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

by Shawn Speakman

  Richard had already brought the Dark Thorn against the third creature that had bounded around Snedeker’s fire. It leapt much like the first but low, coming at the knight’s knees.

  Lyrian took on the battle then. The great Rhedewyr entered the fray and came down upon the werewolf before it could attack Richard, cleaving an arm from of the beast. Howls of pain filling the air, the fey horse didn’t stop. With thunderous hooves flashing in the gray light, the werewolf disappeared into the world, silenced forever.

  The snow turned crimson.

  Richard looked back down the path.

  Dozens more werewolves were gaining the heights, their muscled bodies plowing through the snow, a massive beast coming last and bearing a vampire on its back.

  It didn’t take Richard long to realize there were too many of them.

  Unable to flee upon Lyrian and with nowhere else to turn for protection, he would be overwhelmed in a matter of moments.

  Adding a wider swath of fire across the pathway than what Snedeker had already done, the Heliwr bolted for the safety of the tree his fairy had discovered, knowing it to be his only sanctuary. Letting the Dark Thorn evaporate into nothing, Richard slid into the hollow of the giant fir tree, feeling the pursuit hot upon him.

  “Throw up your spell, Rick!” Snedeker yelled from without.

  Richard didn’t need reminding. Several Celtic words later and magic sealed the entrance, a shield against what loomed.

  He hated hiding.

  “Told you Lyrian could handle himself,” Snedeker lectured from outside, somewhere safe within the tree’s limbs.

  “Shut up,” Richard growled.

  In seconds, the werewolves surrounded the fir, their rasping breath filling the outside world with steam and their rage. They did not attempt to overcome the shield. Instead they parted as the largest among them approached, the vampire upon its back staring into hollow of the tree where Richard waited, its eyes colder than the Everwinter swirling around him. When the werewolf came within two-dozen yards, the vampire dismounted. Jet-black hair pulled back from a pale face, the creature strode with a powerful arrogance, almost floating over the churned snow as if the limitations of the weather conditions were nothing to him. He wore finery reserved for only the most noble in Annwn—an ornate grey suit with seams of gold sewn into it, a fur-lined coat to ward the chill, and knee-high black boots buffed to a lustrous shine.

  Richard recognized the clothing at once.

  And who the vampire had been before his transformation.

  “My Lord Byram, did we forget to speak on some point I’m not aware of?” Richard asked crossly.

  “Richard McAllister, return the Orb of Rhiannon,” the other hissed, his fangs born like daggers. The mayor of Llwydnos knelt before the Heliwr’s shield. “It is a dire thing you have done. You visited our home. You spoke to us of peace and aid. Of including us in the larger politics of Annwn. Then you thieve? Reprehensible, to say the least.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Richard answered. “I have stolen nothing. If the orb is missing, it is not by my hand.”

  “The orb is gone, taken by you yesterday!” the vampire snarled. “We have had no other visitors and no one in Llwydnos would undo their great blessing. Do not make my companions rip this tree asunder. You would not like that.”

  The werewolves growled lowly at this, their wishes obvious. Richard cursed his ill luck. He had no answer for Byram. The knight knew of the Orb of Rhiannon, a small but powerful jewel, one that had been set high within a massive statue in the center of the town’s square. Richard and Snedeker had seen it while touring the town, the sculpture carved from black granite, depicting the vampire Morig the Merciful and the werewolf Khedrik who had together discovered the cure for their curses. Lord Byram had explained the statue stood as a reminder of the curses the town’s occupants had to endure. Not all such creatures were evil, Lord Byram had assured. Richard had discovered that to be true during his time as Heliwr; many of them merely wanted to live free of the evil that had infiltrated their lives through no fault of their own.

  The orb was more precious to the denizens of Llwydnos than their lives. Richard understood why Lord Byram needed it back. As a man with past demons poisoning his own soul, the Heliwr knew all too well.

  The orb represented freedom.

