The Twilight Dragon & Other Tales of Annwn: Preludes to The Everwinter Wraith (The Annwn Cycle)

by Shawn Speakman

  “The Unfettered Knight will undo the memories of those who have witnessed any aspect of what has transpired here the past few days,” Donato said, feeling far older than his age. “When the knight arrives, please notify me. I would speak with him first.”

  “Where will you be, Your Lordship?”

  “In the warmth of St. Patrick’s Chapel, composing my letter to inform Pope Pius of these unfortunate events. It will arrive on the morrow. He will want to know immediately, and I do not trust certain departments in the Vatican to relay messages just now.”

  “The fey infiltrating our ranks changes much.”

  “It does. For the worst.”

  Donato left Nicholas Rohr to fulfill his orders. Pausing for a moment over Abbot Whyting to offer a quick prayer for the departed soul, the bishop walked out of the ruins, the world entirely changed. Much would have to be done. Elves had invaded Rome with guile. Who knew how many of them were in Vatican City, how many of them were within its most trusted circles. The entire hierarchy of the Catholic Church would have to be cleansed of the spies and that would take a time. It would also take clandestine planning and execution to not reveal the existence of the Elves to those in the Church as well as without. If the world learned of the fey, it would destroy many of the most basic foundations in the Bible.

  Christianity would crumble upon itself.

  A chill swept through Donato. Though his eyesight failed and would continue to do so until he was blind, he shook his head, worried by the future he saw all too clearly.

  Tym Catherwood had said the name Anrhydedd meant honor. The dragon now lay dead by that honor. The captured fey creature had seen the truth of the scribe’s identity; he had known his fate and yet still had not complied with Donato’s demands. If the dragon could die so willingly to protect a race not his own—and an honor that availed him nothing—what else were the fey in this world and Annwn capable of?

  Would the Vatican ever be as honorable as those who had just died?

  Could it?

  As he gained St. Patrick’s Chapel, cold and alone, Bishop Donato Javier Ramirez was saddened by the quickness of his answer.

  The Unfettered Knight

  Introduction

  Worldbuilding is an important aspect of writing. The world must be believable; the world must feel real. That takes planning and asking a lot of questions, with some answers not making it into the book. When I sent my spiritually-broken knight Richard McAllister into Annwn, I knew he would only be able to explore a small part of that world, leaving many questions unanswered and numerous stories yet to tell.

  The Unfettered Knight is one such story. It takes place many years before Richard McAllister has taken up his knighthood. Instead, the tale features knight Charles Ardall and his trusty fairy guide Berrytrill, who are mentioned briefly in The Dark Thorn and who have been called to Vatican City after a great evil has infiltrated the home of the Catholic Church.

  Since I was confronted with cancer and all of its uncertainty in 2011, I wanted to write a story that took a look at life, death, and the meaning of both. I also know that at no time will vampires play a role in the Annwn Cycle. But like any self-respecting urban fantasy writer, I wanted to take a stab—pun intended—at writing a unique vampire story.

  The Unfettered Knight is that stab.

  The Unfettered Knight

  When Heliwr of the Yn Saith Charles Ardall stepped from the portal into the catacombs beneath St. Peters Basilica, he entered a massacre from Hell.

  He had seen many like it during his tenure, but none quite so gruesome.

  “Unbelievable carnage,” Berrytrill whispered, the fairy flying at his ear. “This fight, the knight did not back down.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Charles agreed. “Then again, Bruno Ricci wouldn’t.”

  “Indeed. A tougher knight, I have not seen.”

  The Heliwr nodded, looking around. No immediate danger presented itself. Instead, broken bodies littered the rock bank of the Tiber River’s underground branch, the dead spreading to the far side of the cavern. There were three dozen bodies in all. With the light of the portal highlighting the bloodied environs and the subterranean chill seeping into his bones, Charles knelt to the first corpse he came to. The man’s chest was blasted open, his black uniform free of insignia and his slackened fingers still attempting to grip a rapier. He stared upward through the knight, soul absent.

  Charles shivered. It was a face frozen in shock and pain at how life had ended.

  The warrior’s last minutes were not what drew Charles though. The dead man was pale like curdled milk, almost translucent, and had been long before the battle.

