Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  Do no’ get me wrong. ‘Tis no’ a nightly occurrence. But now and again, something will trigger the nightmare, and relivin’ Lans’ death, even in a bad dream, leaves me shaken to the core.

  The nightmares went away durin’ the Great Vampire Inversion, when we foolishly thought the whole thing was over. But as soon as I was back in rotation, on the streets huntin’ leeches, the night terrors came back as if they were rested and refreshed from vacation.

  There’s only one thing in life that could be worse than losin’ a partner to vampire. And that’s losin’ a mate. The first did happen to me. The second almost did. That fear will be a close and unwelcome companion so long as we’re still huntin’. Or maybe so long as there are still vampire walkin’ the earth.

  ‘Tis lookin’ like I will no’ be escapin’ bad dreams any time soon. So I poured a shot of Irish whiskey and tried to picture summer days in Northern Ireland when the sun shines more than half the day. One thing about bein’ a vampire hunter. You learn to love sunlight.

  CHAPTER 1

  Liam O’Torvall

  I remember ‘twas a few days after I was elected mayor of Black-On-Tarry, for the first time that is. A hunter, Gordy Darnell if memory serves, stopped by my stoop with news that he had seen a child near the huntin’ cottage deep in the old growth part of the Forest where the wild things live.

  He claimed he’d called out to the lad and tried to chase him down, but ‘twas to no avail. If his eyes had no’ played tricks on him, then the boy simply vanished like in stories of the ancients livin’ in mounds under the earth.

  That the child could evade Gordy was remarkable in itself because Gordy’s huntin’ skills were nothin’ to scoff at. He could singlehandedly feed the village in dead of winter, if circumstances called for it, and we all knew we were lucky to count him one of us. Unlike most of us who were born in the Preserve, Gordy had once lived on the outside. A stockbroker, I believe he said. He swore off the modern world and camped outside the wall for near two years before we gained permission to let him in. Married O’Malley’s second daughter after a time and settled right in as if he’d always been here.

  I know that’s no’ what you’re wantin’ to know. Forgive the meanderin’, but I am Irish and what you’d call old school at that.

  So I had a mind to take a ride out to the cottage to see what was to be seen. At that time I was still young enough to cut a fine figure on horseback. So I knew it would no’ take too long.

  Sure enough, there was a small funnel of smoke risin’ from the chimney of the cottage. I hobbled the horse by the stream where he could drink and graze like he’d died and gone to heaven, and walked up, no’ exactly stalkin’, but no’ makin’ a herald of it either.

  There was nary a soul inside, but every indication that someone had been there recently.

  I stepped out into the overcast day and yelled, “Hello!”

  I waited for a response, but the only sound was the trickle of the stream and the soft pull and grind of grass between the horse’s teeth as he watched to see what I would do next. Horses are wary of us, with good reason.

  I took in a deep breath and yelled loud, “I have chicken and cheese!” All remained quiet. “Right there in my saddlebag.”

  A small and curly towhead popped up from the brush just inside the trees on the other side of the brook, lookin’ more than anything like one of the wild things that belonged in that corner of the world. My first thought was that, strange as ‘twas, he seemed to belong there.

  “I’ll no’ harm ye, elflin’. Would just like to introduce myself to my new neighbor.”

  The lad stood and came forward a little way, stoppin’ on the other side of the water.

  “If ye have something with which to wash down my lunch, I’ll gladly share with ye.”

  Then forthright as if he was a grown man, the boy said, “I have ale. I’ll share it for some chicken and cheese.”

  I laughed on the inside, but kept my face serious as I said, “Very well. You have my agreement.”

  He looked me over as he passed by to enter the little house first. If he was afraid, he did no’ show it, but rather seemed fearless as could be.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  “Thank ye kindly,” I replied.

  The horse watched me with suspicion as I approached to retrieve lunch from the sack that hung from the saddle and was clearly relieved to see me take something and go.

  I strode back through the doorway and straight to the table where I pulled out a chair. The young resident had already brought a lidded pitcher of ale to the table. Goodness knows where he’d got it.

  “I’m Liam O’Torvall,” I said as I sat. “And what might your name be?”

  The boy studied me as if he was tryin’ to decide whether or no’ I could be trusted with his name. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, because eventually he offered something of a response.

  “Ram,” was all he said.

  “How do ye do, Ram?” I offered a traditional pleasantry as I took a piece of roast chicken between my fingers. He nodded and shrugged as he took a larger piece and crammed it into his mouth as if he’d never eaten. “Are ye the owner of this fine property?”

  His small blond brows attempted to knit together, but the skin was too smooth and tight to allow a full-blown scowl. “Indirectly.”

  Now that was an answer for which I was no’ prepared. What in the world could the child mean by indirectly?

  We sat and ate in silence for a few minutes as I contemplated that riddle. Finally I said, “Mind ye, I’m no’ intendin’ to invade your privacy, but did ye purchase this cottage? Indirectly that is?”

