The Dark Thorn

by Shawn Speakman

  “Richard,” he said. “Why do you care for him?”

  Deirdre looked away. “That is none of your concern.”

  “He is a broken man,” Bran pressed.

  “He is. But he will not always be.”

  A pit of sorrow mixed with anger sank into his stomach. The feelings Bran had felt from the moment he had met the redhead had blossomed into much more. She was a few years older than him but he did not worry on that. There was something about her, an intoxicating rush of emotions she drew out of him. He wanted to kiss her, hold her. He wanted more. Confusion about how to act left him paralyzed. She had barely looked at him, the feelings Bran experienced also present in her eyes but not sent his way.

  They were instead for Richard.

  Frustration built inside. Bran didn’t understand.

  He was about to say something he knew he would regret when Richard burst from the entrance of the Cadarn, striding with a resolve Bran had not seen in the knight before.

  “We leave,” Richard said simply. “Now.”

  “What happened?” Bran asked.

  “The Morrigan is assembling what might the Tuatha de Dannan possess. Soon the entirety of those sent by Lord Fafnir will join the rest here. The clans outside the Carn Cavall are also amassing, near the headwaters of the Wysg River. In a matter of hours, the Seelie Court will again be gathered, even without Tal Ebolyon, organizing in the Forest of Dean, to march through the plains of Morgannwg province toward Caer Llion.”

  “Well, that is good news, isn’t it?” Bran asked.

  “It is. It will make what we must do all the easier.”

  “The more people the safer we’ll be, I guess.”

  “No,” Richard said. “We travel alone to Caer Llion, ahead of the army.”

  “Shouldn’t we be with the bulk of the Queen’s army?”

  “The Morrigan and I want answers,” Richard said. “The only place for them is inside Caer Llion.”

  “If that is true, I am coming with you,” Deirdre interceded.

  “No,” Richard said curtly.

  “You will need my help,” Deirdre said. Bran could tell she was thinking quickly, as if her life depended on it. “The Rhedewyr you ride forth must be cared for. You do not plan to ride them through the front portcullis of the castle or leave them grazing alone in the plains, do you?”

  “Still, it doesn’t matte—”

  “I’m coming,” Deirdre said. “That’s that, knight. I knew this was coming before you did. My father has given me leave to go my own way in this madness and I will do as such. If you do not like it, take it up with him.”

  Richard didn’t look at her. Bran could see the struggle going on inside of him.

  “It will be dangerous,” Richard said.

  “Kegan cannot go,” Deirdre said stubbornly. Bran hated how she fought. “And my family knows the plains from Arendig Fawr to Vyrridin to Caer Cleddyf. I am your best chance at success.”

  With a grunt, Richard mounted Lyrian.

  “Is this wise, Richard?” Bran asked.

  “Apparently, I have no choice.”

  Deirdre smiled, ignoring Bran, her eyes fixed on Richard. Without another word, they both mounted and rode after the knight who trotted southward through the melee, Snedeker a blur chasing the merlin. As Bran watched the city fade behind him, he saw Caswallawn emerge from the entrance to the Cadarn. Their gazes met. The former lord scowled after the three, the hatred he had for the outworlders palpable. In a swirl of practiced deftness, Caswallawn whirled what could only be his invisible cloak about him.

  In a second, the lord disappeared.

  Bran hoped the surly lord made it to Govannon’s armory safely enough to drink himself into oblivion.

  Dusk settled in on the woodland after an hour, the final birdsong dwindling until silent. The path was wide and easy to navigate, the Rhedewyr plodding forward without hindrance despite the growing darkness. They did not speak, Richard leading, with Snedeker flying ahead, Bran and Deirdre coming after, and Arrow Jack a darting blur in the trees overhead. Nothing else moved. All of the activity was taking place in Arendig Fawr, leaving a world of sudden peace.

  The trails wound downward, the Carn Cavall diminishing with every step the Rhedewyr took. The sticky warmth, once lost to the upper reaches of the Snowdon, had reformed around them amidst the pooling shadows that enveloped the land at the day’s end. The gloom plagued Bran, made him suspicious. The memory of his encounter with the Erlking resurfaced, crawling over his skin with electricity. If he had learned anything from being in Annwn, it was to not trust the moments he felt safe.