  On a hunch, the Heliwr pulled back the man’s lips.

  Two fangs poked free, brought short in death.

  “Vampire,” Charles noted.

  “Stickfick,” Berrytrill cursed. “My princely crown, I would bet, the others are vampyr as well.” The fairy flew over a few more dead bodies. “Myrddin Emrys says where one vampyr exists—”

  “Others do too,” Charles finished. He looked about the cavern. “They all are wearing similar garb. They were a company of warriors with intent. But what intent beyond breaking into St. Peters?”

  Berrytrill returned and, landing upon the corpse, more closely examined the vampire. Lightning had torn through its chest and exploded the creature’s heart—the power of Bruno Ricci at work. After his scrutiny, the fairy pointed underneath the torn uniform near the cauterized wound.

  “What is this?” the fairy asked.

  Charles peeled the uniform shirt back. A small, Celtic rune tattoo had been inked into the unmoving chest.

  The work appeared fresh, the skin still enflamed.

  “Check the others. Are they similarly tattooed?”

  Berrytrill did so and returned. “They are. What does the symbol mean, Charles?”

  “It is an old symbol. It means ‘life after life’s death.’”

  “Failed rune magic then,” the fairy grunted. “The ink did not keep him safe.”

  “Guess not.” Charles examined the mark more closely, an oddity catching his attention.

  “You see something else,” Berrytrill noted.

  “The rune is slightly… different.”

  “How so?”

  “It has a much longer fore stroke than it should.”

  “It matters not. It failed to keep the vampyr safe. It is not the worry of the moment, Charles,” Berrytrill said, looking around for emphasis. “Did Bruno give any indication where their leader went?”

  “He barely had enough strength to draw me here, let alone tell me what happened,” Charles said, standing. “First we must find him and the Cardinal Seer. Then we hunt the one who orchestrated this.”

  “With care,” the fairy said pointedly. “Your wife and forthcoming child would not appreciate a hunt that ended in your death.”

  “Hold!” a voice shattered the air.

  Charles located the command’s source as Berrytrill hid his presence in the folds of the Heliwr’s cloak. Across the cavern, men wearing the blue, red, orange and yellow uniforms of Vatican Swiss Guards came into view from the entrance into the catacombs, aiming rifles and pistols at the newcomer. Charles cursed inwardly. If they were present, it meant the portal knight Bruno Ricci had fallen—perhaps was even now dead. It also meant the Vigilo and likely even the Pope knew of the vampiric incursion from Annwn, making the role Charles carried all the more difficult.

  A tall thin man wearing all black with the Swiss Guard crest sewn into his sweater stepped to the forefront, no fear in his icy eyes. Pistols remained holstered on his hips, hands near enough to draw but far enough away not to provoke. Charles knew the role the man fulfilled for the Vatican despite having never met him.

  “I give no cause for alarm,” Charles greeted, raising hands in supplication. “I am here to set right the wrong that has transpired today.”

  “I will be the judge of that,” the man said gruffly. He raised his chin ever so
slightly. “Cardinal Seer Ramirez said a man would exit the portal, one bearing a black staff.” He paused. “I do not see a staff.”

  “Who are you?” Charles questioned sternly, bringing his own authority to bear.

  “I am Beck Almgren, Captain of the Vatican’s Swiss Guard.”

  “And bearer of Prydwen,” Charles said. “Shield of Arthur.”

  “I am.”

  “Captain, I am Charles Ardall. I am no threat to you. I am the Heliwr of the Yn Saith. It is my responsibility to ensure this world and that of Annwn remain separate if a portal knight fails in their duties. That failure occurred and I am here to end the threat that has entered your home.” He paused. “Please, have your guards lower their weapons.”

  “That may be,” Beck Almgren said. “But I still need to see that staff.”

  Charles nodded, slightly annoyed. He reached into the ether between his world and that of Annwn, calling the badge of his office, drawing the fount of his power. It happened easily. The staff materialized, the wood black and comforting in his hand, its top gnarled like a cudgel. Faint white light pulsed along its length. The Dark Thorn had been his now for many years, the responsibility he carried become such a part of him he couldn’t remember a time without it. It aided his hunt for those who wrongfully crossed; it also kept him safe against creatures his world knew nothing about.

