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

by Shawn Speakman

  “Thank you, Prince Saethmoor.”

  The great dragon nodded politely and leapt into the air, wings pushing columns of air downward even as he rose. It took him seconds to cross the breadth of the city.

  The Heliwr marveled at the wondrous power dragonkind possessed.

  It made him all the sadder.

  Richard dismounted and, with Lyrian following after, walked toward the castle, the path free of snow, cleared by the other denizens of Tal Ebolyon. The Fynach, a sect of coblynau, had been charged by Caer Glain’s Lord Fafnir to care for dragonkind, the ties both races shared strengthened by living together in the Snowdon. For three centuries, the short and stocky Fynach had given aid to their dying neighbors.

  Breathing vapor into the world as he made his way toward the home of the Fynach, Richard banked his anger over his inability to find an answer, letting it firm his resolve to see his oath fulfilled. Instead, he waited for Snedeker to break his pouting silence. The knight could hear the faint rustle of the fairy’s flight behind. When his guide continued the silence, Richard could take it no more.

  “You know, Snedeker,” Richard said, not looking back. “I only said the things I did because our safety comes first, always. You have to stop thieving. Period. But there is no reason to be angry with me now. What is past is past.”

  “Buggerslut, Rick,” the fairy snorted. “I am not angry at you.”

  “What is it then?”

  The fairy caught up with the knight but did not speak, the bits of twigs and leaves that comprised his face frowning. Richard waited for the Oakwell fairy to explain what he was feeling.

  “Well,” Richard prodded. “What is it?”

  “This place reminds me of Red,” Snedeker said finally.

  The regret Richard had carried into Tal Ebolyon deepened. Deirdre Rhys. The daughter of Mochdrev Reach’s Lord Gerallt, she had joined the Seelie Court in their battle against Caer Llion rather than marry Plantagenet. The redhead had been Snedeker’s best friend—perhaps only friend. She had also loved Richard for reasons the Heliwr still could not fathom. Deirdre had offered herself to him and he had refused. It had caused her pain. The next day, she would be dead, killed while protecting the portal knight Bran Ardall as he fought and ended the self-proclaimed High King of Annwn.

  She remained an ever-present ghost, her faith in him and her sacrifice for the greater good a reminder of the good in others.

  “I am sad that I did not know her better,” Richard admitted.

  “Your loss,” Snedeker said.

  “I think of her often too,” the knight said, surprised at his own words. “It is natural to miss her. She was an amazing woman. Annwn forever owes her a debt.”

  “You owe her a debt as well, methinks.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Never you mind,” Snedeker sniffed. “Like her once, you are not ready yet.”

  Confused by the fairy’s cryptic words but unwilling to start another bickering match, Richard let them go.

  “I am sorry coming to this place causes you pain, Snedeker.”

  “I know, Rick.”

  Letting the sudden silence heal their earlier animosity, the Heliwr and his guide continued on. What seemed small in the distance grew large as they approached Mynachlog Keep. Richard eyed the structure beyond its square protective walls, the circular keep’s windows shuttered to the elements. The place was gray and dismal, devoid of outward life if not for several wisps of smoke rising between the falling snowflakes. The knight hoped he could dispel the chill he felt with gaining the information he needed from Lord Latobius.

  The pathway wound through a low stone wall and into an area devoid of winter where warmth flooded over Richard. The odor of growing plants returned to his senses. The Bwyd Garden grew just outside the main outer wall of the castle, the only splash of color in an otherwise desolate city. Used to shades of Everwinter gray, Richard marveled at the garden, hundreds of plants growing amidst winter’s assault, rows and rows of vegetables and fruit trees in various stages of producing. When the Everwinter closed its long, unnatural grip about the land, the Queen of the Seelie Court had dispatched hundreds of Gwyrdd Witches to all corners of Annwn. She knew foodstuffs would be needed if Annwn was to survive its long season of ice and snow.

  It was not natural to use magic to convince plants to grow, mature, and reproduce out of season but the Everwinter was not exactly natural either.

  As Richard had found, the fey and humanity had some things in common.

  Like surviving.