  After several hours had passed, Deirdre turned suddenly to scrutinize the forest behind them, worry darkening her beautiful features.

  “What is it?” Bran asked.

  “We are being followed,” she said.

  Bran shot a glance backward. Nothing appeared amiss.

  “I know,” Richard said, barely flinching. “The forest went quiet behind about half an hour ago. Probably not the bodach. It would have caught us by now. Keep aware. Could just be another traveler but no reason to take a chance.”

  The trail began to level as glimpses of the far-reaching plains came to them through the trees. The last glimmers of purpling light diffused the flatland. With the stars overhead slowly twinkling to life, Richard stopped to camp on the outskirts of the grasses where windblown pine sheltered a tiny bubbling brook, giving minor protection from prying eyes. Frogs nearby croaked their song while fireflies roamed the deepening darkness. All was still. The night drew peace like a blanket, a reprieve from the chaos Bran hoped would not come but knew would.

  Settled near a small fire, Richard ate a meal while Snedeker puzzled over a blade of purple grass. Bran also sat by the fire and watched Deirdre care for the Rhedewyr, the redhead giving them a careful brushing after days without it.

  “Now that we are alone, it is time we spoke again,” Richard said finally.

  “I suppose it is,” Bran admitted.

  “After I spoke with the Morrigan, I went in search of a waterfall in the Cadarn. It did not take long. Through the water, I contacted the other Knights of the Yn Saith. No, don’t ask how yet. It is a magic Merle or I will eventually teach you when this business is finished. The important thing is they know about you, they know that I am now the Heliwr. They also know to be watching their portals far more closely than they have been for the last few years.”

  “You actually spoke with them?” Bran asked. “Like some kind of telepathy?”

  “When you get on a roll, the questions are unending,” Richard sighed. “Yes, I actually spoke with them. In person. There is a lake on the north side of the Carn Cavall that surrounds a small island, the Isle of Achlesydd. Achlesydd is an ancient tree that wards our weapons. When not called by the knights, the relics reside on massive stones. You are now tied to one of those stones. Even now, Arondight rests there. In this way they are safe.”

  “No one tries to steal them?”

  “The isle is more guarded than Fort Knox,” Richard snorted.

  “What of the other knights?” Bran asked. “Will they aid us?”

  “It is too late for that.”

  “Why?

  “Scouts of the Morrigan have discovered the great amassing of an army at Caer Llion,” Richard said. “In mere days, maybe even hours, it will leave and travel to the Snowdon or one of the portals. Regardless, the knights lack the ability to get here in time. Their portals are spread all over Annwn, days away. It is just as well. It is better they protect their respective cities. There are failsafes like Dryvyd Wood in our world. Even if Philip does bring his army through, it will not be easy for him. It will buy us the time we need.” He paused. “Now call Arondight.”

  With a thought, Bran held the blade in his left hand.

  “Arondight is one of Govannon’s oldest creations,” Richard said. “The sword was forged long before Lancelot. You wanted to know more about it. I will tell you the most important
lesson you will learn, right now. Can you feel its power, where the sword calls its fire from?”

  “No.”

  “Close your eyes, think it through.”

  Bran gripped the blade, letting his thoughts flow along its length. He felt it then. A part of the power came from Arondight but most welled within, from his chest into his hand. The fire he had used against the bodach lingered just below the surface, a caged animal ready for release.

  “I can, yes,” Bran answered, feeling a bit lightheaded.

  “You and the blade are now one,” Richard said, peering closely at Bran. “While possessing it, you have the ability to protect yourself from those who would see you dead. That protection comes at a cost. The magic comes from you, but nothing comes from nothing. If not careful, you can be consumed from within, be bled empty. The power can also be addictive for some. I have seen it. I am sure Merle will have more to say about this if we return.”

  “What do you mean if?”