  “I don’t have it,” Richard said. “I promise to help you find it if you free me from this… situation. I need room to call my staff. With it, I can discover the whereabouts of the orb and together we can reclaim it.”

  “How do I know that is not a trick?” Lord Byram questioned, eyes narrowing. “A way to flee with your magic?”

  “If I could have fled, I would not be within this tree hollow right now.”

  “Regardless,” the vampire said. “I don’t trust you.”

  “You trusted me yesterday.”

  “Richard McAllister,” Lord Byram exhaled sharply, glancing beyond the tree where Richard could not see. “Your mount is surrounded. Flight is not an option for you. Tell me now where the orb is.” He paused. “I am unsure how long my companions will be able to curb their own lusts without putting their hands on the orb. I hate to threaten, but every minute that passes those lusts grow, as do my own.”

  “Do not harm Lyrian,” the knight said darkly. “The Rhedewyr are protected by the Seelie Court and Lyrian is favored among them.”

  Lord Bryam grinned fangs.

  “Do you believe I care at this point?”

  “If you harm him, the town of Llwydnos will have a visit from the Morrigan the likes it will forever regret.”

  “You are in no position to intimidate us, Richard McAllister.”

  “I am,” the knight said with steel. “You have no idea.”

  “Common purpose unites us,” Lord Byram said. “You want to live after this day; I want peace in Llwydnos. My town is tearing itself apart as its populace revert back to their original natures. Who knows how many have died since I left. Those with me maintain a level of human awareness despite our appearance. At least for the time being. If not you, then who took the orb?”

  “I have no desire to see Llwydnos destroyed,” Richard said. “No bird could have taken the orb. It was placed strongly into the statue. And no dragon would have taken it because it is too small to even notice.”

  “There is a fairy in your employ.”

  A sinking feeling hit Richard.

  “Snedeker!” the Heliwr roared. He couldn’t see the fairy but he could imagine the look on the other’s face. “Answer me now. Do you have the orb?”

  “I rage at even the thought!” the fairy yelled.

  “Snedeker, don’t lie to me!”

  “Honest!”

  “Very well, Heliwr. Enough of this,” Lord Byram said before stepping away from the tree. “You give me no choice but to investigate myself.”

  It was the signal the werewolves had been waiting for. With thick claws bolstered by thick muscle, they began ripping bark from the tree and into the heart of the wood, the fir made brittle from the cold conditions. Large splinters flew into the air. Sweat went cold on Richard’s skin. There was nothing he could do. There was also nothing Snedeker could do, having spent his dust magic earlier. It would not take the beasts long to work their way around the shield—or topple the tree on them all.

  When that happened, Richard would be forced into the open.

  And die a grim death.

  But before the werewolves could make much progress, a roar filled the world, long and sustained like a hurricane, accompanied by a bright flame that erupted above the mountain like an exploding comet. Lord Byram and his werewolves cringed, all looking skyward. Unable to view what transpired, Richard had a good guess what had arrived. Another blast of fire, this one closer and more intense, spread overhead and even the knight could feel it, the heat warming the air ever so perceptibly. It was a fire with purpose—used to intimidate but not harm. Then a sudden wind arose, sending snowflakes swirling i
n a maddened dance, even as the cracking of breaking tree limbs made weak by the sustained winter echoed over the Snowdon.

  What came gave Richard hope.

  When the great charcoal-colored dragon settled to the world, his great wings buffeting those on the path with walls of air, the werewolves scattered in all directions.

  Lord Byram stood firm though, unwilling to yield even to so large a foe.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Prince Saethmoor rumbled, dark blue eyes angry and glittering battle.

  “Dragon, this is of no concern to you,” Lord Byram said curtly.

  “I doubt that very much, vampire,” Saethmoor said, wings now folded and claws like swords kneading the snow in suggestion. Smoke curled from his nostrils, a promise. “There is much here that you do not understand. That the Heliwr does not understand.”

  “And what would that be, Prince Saethmoor?” Richard asked.

  “The fairy lies.”

  Richard had the sudden impulse to throttle his guide.

