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

by Shawn Speakman

  “Are we to find her?” Snedeker pressed.

  “It is not important. Not in the great scheme of things,” Richard said, striding back through the gate toward where Lyrian was boarded. “We leave Annwn. The Elves are our purpose now.”

  “Not Hearne Kier then?”

  “He and his family have warded Tal Ebolyon for centuries,” the Heliwr said. “I am sure he will continue to do so for several more weeks.”

  “I know you, Richard McAllister,” the fairy said, flying in front of the knight’s face, confronting the knight with scowling leaves and bark. “You sense something is amiss. And your hunches are usually right.”

  “I owe Lord Latobius more. The dragonlord takes precedence”

  “Where do we go then?” Snedeker questioned.

  “We will discuss outside the city.”

  Richard strode toward the stables and, preparing Lyrian once more for a journey, led the Rhedewyr through the gate, garden, and back into the Everwinter. The cold air wrapped its claws about Richard again but he was prepared for it. Snow still swirled, the afternoon gray as the morning, and the mounted knight rode through Tal Ebolyon, giving the dragons who slept beneath their giant oak trees privacy. He shivered. The city was like a graveyard, dead silent. No one met them on the path. Soon, the Heliwr and his fairy guide were through the final, ice-encrusted entrance and back on the road leading down out of the Snowdon to the lands below.

  Lyrian exhaled hot breath on the world and Richard pulled his coat closer.

  “Well?” Snedeker finally said after several bends in the path.

  “To London,” Richard said at last. “And to James St. Albans and his library. While you rudely slept, Lord Latobius gave me a lead to find the Elves.”

  “And why exactly is that important?

  “If you hadn’t been sleeping, you’d know,” Richard said crossly. “In short, we will travel to London. Lord Latobius gave me two names from the Old World, names I can use to discover if the Elves yet live.”

  “I have seen your world,” the fairy said. “Not many places for the Elves to exist in Britain. Are you sure this is not a fool’s errand?”

  “It is small chance, warranted. One we must take though.”

  “At least it won’t be cold like this,” Snedeker said, shivering.

  “Guide me,” Richard said. “Let’s hope we encounter no vampires, werewolves, or other distractions.”

  Snedeker flew ahead without a word.

  Richard turned his attention to the problem at hand. Hope helped keep him warm. Lord Latobius had given him a lead. There had been a few over the years that had come from several sources but they had resulted in dead ends. It was difficult to take at times. Braving the Annwn seas to discover an ancient cult of Merrow who possessed powerful pearls capable of healing anything. Entering the Rhyd Wilvre with the female rogue Fianna Mag Aoidh only to be swindled out of the rare white witchwood. Spelunking the depths of the Kynlleith Mines in search of fireroot and almost losing Snedeker to toxic iron dust. Even trying to find the hidden Holy Grail, which had been stolen from the depths of Caer Lion during the battle with Philip Plantagenet but had not been seen since.

  There were others Richard did not even want to think about. All of them had ended in catastrophe, misfortune or simple disappointment.

  But it was moments like this that gave him new purpose. Pessimism yielded few results, after all, and it was better to focus on the task at hand rather than dwell on past failures. Richard would be tenacious in this new quest. Most of the libraries maintained by the portal knights held volumes dedicated specifically to the ancient names of the world. Richard would discover the present day location of Gwynffridd.

  It was all he had to go on currently. He hated to admit it, but he also hoped Merle would be in London. The wizard knew much of ancient life, having lived so long, and might already know the information the unfettered knight needed.

  He was already planning the trip from London that would undoubtedly take them north deeper into England when Snedeker came flying back like a dart, screaming.

  “Unseelie! Unseelie!”

  The Dark Thorn materialized instantly, the warm wood responding to his call. “Kind?” the Heliwr roared back.

  “I do not know,” Snedeker came to a wild halt in front of Lyrian. “It is a shadow darker than any I have seen in a great while.”

  Lyrian snorted derision, the strong Rhedewyr pawing at the snowy path.

  “Just one?”

  “No. More,” the fairy answered. “Off the trail ahead. In their precious darkness.”

  The Heliwr frowned. “But not following you?”

  The fairy looked back down the path. “It does not appear so, which is odd.”

  Richard gripped the staff tighter. Creatures of the Unseelie Court rarely ventured from their barrows and shadows. They preferred the grey shade, the dank underworld, the sunshine a weakening anathema they shunned but could survive within. They were seldom seen but when they appeared, they wanted something.

  The Heliwr and his guide had encountered them numerous times and rarely had had a problem. But the Unseelie were dangerous, especially in numbers, and could never be disregarded.

  And there was no other way from the Snowdon at this point. Richard, Snedeker, and Lyrian had to pass the shadow fey.

  “Well,” he said. “Let’s see what they want.”