  “I won’t lie to you, we may not return, not amidst the hell we find ourselves in at the moment,” Richard replied. “Entering Caer Llion is a dangerous prospect even for the most trained. You are not trained. It’s unfortunate timing. The risk might be too much.” He paused. “But whether I like it or not, you are a fellow knight now and I need your help.”

  “Being untrained, I don’t have to go in, you know,” Bran said.

  “You do,” Richard said simply.

  Bran was going to ask why when Snedeker, who had suddenly lost interest in his oddly colored blade of grass, flew to where the two knights were, sat on a rotting log, and listened to Richard with an intensity Bran almost found comical.

  “What do you want, fairy?” the knight asked lowly.

  “Nothing at all,” Snedeker answered.

  “You’ve been acting strangely toward me ever since that night with the Lady in the fairy glen,” Richard pressed, clearly annoyed. “Watching me. I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you much. But I have to know. The Lady told you something, didn’t she? That night.”

  Snedeker stared at Richard as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

  “Answer me!” he demanded.

  “Why does it matter?” Deirdre asked, having finished caring for the Rhedewyr and sitting at the fire.

  “Oh, it matters. A lot. Every Heliwr has had a guide, a fairy, one that watches the knight’s back in time of need. Bran’s father had a fairy guide as well. Berrytrill, his name was. I think the Lady spoke to Snedeker there, asked him to serve. He has been quiet ever since that night and it has been grating on me.”

  “Snedeker, is this true?” Deirdre asked.

  The fairy glanced at the redhead, an iota of guilt crossing his woodland features.

  “Red, I meant to tell you…”

  “So it’s true? You are to guide Rick?”

  “The Lady spoke to me, yes,” Snedeker said. “Asked me to serve the Heliwr. If I had known it would be McAllister here, though, I never would have agreed. Thought it would be Ardall. The lesser of two cow pies, that one.”

  “Dammit,” Richard growled low. “Just my luck. What else did the Lady say?”

  “That was it, darktard,” Snedeker snapped.

  Richard looked as though he would call the Dark Thorn and incinerate the fairy immediately.

  “So my father had a fairy guide?” Bran asked, trying to alleviate the tension. “What else haven’t you told me about my father, Richard?”

  “There is much I haven’t told you,” the knight said, still staring hard at the fairy. “Not because I didn’t want to but because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to follow in his footsteps. To tell you more about your father would have accelerated what I had hoped to prevent. Turns out Merle is a tricky bastard, and he pulled the wool over my eyes.”

  “Why keep me from anything?” Bran asked, a bit angrily. “It isn’t your place.”

  “It is my place to protect those who can’t protect themselves,” Richard replied pointedly. “That was you. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, just as right now you still do not. Sadly, I need your help in Caer Llion and that cannot be avoided.”

  Calming himself, Bran let Arondight vanish.

  “Did you know my father well?”

  “I knew him vaguely.” Richard leaned back into his bedroll. “You look a bit like him, but he had a kinder heart than you have. No doubt due your time on the streets. He had a hard work ethic and believed quite strongly in what he was doing. Few ever bested him and those who did didn’t last much longer afterward.”

  “I have few memories of him,” Bran admitted.

  “Died before you grew up, for sure.”

  “I asked this of you before,” Bran said. “Do you know who killed my father?”

  “No,” Richard said stoically. “It literally could be anyone or anything, from this world or our own. I know his time came in the United Kingdom. Other than that, Merle was not willing to share much more.”

  “Then he didn’t die in a terror attack in Ireland?”

  “Ireland, maybe. A terror attack, like the IRA?” Richard scowled. “No. Whoever told you that is either ignorant or lying. Whatever murdered your father had to possess a potent magic to do it. Overcoming the power of a Heliwr is not easy.”

  “What magic did he have, as Heliwr?”

  “You mean what magic do I have, eh?”

  “I guess.”

  “That depends on ability,” Richard said. “Remember what I did to Llassar?”

  “Yes, the grass holding him firm. He called you a wizard.”

  “A weak wizard, at best.”

  “So you are a wizard?”

  Richard smiled with no warmth. “You are as well now.”

  “What do you mea—”

  “In due time. In due time,” Richard repeated. “Tomorrow maybe.”