  Mistress Elyn, the resident Gwyrdd Witch in Tal Ebolyon, did what she could, using her formidable power to grow the necessary fruits and vegetables needed to sustain not only the Fynach but the livestock needed for dragonkind.

  Walking across the Bwyd Garden and into the massive arched doorway that allowed passage through the castle’s high outer wall, Richard entered a courtyard that separated the square walls from the circular keep, Snedeker now resting comfortably on his shoulder in his accustomed place. The courtyard was devoid of Fynach but contained the equipment they used to care for the dragons—ladders of all sorts, scaffolding, dozens of different pulley systems, harnesses and various tools, many of which Richard could not guess at their purpose. To their right, a small stable filled with ponies helped transport goods and supplies from Caer Glain to Tal Ebolyon.

  After housing Lyrian with the Fynach ponies and giving his mount sweet grasses and grain, the Heliwr made his way to the keep, with its short set of stairs and wide door. Taking a series of steps to the front of the keep, he pulled on a long chain that disappeared inside.

  A long and deep gong reverberated within the castle.

  Minutes passed. Just as Richard began to worry that something was not quite right, the door opened to reveal an entry filled with glowing orbs and a warmer smile.

  “Heilwr,” a Fynach greeted, ancient eyes dancing. “It has been far too long.”

  “It has, Master Rhorik,” Richard agreed, giving a small bow.

  “Please, drop the title. I am a servant of Mynachlog Keep and nothing more. Step within,” the other said, his simple robes whiter than even the snow without. “I can see your journey has taken a great toll. The eyes tell much when one but looks. And greetings to you as well, Snedeker of the Oakwells.”

  The fairy flew into the keep as if he owned it.

  “Your guide is as talkative as always.”

  “He finds common courtesy a hardship, I’m afraid,” Richard apologized, also entering the warmth of the keep’s entryway. “How are you? How does the work of the Fynach progress?”

  “I am well but the lack of progress finding a cure for Lord Latobius and his kin disheartens all of us here,” Rhorik shared, long-worn sorrow deepening the wrinkles of his old face. “It is not for naught though. The Queen of the Seelie Court has been most gracious with devoting resources to help us. Her emissaries have discovered some texts of the wondrous—grimoires, spell masonologies, druid histories, medicinal codices, and the like—almost as old as Annwn. We learn new and interesting facts daily but it is knowledge that is largely unhelpful to the plight of dragonkind.” He paused, looking at Richard with hopeful eyes. “When I opened the door to the keep, I had hoped you would bring brighter news.”

  “I do have several questions for Lord Latobius,” the knight said. “It is a wild hunch but a possibility nonetheless.”

  “Let us hope he gives helpful answers to your questions then,” Rhorik said, moving deeper into Mynachlog Keep.

  “I hope so too.”

  “Sometimes, Richard McAllister,” the Fynach said with a glance backward. “Life has a way of surprising even the most cynical.”

  Richard followed the short, white-robed coblynau down a hallway into a large vestibule. Snedeker had flown ahead, the route known from previous visit. The keep opened up to the Heliwr and he let its hospitality warm him. The Fynach lived a modest existence, the devotion toward their much larger companions absolute, and they did
not spend time on luxury or pompous circumstance. The keep felt like a monastery from his world, its simplicity enlightening all by itself. Rhorik certainly possessed a calm that was soothing to the Heliwr; if Richard could gain just a small bit of it, he would enjoy a few moments of peace after his harrowing morning.

  As they walked through the keep, no other Fynach appeared. It was as if no one was home. Richard knew that not to be true. On the floors above, dozens of the coblynau sect spent their time poring over manuscripts, scrolls, and books of various ages and disciplines, seeking answers. For Richard, who had spent his graduate school years in University of Washington libraries, a part of him envied their scholarship. Opening a book to discover its secrets was as gratifying as any quest Richard had been on.

  And research reading tended to be infinitely safer.

  Usually. Although there were exceptions.