  Lyrian moved forward. Richard kept the Dark Thorn before him, its magic tingling beneath his palms, a badge of his office as well as a warning for those that waited nearby. After the path made a few dizzying turns, Richard prompted Lyrian to a stop. Instincts born and enhanced from many battles told him to halt. The path broadened here, a place where numbers had an advantage against a lone traveler and his mount. The drop on his left would kill a normal man or beast if one went over the side; to the right, a copse of ancient fir trees grew toward a large cliff that comprised the Snowdon mountainside, everything covered in winter. Deep snow drifts built by the wind and limbs burdened by winter weight created obstacles that hemmed Richard and his companions into a specific killing ground if the Unseelie wished it. The situation was not favorable.

  And there was no way around it. Richard and his companions could return to Tal Ebolyon or freeze to death.

  Poor choices, considering his need to return to England.

  Just as Richard sent his magic into the surrounding woods to search for the Unseelie, darkness coalesced far down the path, overshadowing the gray light, first only a hint at the periphery of his vision but quickly solidifying into a towering shape, a blackness darker than an ink stain. It continued to form and emerged on four legs as if out of a mirage, tall and regal, a black centaur born of nightmare. With horned head held high and angular face stern, the bare-chested fey peered with flaming eyes at Richard, stabbing the knight with hate. Other small Unseelie creatures and night animals skittered, crawled and skulked about their master’s hooves, eyes filled with red fury, a shadowy entourage. Sickness filled the air and the Heliwr curtailed the bile that rose within. It was a fevered presence that threatened his ability to stand firm and not flee.

  Richard had never met the great Unseelie creature standing before him but Snedeker had not been wrong. It was a powerful shadow indeed.

  The most powerful.

  —Heliwr of the Yn Saith—

  The voice reverberated through the Everwinter, potent and strong, bearing the weight of ages past and gone. The Erlking of the Unseelie Court did not move; he stared at the knight, as if

  “My Lord Cernunnos,” Richard said, nodding slightly.

  —And your guide, who I once met. Still a quivering coward—

  Years before, Snedeker had encountered the Erlking with portal knight Bran Ardall, in the very mountains of the Snowdon. The fairy hid now at Richard’s shoulder, his fear palpable.

  “He is awed at your presence,” Richard said carefully.

  —Diplomacy. A trait not often attributed to your kind—

 
; Richard said nothing, waiting. He could feel the Unseelie king coldly appraising him. The knight kept focused. He was unsure of why the king had stopped him but he knew he could not lower his guard.

  —I sense your future death on you, knight. Do you not know this?—

  “We all die, Erlking,” Richard said. “I will be no different.”

  —The death of which I speak is imminent. You live days, at most—

  Richard gripped the Dark Thorn tighter. He did not like the sound of that. Magic from two worlds filled his purpose, tingling to shield his companions at the attempt of an attack if that was the other’s intent.

  —I am not your death. Do not worry this day—

  “I am ever cautious,” the Heliwr said. “It is not meant as a slight.”

  —The power you carry does not pose a threat to me. Or the power of Myrddin Emrys. The old human lords over you even as I do the underdark. He has put you on this path at this moment. What do you do for him this day, Heliwr?—

  “I carry my duty as I only I see fit. No one controls me, Cernunnos,” Richard said, anger lending his words bite.

  The eyes of the Erlking burned brighter.

  —You did not answer my question—

  “This meeting is quite unexpected,” Richard said instead. “I make my way from Annwn. Why have you stopped me?”

  The flaming eyes narrowed. The Erlking brought forth a dead raven as if by magic, the bird a favorite messenger carrier in the world of the fey.

  —Heliwr, I am here at your request—

  Initial confusion becoming a blaring warning in his heart, Richard brought the magic of the Dark Thorn to bear.

  Just as a spear materialized in the Erlking’s chest.

  A howl born of a million shadows in pain tore silently through Richard’s mind, schizophrenic daggers, the world quivering about him in similar agony. It was all he could do to keep the Dark Thorn called. Cernunnos stumbled back, his rear legs buckling, surprise and anguish twisting his sharp features as his own roar met the Everwinter. Even as the Heliwr tried to shield his mind from the affront, he watched the Unseelie king begin to dissolve, the centaur dividing into his parts, human and horse separating in a shimmer of failing fey magic.

  In moments, the Erlking of the Unseelie Court was no more.

  He now had been replaced by a stallion as black as midnight. Rearing, the great animal whinnied a cry of forlorn terror before powerfully galloping into the lands below.

  In its wake, the horse left a naked human body.

  It was curled upon itself in the churned snow, the killing spear pointing toward the gray sky and sizzling in his chest. It was a man, the horns now fallen away at his side, all vestige of powerful illness evaporated. Richard dismounted, keeping the Dark Thorn protectively held before him, sending his magic into the Snowdon, searching for the identity of who had thrown the spear. He found no one. Danger still prickling his nerves, he warily approached the man. The lesser creatures, once under the power of the Erlking, now slunk away, confusion as if waking from a dream mirrored in their movements.

  Unsure exactly what had happened, he examined the remains of the fey king. No life flared in the eyes; no danger presented itself. The Erlking was indeed dead. Richard turned his attention to the spear. Not sensing danger from the weapon, he wrenched it free, dark blood covering its long tip, the weapon clearly Roman in design.