  “Snedeker! Get down here! Now!”

  The Oakwell fairy did so, flying into view but still high enough to avoid harm.

  “Is this true?” Richard questioned, barely containing his anger.

  Snedeker did not move. “It is none of your concern what I do with the things I find during our travels. I do not tell you what meals to take or what britches to wear in the morning, now do I?”

  “It is my concern when I am almost killed for it!”

  Snedeker rolled his eyes, defiant.

  “Where is it?” Richard asked.

  The fairy crossed his arms.

  “Snedeker!”

  “Wormwarts,” the fairy cursed. He flew to Lyrian, the Rhedewyr mount still surrounded by werewolves, and undid a small pouch on the light saddle reserved for the fairy and his things.

  From it, he pulled a small item swathed in velvet.

  “Show it, Snedeker,” Richard said.

  The Oakwell fairy did so. As he pulled the velvet free, the Orb of Rhiannon glowed brightly in the gray afternoon light, its surface rippling through the colors of the rainbow, the jewel humming a song that Richard could sense but not hear.

  “Fairy, give it to me,” Lord Byram said at once.

  Snedeker failed to move, indecision written on his twiggy face.

  “Now, Snedeker,” Richard growled.

  The Heliwr’s guide said nothing. Instead, he flew toward Lord Byram and with a nonchalant look tossed the bauble to the vampire.

  The mayor of Llwydnos caught it easily—and immediately began to transform. The prominent features of the vampire—the pale skin, black eyes, prominent fangs and sunken features—began to melt away, changing even as Richard watched. Life returned to Lord Byram, color entering his cheeks and his soul shining from blue eyes. The fangs disappeared altogether.

  In a matter of moments, the Orb of Rhiannon had transformed the cursed back to humanity.

  The werewolves approached their mayor, desiring the same.

  “No, my friends, I am prepared for the winter and its elements,” Lord Byram said, pulling his fur-lined coat tighter for emphasis. “You are not. Your nakedness would be the death of you long before our return to Llwydnos. One home, I will remove your curse and life will be set right again.” He paused to look at Richard. “Heliwr, you are safe to exit your hollow. I will not harm you.”

  With Prince Saethmoor looking on, Richard was more than safe. He unwove the protective spell and stepped from the fir tree into the light touch of snow falling.

  “The fairy is no longer welcome in Llwydnos,” Lord Byram said, the mayor standing with authority born of proven conviction. “Ensure he never flies into it again.”

  Richard gave Snedeker a dark look.

  “You have my oath, Lord Byram.”

  With a curt nod and ignoring Saethmoor entirely, the mayor of Llwydnos walked back down the path from whence he had come, leaving the Snowdon. Soon Lord Byram and werewolves faded into winter.

  After seconds, all that remained were their footprints in the churned snow.

  Richard exhaled sharply. He turned to Saethmoor. “It pays to have allies in this dangerous time, it seems,” he said.

  “It pays to have friends,” Saethmoor corrected.

  “Some friends need to know their place,” Richard said, narrowing his gaze on his wayward fairy guide.

  “Rick, I know what you are going to sa—”

  “Snedeker, I am only going to say this once,” Richard said, coming face to face with the Oakwell fairy, wanting more than ever to reach out and swat common sense back into the fey creature. “If you steal again, I will end you. No one will miss you. The Lady and her choice as my guide be damned. Understood?”

  The fairy nodded, downcast. “I will be ash on the wind.”

  “Exactly.”

  As Snedeker flew off to undoubtedly sulk, Richard swore under his breath. Lyrian stood nearby, unharmed, staring at the knight with eyes that suggested he agreed with the sentiment. Richard took a deep breath to find calm. At least the three of them were safe, no thanks to his guide.

  “How did you find us?” Richard asked Saethmoor, readjusting his clothing now that the heat of battle was gone. “And how did you know Snedeker took the orb?”