  Rhorik brought Richard to a comfortably sized room, a hearth blazing against one wall, one of many in the keep that kept the Everwinter chill at bay. Four chairs of simple construction but large enough for a human sat around a table of appropriate height for the Heliwer. Over the fireplace, a painting of the Snowdon in summer hung, a reminder of days past when the world was filled with color. In four small pots placed about the room, large tulips of different colors grew, adding a splash of color to the room. A plate of hard cheeses and fruit had been placed on the table along with a pitcher of dark ale, brewed in the depths of Caer Glain. Snedeker sat upon a soft cushion placed within a goblet, the fairy already feasting on a green grape the size of his head.

  Richard suddenly realized how hungry he was after the battle.

  “You seem to always know when we are going to visit, Rhorik,” Richard said, gesturing at the table’s setup.

  “It does not take magic to deduce it,” Rhorik admitted, his smile returned. “No one braves the pathways of the Snowdon during the Everwinter. You and you alone. When the bell is rung, I know with almost certainty who it is and I set up accordingly.”

  “Regardless, thank you for your efforts,” Richard said, his suddenly settling on the tulips. “I see Mistress Elyn has grown more than just fruits and vegetables.”

  “The Gwyrdd Witch does enjoy her work. The flowers are in every room of the keep. We are the better for it, I think. They warm the dreary days.”

  “Where is she now?

  “I do not know,” Rhorik said. “She was not in her garden?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Well, she must be resting,” the old coblynau assured. “The work she does is taxing. She labors long days, days that steal from her. Power and grave responsibility have ever eroded youth. My ole’ grandfa used to say ‘Give a young man power one day and the next he will be gray.’ It is the same with magic wielders who are not born to their ability. Every day that passes, Mistress Elyn becomes a shadow of her former self. A high price to pay but one we are grateful to have.”

  “Magic is a hardship, Rhorik,” Richard said. “I know all too well.”

  “Indeed. Make sure you are more careful,” the Fynach chided, his eyes somber. “Did one of our charges meet you at your entrance to Tal Ebolyon?”

  “Prince Saethmoor met us on the trail, yes.”

  “I see,” Rhorik said. “I assume Lord Latobius will be calling on you shortly?”

  “If it is his will.”

  “Do you and your guide require anything else?”

  Richard smiled. “We do not.”

  “Then I will leave you to your thoughts, Heliwr,” Rhorik said with a curt nod. “If you have but one need, please ring the silver bell upon the hearth’s mantle. I will return shortly to assist.”

  “Thank you, Master Rhorik,” Richard said.

  The coblynau bowed and left.

  Having removed his heavy coat to drape over his chair, Richard turned to the fireplace, accepting its heat and feeling warmth return to his extremities as he thought about the Gwyrdd Witch. Magic. He almost hated the word. Unlike his world, it ruled almost everything in Annwn and like all forms of power could be detrimental if misused. Richard didn’t like what Rhorik had said concerning Mistress Elyn. The knight would have to see her before leaving and offer any aid that might help.

  Waiting on Lord Latobius, Richard decided to finally break off a section of the pungent cheese the Fynach.

  He froze in mid bite.

  A faint stirring rippled through the air, an almost imperceptible scratch on the nape of his neck. Richard had felt many times before. It was not uncommon to sense it in Annwn but rarely within Mynachlog Keep and never in the manner it was being used.

  “Feel that?” Snedeker asked, perked up. “Magic.”

  “Not just magic. Dark, driven magic,” Richard whispered. “Can you feel it? There is an entity within these walls that wishes ill on everyone.”

  His grape forgotten, the fairy nodded. Richard called the Dark Thorn, the staff a warm assurance in his hands. He crept on cat’s paws after his guide. The Oakwell fairy had already flown from the room, leading the way, his fey eyes sweeping the gloom and looking for any aspect of danger. When the fairy had gained another doorway and peered beyond, Snedeker nodded to Richard and disappeared around the corner. The Heliwr followed. Down a hall faintly lit with glowing blue orbs and through another doorway, Richard stepped upon stairs leading upward into the keep. Snedeker had already made his way ahead, his wings carrying him higher.