  The guards didn’t lower their weapons though. Instead, fear filled the cavern. They likely had never seen magic before. Charles remembered the first time he had seen it with Merle. It had been a frightening event to witness.

  He kept the magic of the Dark Thorn between him and the Vatican forces.

  In case one of them did something quite foolish.

  “Stand down, Captain,” Charles ordered. “I am no threat.”

  Beck Almgren immediately understood the gravity of the situation. None of his men knew he possessed Prydwen, an Arthurian relic fifteen centuries old that protected him no matter the damage visited on his person. None of the Swiss Guard had an inkling of the role their captain played in the world scheme; none of them knew the duty Charles carried either. They were pieces in a secret chess match privy to a chosen few.

  With a curt order from their captain, the guards lowered their weapons, although the distrust did not disappear.

  “I think the Swiss Guard should remain here,” Charles said.

  “To ensure nothing else enters from Annwn,” Beck Almgren agreed. “I will escort you to the Cardinal Seer’s chambers then.”

  Charles crossed the cavern, stepping carefully around the corpses. Berrytrill kept hidden, wise to the necessity of secrecy. The Swiss Guard may have seen the Heliwr call magic, but seeing a real fairy—the fey creature blasphemous to the Catholic Church and those who followed it—would likely have been more than many could bear.

  As the Heliwr drew close, Beck Almgren pulled free a single pistol and clicked the safety off.

  “I won’t hesitate to use this if your intentions are ill.”

  “Then there won’t be need to use it.”

  “Cardinal Seer Ramirez awaits then. If you truly are the one he has called, Charles Ardall, I believe you know the way.”

  Charles did. With Beck Almgren walking behind, pistol at the ready, the Heliwr made his way through the underground, the Dark Thorn striking the stone of the cavern with every other step. The tunnel wound like a snake through the bedrock of Italy, the walls chiseled smooth by stonemasons more than a millennia dead. Charles shuddered. The chill infiltrated deep and the odor of stale death surrounded him. It was a world few had seen, one as unchanging as a graveyard. After minutes, they soon stood in a large room where a well had been driven deep into the Earth, a winch and bucket ready to draw water, the only evidence that someone lived in these environs. The room had three other doorways leading to different parts of the catacombs, two snaking beneath Rome and the other cutting up toward the city.

  Charles took the left hand corridor and continued onward. Beck Almgren followed. The passageway sloped gradually upward, the air growing warmer with each step. Sarcophagi and skeletal remains lay within holes bored into the path’s walls. The dead slept a long slumber here, the catacombs housing some of the most important members of the Catholic Church.

  Like other catacombs above, this was a necropolis of history.

  It didn’t take long for the Heliwr to come to an open oak door banded in rune-etched iron, the warm glow of light welcoming.

  Letting the Dark Thorn vanish, he stepped inside with Beck Almgren.

  The room was a simple living space. Candles chased the shadows and a fire blazed warmth from a hearth in the corner of the room, casting its glow over two plush chairs and a bed pushed up against the wall. Books of various sizes and colors lined the shelves of several bookcases. A Bible as old as any Charles had seen sat upon a pedestal in the middle of the room, open, while the Fionúir Mirror, a talisman the Cardinal Seer used to view Annwn, hung upon one of the walls, the seeing glass shrouded in black velvet, its secrets hidden.

  The room was orderly, a reflection of the person who lived in it.

  Charles took it all in but was suddenly filled with dismay.

  Upon the bed lay Bruno Ricci. Clothes bloodied and torn, the most powerful of the portal knights had taken a beating to protect Rome from the vampires who had entered it. One arm lay crooked, clearly broken; gashes rent his flesh everywhere else, bleeding into new bandages. Smaller abrasions already purpled. He breathed strong though, his chest rising and falling regularly, giving Charles hope he would recover sooner rather than later.

  And Bruno appeared to not have been bitten.

  Charles breathed a bit easier then. There were worse fates than defeat and vampirism was one of them.

