pope the benefit of turning away. Clement blamed Cormac for what was happening. The Cardinal Vicar kept his silence. He knew voicing his anger would do nothing for his future plans and put him at risk for further lamentation by his peers.

“I wish to speak to the knight,” Clement barked. “Now.”

“He is just outside, Your Grace,” Cardinal Tucci said.

“Well, show him in. I would hear this from his own lips.”

Cardinal Tucci did as he was commanded, opening the door leading into the catacombs. Ennio Rossi entered, his gait smooth, his eyes dark pools of youth. He was young, younger than any Cardinal by decades, but Cormac had seen him age over the last week in ways a twenty-year-old shouldn’t. Ennio too had looked upon the Cardinal Seer as a mentor and he too grieved. In place of innocence, a perceivable weight hung. Only hardship in life could reduce one in such a way—like the death of loved ones—and it was apparent Ennio now suffered life’s vicissitudes.

Ennio Rossi knelt before Clement and kissed the Ring of the Fisherman.

“Ennio Rossi, Knight of the Seven,” Clement announced formally, allowing Ennio to rise. “What I hear is disconcerting. A massive army the likes the Vatican has never seen marches against us. The Vigilo would hear what you know. Let nothing keep you from telling me all.”

“It comes, Your Grace,” Ennio started nervously, the crackling of the hearth the only other sound. “As I explained to Cardinal Vicar O’Connor, I was called before the other knights mere hours ago by Richard McAllister. All Seven came, including the new knight of Seattle, Bran Ardall. Richard informed us of the impending invasion of the Vatican. Plantagenet has built an army of incredible size, one of Templar Knights and savage halfbreeds. Richard almost died twice while he fought to learn more. The army marches toward the portal leading here. Richard believes Philip intends to bring that army through and begin some kind of new world order.”

“But that is not all, is it?” Cardinal Tucci asked.

“No. Richard says Philip commands the Holy Grail.”

Grumbling once more broke out among the Cardinals.

Like those around him, Cormac could not believe the Grail had been found let alone had fallen into the hands of a man like Philip. It explained much about Annwn and how Philip had been able to quell that land while remaining alive for centuries.

And McAllister had become the Heliwr, the power now beyond Cormac. It grated on him like salt in a wound.

“Do you believe McAllister, Rossi?” Clement asked.

Ennio Rossi looked down at his feet, his features pale.

“Well?” the pontiff growled. “The answer isn’t down there!”

“Richard McAllister was quite clear,” Ennio stuttered. “And yes, I believe he speaks truly. He has seen with his own eyes the army
and
the Grail. He saw the effects of the Cup of Christ on several soldiers. No matter how he beat them down with the Dark Thorn they rose to fight again. The Grail makes each of their soldiers like dozens.”