  The two made their way up several flights, past the floors containing medicinal storerooms and the conclaves devoted to study. They met several Fynach on the stairs going about their affairs, the short fey dressed in white robes like Rhorik, but beyond a curious eye they did not stop Richard.

  The odd form of magic pulled him like a magnet, increasing in strength until it prickled the hair on his arms. Through the Dark Thorn, Richard became more attuned to its nature. Linking two spots, the magic crossed great distances.

  Richard took the final set of stairs and came to the topmost floor of Mynachlog Keep. No other Fynach were present. This part of the castle housed the living quarters for the Steward of Tal Ebolyon, the coblynau responsible for overseeing the work the Fynach conducted for dragonkind every day. The air was chillier here, the Everwinter stripping the keep of heat more easily from its uppermost chambers. A short hallway met Richard, ending where two orbs hung above a solid oak door wrapped in rune-etched iron bands. He nodded to Snedeker, giving his leave to approach with caution.

  The fairy flew ahead and placed his wooden hands on the door, sending his own heightened senses beyond. After seconds, Snedeker stared hard at the Heliwr, tiny eyes intense and full of meaning.

  The magic existed on the other side of the door.

  Richard brought the Dark Thorn close, allowing the magic of two worlds to incase him in an invisible armor—and slowly pulled on the door’s handle.

  Gritting his teeth, he prepared for the worst.

  Nothing happened.

  Snedeker knew what to do. They had done this hundreds of times, their five-year partnership developing unspoken communication. The fairy peered into the crack Richard had created and slipped inside. When his guide did not return, Richard moved inside as well. Unlike the rest of the keep, the room was ornate. Rugs hugged the floor, warding the chill such castles produced, while two different hearths lent their warmth to the living space. The furniture was short and squat, built for coblynau, but unlike the chairs downstairs it was beautifully crafted and waxed to a high sheen. Various dragon paintings hung on the walls amid bookcases filled with gorgeous leather tomes. Richard had never been invited to this part of Mynachlog Keep but he could tell the Steward of Tal Ebolyon led a life that exceeded the mere comforts his brethren shared.

  No one was around. Other than the crackling fireplaces, the quarters were quiet, sheltered from the bustling community below.

  Snedeker had already flown to the other side of the room, carefully searching for the magic and any possible traps. Richard crept after, become a predatory sha
dow. He was aware he intruded on private space, a trespass that would likely not go over well with the Steward. But the odd magic, potent and ancient, drew him. It demanded an answer in the confines of Tal Ebolyon. Once through the large living room, Richard followed his guide down a short hallway that branched off to other rooms. He ignored them, focused on the room where the magic emanated.

  The Oakwell fairy had stopped ahead, waiting by the open doorway and peering beyond, confusion at what he was seeing twisting his wooden features.

  Richard joined his guide and carefully followed the other’s gaze.

  The sleeping quarters of Tal Ebolyon’s steward were as extravagant as the rest of his living space. The windows were shuttered against the Everwinter but even in the weak light, Richard could make out the beautiful environs. The décor was the same as in the living room but a massive bed much too large for a coblynau sat pushed up against the main wall, covered in pillows and heavy blankets. Two large pots sat to either side of the bed and from their dark soil, thorny vines snaked up wooden trellises built against the wall, the plants intertwining over the headboard of the bed to create a crimson explosion of color, the rose blooms larger than his fist. The joining of nature during such a horrible winter concerned Richard. It could only be the work of one person in Tal Ebolyon.

  That’s not what drew Richard’s eye though. In the other corner, mounted between the two walls, a large mirror faced, its rectangular frame ornate silver and embedded with countless jewels. The mirror swirled with colors of the rainbow, an ethereal glow emanating from its depths.

  The magic originated from the mirror.

  And before it, sitting in a plush chair and facing away from Richard, sat a stocky coblynau wearing the dark blue robes of his office.

  Herne Keir.

  The Steward of Tal Ebolyon seemed to be unaware of his visitors. With a simple gesture from Richard, Snedeker flew into the recesses of the ceiling above the chair, the fairy surveying the situation. Richard waited. When his guide gave the nod, the Heliwr approached the side of the chair, the Dark Thorn held at the ready.