  Two other men stood at the foot of the bed, looking down on Bruno as if considering his fate. Cardinal Seer Donato Javier Ramirez stroked a thinly bearded chin, his body stooped and pate shiny in the candlelight. He lived in the chamber, his role as Seer of the Vigilo keeping him close to the portal. He had lived eight decades and, while blind, had survived countless invasions from Annwn. Charles had befriended him years before, the animosity between the Catholic Church and the pagan-empowered knights holding no influence over the relationship the two men shared.

  Beside the Cardinal stood a man who appeared younger than the Seer but was infinitely older. Merle, once known as the ancient wizard Myrddin Emrys, looked upon Bruno with worry, his hair and beard white and his ever-present pipe held in his right hand. Charles had never seen him in Rome let alone on Church grounds. Merle was directly responsible for taking control of the portals from the Vigilo centuries earlier and empowering his own knights—those without political or religious gain—with Arthurian relics of old, a last act of magic to balance the various powerful influences in the world.

  If Merle risked entering the Vatican and the ire of the Church—powerless as he now was—the situation was dire indeed.

  The Cardinal Seer turned toward Charles, his milky eyes seeing more than most.

  “Lower your weapon, Captain,” he ordered. “Before yeh doom us all.”

  Beck Almgren did so without hesitation but gave Charles a final glance that dared violence of any kind.

  “Thank you,” Cardinal Ramirez added.

  “Your Eminence,” Beck Almgren said flatly.

  “It is good to see you well, Cardinal Seer,” Charles greeted, stepping forward to grasp the older man’s hands firmly. He was saddened at the lack of strength in the return grip. “It is unfortunate we have met again under circumstances such as these.”

  “Yer role is one of peril. And peril calls it,” the Seer cackled sadly. “The last time was that particularly nasty troll who tore up the Sistine Chapel, was it not? One day, perhaps we will continue our debate on if God created the fey Tuatha de Dannan.”

  “It is one I will win yet,” Charles said, smiling. He turned to Merle. “I’m surprised to find you here.”

  “I am where I am needed mos
t, always,” Merle said, a twinkle in his light blue eyes. He wore his usual khaki pants and white dress shirt. He raised his pipe and looked toward the Cardinal Seer. “Donato, may I?”

  “I prefer not, Myrddin,” the Cardinal said. “Other than my fireplace, ventilation does not come easily down here. My apologies.”

  “None to give,” Merle said a bit sadly, pocketing the pipe.

  “He should not be here,” Beck Almgren growled lowly, clearly annoyed by the ancient wizard.

  “Captain, you have met Heliwr Charles Ardall,” Cardinal Ramirez said, ignoring the other’s irritation. “A braver man yeh will not meet. He has carried the Dark Thorn now for several years and does so with conviction and wisdom.” The Seer paused. “Charles, the Vigilo is largely absent from Rome at this time, the other seven Cardinals attending their flocks. Only the Pope is within Vatican City.”

  “Has he been notified?” Charles asked.

  “His Excellency has not, nor should he be,” the Cardinal said. He narrowed blind eyes at the captain, preemptively silencing him. “I speak with God’s love, but Pope Urban has a tendency to be rash when affairs of Annwn arise.”

  “You wish this taken care more discreetly then,” Charles affirmed.

  “Just so.”

  Beck Almgren mumbled darkly under his breath.

  “How is Bruno?” the Heliwr asked, looking at the bedridden knight.

  Merle took a deep breath. “He lives. He is a tough man with a hard spirit. Even with the healing drought I gave him, he will awaken soon, I think.”

  “Who… or what… did this to him?”

  “Before he called yeh to Rome, Bruno confided that a vampire of extraordinary power led the warriors in the catacombs,” Cardinal Ramirez said. “The creatures that lay dead before the portal? They are but toddlers to this monster. Bruno said he had never faced anything like it. I think his wounds are evidence of that.”

  Charles took note of the damage done Bruno, a resolute pit of anger growing within. Vampires were dangerous but not normally to the knights who warded the seven fixed entrances into Annwn. The guardians carried weapons imbued with fey magic and most knew spells from Merle to keep safe. The vampire who had overpowered Bruno had to be ancient and strong beyond recall.