  “It was not difficult,” the great dragon answered, his bulk towering over Richard like a mountain of his own. “When you failed to appear as planned, my Grandsire grew worried and requested I search. The Snowdon has become dangerous in this Everwinter and evil can befall even the strongest of travelers. Once aloft, it was not difficult locating you. The rage of the werewolves echoed all over these mountains.”

  Richard nodded. “And the orb?”

  “Ahh, the orb,” Saethmoor said. “I could feel its presence even as I circled above. It is a potent magic. In your adamancy that you did not possess it, there could only be one entity that did. The fairy. The Rhedewyr would have no need for such a trinket, after all.”

  The Heliwr grinned. “No, Lyrian would have no need of it.”

  “Let us proceed to Tal Ebolyon, Richard McAllister,” Saethmoor offered. “It is best we gain the heights before the night makes your travel far more difficult.”

  Richard agreed. Rather than fly, Saethmoor made his way up the trail, the path barely able to contain the large fey creature. The knight mounted Lyrian and followed after, the mountain made easier with his furnace of an escort. Snedeker would rejoin them at some point as if nothing had happened. It was how he dealt with Richard’s direction when he did not agree with it.

  It was the fairy’s way.

  Richard wondered darkly if his guide would ever learn.

  The day when Snedeker finally did, the Heliwr would likely die from shock.

  Returned to his other reason for coming to Annwn, Richard let Lyrian slowly conquer the Snowdon one step at a time, the Everwinter swirling around them.

  Tal Ebolyon lay ahead.

  And the snow continued to fall.

  Chapter 2

  Richard rode into Tal Ebolyon with regret burning in his heart.

  The Heliwr had visited the ancient dragon city dozens of times during his tenure as the unfettered knight. The feelings it stirred never changed. Remorse and a certain level of guilt had followed him for years. He never spoke of it, not even to Snedeker. Five years earlier, Richard had given his oath to Lord Latobius, a promise to discover what ailed and slowly killed dragonkind. In exchange, Tal Ebolyon would rejoin their Seelie Court brethren and fight to reclaim Annwn from the despotic rule of Philip Plantagenet. The dragon lord had turned Richard away during his first visit to Tal Ebolyon, unable to send and endanger even one dragon of the dying race. But during the battle between the Tuatha de Dannan and Caer Llion, Lord Latobius had brought his aid, turning the tide of the battle and helping to win the day, freeing Annwn from Philip’s religious crusade.

  Since that day, Richard had spent much of his time trying to find a cure. He had been unsuccessful. He had quested through
Annwn and even the wilds of his own world, hunting for the answer, but so far for naught. Merle had aided him when he could but all efforts had proven beyond even his power.

  And now Richard visited once more, no remedy found.

  Only a new, wild hunch.

  The battle with Lord Byram and his werewolves having already faded behind him, Richard walked Lyrian through the gate into the majesty of Tal Ebolyon.

  The dragon city sprawled beneath a lone snow-covered peak, the jutting spire reflected in a large lake, its waters still gray steel. Tal Ebolyon was a vast area, flat, with Mynachlog Keep tucked against the peak, its square walls protecting a circular structure at their center and its weathered stone covered in snow and ice. The dragons did not live within Mynachlog Keep though. Beneath large oak trees, the largest occupants of Tal Ebolyon existed, their large bodies curled upon themselves, their inner furnaces warding them from the Everwinter. There were only several dozen dragons left alive in all of Annwn and here they were gathered. The white flag above the keep hung limply and Richard could not help but notice the symbol of the Fynach also represented surrender.

  As the snow continued to fall, the city was as quiet as a graveyard.

  Snedeker sat upon a rose hedge that had not bloomed in years, waiting, his back turned to Richard’s approach.

  The fairy was nothing but predictable.

  “I am sure you would care to warm yourself after your tumultuous morning,” Saethmoor said, giving Richard an appraising eye. “Perhaps time to speak to your guide about the importance of true friendship.”

  “Partly right,” Richard agreed.

  “The Fynach will care for your needs. My grandsire will send for you.”