  I watched him closely, judgin’ him to be around the age of ten at the time. He looked over at me with piercin’ dark blue eyes like he was tryin’ to see all the way to the bottom of my soul. He must have judged me relatively harmless because he answered honestly.

  “No,” was all he said.

  ‘Twas then I remembered hearin’ that the king had brought his two sons for a huntin’ trip a few months ago. I had no’ personally seen them as I was in the eastern territory lookin’ at sheep, but as you can imagine, ‘twas an event to have royalty visit the Preserve.

  The present king’s grandfather, gods bless him, set aside these lands as a preserve for wildlife and for the old ways. ‘Tis a vast area, surrounded by wall on three sides, several hours ride from the gate at Black-On-Tarry to the circle of the ancient ones or the sea cliffs to the north. I could no’ help but wonder how the lad had surmounted the formidable obstacle of the wall, which is a combination of stone and thick hedges, to come here alone, but I was beginnin’ to suspect he could be one of the princes. In the flesh.

  “So tell me, young Ram. Would ye be claimin’ indirect ownership of this fine cottage by right of royal birth?”

  The lad’s entire body stiffened and his expression issued a challenge. “Are ye goin’ to tell?”

  “Do ye no’ think your mum is, at this very moment, distressed to no’ know where ye are?”

  I knew he was a good boy at heart when I saw him frown at that. Apparently he did no’ want to be home, but at the same time did no’ relish the idea of hurtin’ his mother’s feelin’s.

  “’Tis no’ about her.” He glared at me with a defiant intensity that was at odds with his small body and few years.

  “What’s it about?”

  He shrugged and looked away as if he had ceased to be interested in whate’er wisdom I might have to offer or whate’er questions I might have to ask.

  “Did ye bring more chicken?” he asked hopefully.

  I smiled. “I did no’, but my wife has a large pot of stew on the fire at this very moment. There’s plenty to go ‘round.”

  “Stew sounds nice.”

  “My wife is a very reliable cook. But do ye know what’s even better than her stew?”

  “What?” He could no’ suppress the eagerness from his question.

  “Berry pie.” I watche
d his little pink tongue peek out to lick his lips. “Come home with me. Have a nice dinner and a good sleep. Tomorrow we will see to it that ye find your way back to Derry. And the next time ye come, ye’ll know how to find my house and know that you’re welcome there.”

  He looked around the cottage like he could no’ stand the thought of leavin’, but must have known that his capture was inevitable and could no’ be forestalled forever. He nodded and rose from his chair.

  I watched in fascination as he methodically went about makin’ the bed, rinsin’ the dishes, and takin’ care to put out the fire. When done he stood lookin’ at me with a mixture of patience and resignation.

  “Are ye ready then?” His head turned each way as he looked around the cabin then nodded. “Nothin’ to take with ye?” He shook his head. “Well, then. We’ll be off.”

  I let him close the cottage door while I looked for the horse. “Do ye know how to take the hobbles off a horse, lad?”

  The boy looked at me like I was mad and appeared to be insulted by the question. “O’ course. What do you take me for?”

  “I do no’ know ye well and certainly meant no offense. Will ye fetch the beast then?”

  Without a word the prince walked a short way upstream. The horse brought his ears forward and watched the child as closely as if a wolf was approachin’ his flank, but Ram took the chore in stride, quickly removin’ the hobbles. I expected that he would lead the horse back to where I waited, but instead he took hold of the pommel of my saddle and swung himself up in an arc of grace that was a thing of beauty. Seein’ his easy mastery with the horse, I could see why he would have taken umbrage to my inquiry regardin’ his knowledge of hobbles.

  He was no’ only elf, but royal. O’ course he knew his way ‘round a horse.

  He trotted the horse to where I stood, jumped down, and handed me the reins. Once mounted, I offered a hand and easily pulled him up behind me.

  The wife took one look at the lad and fell in love. And why no’? He had the look of an angel, with that white hair curling at will ‘round his beautiful face. I had my suspicions, call it intuition if ye will, that his looks were deceivin’, that he was no’ a bundle of bliss, but I would no’ begrudge my love her pleasure. Our own daughters had recently married and become mistresses of their own hearths, which left space at the table ready to be filled by a runaway royal with sharp, inquisitive blue eyes and an air of authority.

  She beamed as she watched the child devour two man-sized portions of her lamb stew.

  “What were ye doin’ out there in the wilds, lad?”

  He did no’ bristle at her question because he heard nothin’ in it save curiosity and a good heart. I might argue with the dadblasted woman from dawn to dusk, but would secretly admit that she did, in fact, have a generous spirit.

  He looked at her as he tore off a third piece of soda bread. “Please do no’ take this to mean that I object to conversation, ma’am, but I was mindin’ my own business.”

  She harrumphed. “Well, from the looks of it, you were mindin’ the business of starvin’ to death.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds while he chewed the bread and then lit the room with his smile. “Your husband was true when he said you’re a fine cook. ‘Tis perhaps the best meal I ever ate.”