  Settling back into his own blankets, Bran tried to picture his father with the staff, when he saw dozens of gimlet eyes glittering from the darkness, surrounding the campsite at the edge of the firelight. Bran couldn’t make out anything more than that.

  “Richard,” Bran whispered.

  The knight followed his eyes. “They have been there for some time.”

  “What are they?”

  “Llithiwch,” Deirdre answered, looking at the shadowy wraiths from her own bedroll. “Skittish little creatures, rarely seen. They are Unseelie, but do not hurt anyone or anything. My people consider them a blessing of sorts; if they are here, no other Unseelie are nearby.”

  “Are they what follow us?” Bran asked.

  “Could be,” Richard said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Spies?”

  “No, not at all,” Deirdre said. “Odd so many are gathered here though.”

  “Drawn by the power of Arondight,” Richard observed. He hunkered back down into his bedroll. “Sleep. They can’t hurt us. We are going to have a long day tomorrow.”

  Bran relaxed, as Deirdre followed Richard’s example. Soon the soft snores of the knight and the even rise and fall of Deirdre’s chest left Bran with the first watch. The luminous eyes from the darkness still watched. Bran kept the fire going, distrustful of the creatures, his thoughts straying to home as he stared into the fire. Seattle seemed so far away. Merle had put Bran between a rock and a hard place, having maneuvered him to the exact spot he wanted. Bran knew one thing—Merle had a lot to answer for, not only for his machinations but also the hundreds of questions Bran had concerning his father, his new role, and what it all meant for his future.

  When Bran looked up from the fire, the Llithiwch were gone.

  As he was about to settle back and relax, a new set of eyes appeared in the night, flaming crimson with utter hatred and growing larger by the moment.

  “Bodach!” Bran screamed, leaping up and calling Arondight.

  Richard gained his feet as though he hadn’t been asleep, the Dark Thorn filling his hand in white flame just as the bodach jumped.

 
; With a shriek, the Unseelie beast bulled over the Heliwr.

  Richard rolled with the assault, letting the creature blow mostly over him and then blasted it with white magic. The creature reeled away, the flames licking at its shadowy form as it fought to break through. Richard did not let up. Regaining his feet in that afforded moment, he kept his staff between them. The shadow tore at him even as the knight backed away. Richard parried every swipe, keeping the Dark Thorn held before him, his eyes burning with concentration.

  “Bran!” Richard roared, falling to the ground.

  As it had in Caer Glain, the fey creature fought to pin Richard to kill him, going after its most powerful adversary.

  As the bodach leapt ferociously upon the knight, Bran charged with Arondight.

  Deirdre beat him to it.

  Hurdling the fire, Deirdre had her sword in hand, charging the fey. Her red hair manic, she sliced at the occupied bodach with wild abandon, roaring at the top of her lungs—to little effect. Annoyed by the woman, the bodach lashed out finally with one massive clawed paw, connecting with Deirdre.

  She landed on the fire, the embers setting her clothes ablaze.

  When Deirdre rolled away, on fire, something snapped inside Bran. In slow motion, he witnessed another attempt on their lives and his own weak inaction. Anger turned to righteousness; passion crystallized into deed. The screams of the Rhedewyr faded. The roars of the bodach vanished. All that remained was his desire to see Deirdre safe and the bodach destroyed before it could kill another and the blame be put squarely on him.

  Arondight grew incandescent, flaming wild magic.

  Before he could reach the bodach though, reports echoed in the night all around them, explosions in rapid succession. Pinpricks of light bloomed inside of the bodach, dozens and then hundreds permeating every aspect of the Unseelie beast. The bodach pawed the air, angry, screaming as if struck by thousands of spears at once.

  It took Bran a moment to realize what was happening.

  The bodach was being shot by gunfire.

  Bran spun about, searching.

  From the darkness soldiers emerged, each one carrying assault rifles and pistols. There were two dozen of them, each dressed as black as the night around them. The odor of burnt gunpowder on the air, they unleashed bullet flurries into the bodach. The creature could not prevent it; the lead from the gunfire, anathema to the Unseelie creature, ripped through its smoky being.