  My wife took his praise with a pleasure I had no’ seen on her face for many years. “’Tis a nice thing to say, but I suspect ye be guilty of flattery. I’m forgivin’ your impertinence only because your beauty makes me helpless to do otherwise.”

  He gave my wife a smile that I suspected would someday cause the knees of many a lass to buckle of their own accord.

  “No flattery,” he said. “’Tis special. Thank you.”

  At that she smiled at me like bringin’ the boy to our house was the best thing I’d ever done. I found that, e’en in my advanced years, I very much liked havin’ her look at me like that.

  “Liam tells me your name is Ram?”

  He nodded as he chewed and swallowed, then said, “Rammel Hawking.”

  We procured a clean change of clothes from a village boy near Ram’s size and insisted that he take a dip in the tub before nestlin’ into bed for the night. When we were sure he was asleep, my wife said, “What are ye goin’ to do?”

  I had been sittin’ in front of the fire thinkin’ on exactly that. O’ course I had no way to contact the prince’s family. There were no means of modern communication in the Preserve and our only means of transportation was horses, either ridin’ them or bein’ pulled by them. I did no’ relish the idea of leavin’, but did no’ see that there was another option.

  “Tomorrow I will take two gold pieces and try to find transportation to deliver him personally to Derry. I will no’ trust the lad’s care to anyone else. Much as we do no’ like to dwell on it, there is evil in the world. If I was his father, my brains would be scrambled with worry right now.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What do ye mean perhaps?”

  “If the king knows his child, he knows he’s resourceful.”

  I sat back considerin’ that point of view. “I can no’ argue with that, but he is still of a vulnerable age.”

  She nodded. “Aye. And I can no’ argue with that. I’ll pack food for the journey in the mornin’. Will ye go alone?”

  “Aye. But if I had my way, I’d be back before I leave.”

  She smiled at that and gave me an affectionate pat on the head on her way to bed.

  By the next mornin’ everyone in the village was aware that the prince of Ireland was a guest in our humble village. They all came out to witness our departure. And I could no’ blame them. Black-On-Tarry was visited by royalty perhaps three times in a generation.

  The boy took it in stride and I supposed he was accustomed to havin’ even larger crowds gather to stare at him. The gate opened for us and we walked out. Ram, wearin’ clean trousers, a hemp tunic and his own fine boots. Me with my walkin’ staff, a skin of water, a sack of food, and two gold pieces, one to procure transportation to Derry, one to return, gods willin’.

  After three hours we reached a road built for automobiles. I glanced down at the boy beside me. He offered no complaint, but I could tell by his movements that he was exhausted. ‘Twas a long walk for such a small body.

  When I told him to sit for a minute, he dropped to the ground where he stood. I handed him the skin of water and he drank with an eagerness I had forgotten in advanced years.

  I heard the sound of a car approachin’. When it neared I waved to the driver. The man slowed, looked us over, and continued on his way. I supposed he did no’ trust the look of us, thinkin’ we were rascals dressed in strange clothing. Strange, that is, for his understandin’ of the world.

  Twice more we were passed by, but the third vehicle slowed and stopped. It was a short truck with an open bed.

  “Lost?” said the driver.

  “Nay,” I replied. “We’re seekin’ a ride to the palace at Derry. And the lucky driver who takes us there will receive a gold coin for his trouble.”

  The man looked dubious, glanced over at Ram, then said, “Let me see it.”

  I held the coin on the palm of my hand so that he could get a good look, but when he reached for it, I closed my fist ‘round it and pulled it back. He had regular enough features, but I felt entitled to my reservations, particularly since I’d taken responsibility for a potential heir to the Irish throne.

  “You’ll get it when we get to the palace at Derry,” said I.

  Eyein’ me like he was makin’ up his mind, the man said, “That’s twenty miles and out of my way. And I had other plans this mornin’. But I suppose I can be bothered to do a neighborly deed now and again.” His eyes flicked to my staff then back to my face. “Get in the back.” He pointed to the rear.

  I hoisted my middle-aged girth into the back of the truck, while Rammel Hawking made quick work of climbin’ up. I motioned for him to advance to the front where we could sit with our backs to t
he cab.

  The entire trip took only an hour even with town traffic so dense I could no’ have imagined it. Who would have guessed there were so many vehicles in the whole of the world? Fifteen minutes before we reached our destination, a rain shower got us both soaked. Whene’er the truck was in motion, the breeze against wet clothes made us cold, e’en for Irishmen. I looked down at the boy next to me. His teeth were chatterin’ but he was no’ complainin’, and I was developin’ an admiration for his character.

  Without askin’ I put my arm around his little shoulders and pulled him close, knowin’ that burrowin’ into the side of my substantial torso would give him a measure of warmth and comfort. He did no’ resist, but curled into me, drawin’ up both elbows and knees.