  And could not believe what he held.

  “Son of a bitch,” he breathed.

  “Rick!” Snedeker screamed.

  The Heliwr looked about.

  The Unseelie creatures gathered anew, hissing, their initial perplexity gone, more creeping from the fir copse with every second. Soon they surrounded Richard, the largest concentration a knot of black, twisted bodies on the path leading out of the Snowdon.

  The ire they carried pierced him like a thousand swords, their intentions obvious.

  Mind swirling with his discovery and its implications as well as the dire situation he now found himself in, the knight remounted Lyrian and, holding the spear in one hand and the Dark Thorn in the other, prepared for the fight he knew was now coming.

  “Away, Lyrian!” he thundered.

  The Rhedewyr needed no other words. The great horse vaulted forward, driving through the gathered mass of Unseelie creatures, killing some instantly while scattering the rest. Several clung to the fey mount, shadow teeth biting, but Richard brushed them off with fire born of the Dark Thorn. Sounds of pain and howls of rage quickly followed. Lyrian paid them no mind, navigating the slippery path as only a Rhedewyr could, his magic keeping him connected to the land. The Unseelie were not so fortunate; Richard sent fire back into their midst, breaking the chase at intervals. The creatures exploded or escaped over the edge of the cliff, to vanish into the abyss below. Still they came on, a torrent of righteous anger.

  Richard sent his thoughts forward, down the path. Even in summer conditions, it took two days to traverse from Tal Ebolyon back to the lowlands of Annwn. The knight knew he would not be able to sustain the magic to survive even into early nightfall.

  The companions had to do something else.

  “Why are they chasing us!?” Snedeker screamed from ahead.

  “They obviously think I killed Cernunnos!”

  “Kitkatburnt!” the fairy cursed “Only you get us in these situations!”

  Richard ignored his guide, concentrating on their flight. After several minutes navigating bends in the mountainside, a horde of darkness crammed the path ahead, the creatures somehow having gotten ahead of them. Snedeker wasted no time. Before Richard could bring his power forth, the fairy raced forward and flung silver dust that exploded upon contact. The shadows the dust touched disintegrated while flinging the others aside like rag dolls. Lyrian jumped over the decimated wall of blackness and the growls and roars of those bested joined those brethren already long in pursuit.

  As the Snowdon purpled toward evening, they came to divide in the path.

  Snedeker flew down one fork heading toward Arendig Fawr; Richard had Lyrian take the other branch.

  “Richard!?”

  “No!” the Heliwr roared. “Not London! We need a river!”

  Snedeker didn’t question. He knew already. The fairy changed course and flew through the air like an arrow, taking up point down the other path that led to the other side of the Snowdon. They had to leave Annwn but the London portal opened and closed on land—and the Unseelie had no problem pursuing on earth in this world and the other.

  There was only one portal that opened and closed on water.

  And it was on the other side of the Snowdon.

  Richard gave Lyrian his lead. The Rhedewyr knew what the Heliwr wished, snow drifts and ice unable to slow him, his power coming to the fore, distancing them from the crush of writhing black bodies that tore after them. The gray light of evening began to wane to darkness, the day coming to its preternatural end, and still the Unseelie chased, maddened by the death of their king. Richard threw up walls of fire when needed but he had already begun to feel the taxing reality of expending his magic. No matter his stern will, magic was finite. He would cross that line in an hour, maybe less.

  Having crossed the Snowdon numerous times, he knew they could make the portal in less time. It bolstered his resolve.

  Almost there, Richard urged silently, grinding his teeth.

  Just as Snedeker led them around a bend toward the river, movement caught his eye on the hillside to his right. Dark bodies poured over the Snowdon, another group trying to cut them off, the blackness a living stain of night. The portal they needed was less than a mile away.

  There were too many of them.

  And they threatened to kill Richard before he gained safety.

  Lyrian sensed the knight’s anxiety. The mount put on a last burst of speed, driving down the hillside even as the Unseelie shadows growled their anger.

  The Rhedewyr made

  And the knight could see glimpse of the river through the
snowy scape.

  In seconds, Richard was dismounting next to the banks of the Achles River. He wasted no time. Time had never been a friend of his.

  “Run, Lyrian!” he yelled. “Free!”

  The Rhedewyr understood all too well. With the black mass of shadows swarming down the snowy hill toward the river, the horse sped along its banks, given freedom from carrying Richard. In moments, the great mount had vanished into the white of the world, safe from the preoccupied Unseelie whose focus remained on the night.

  “Thatta boy,” Richard whispered, already running forward.

  “No time!” Snedeker yelled incentive.

  The Heliwr did not question. He let the Dark Thorn dissolve. The staff would be a hindrance for what was to come. He called a spell instead, one of warmth and comfort, wrapping him in a cocoon, one that would protect him. Without thought to whether or not the magic worked, he ran across the thick ice that had gathered along the banks of the He gritted his teeth. With the spear clutched protectively in both hands, he suddenly found the ice giving way beneath his weight, a sudden moment of weightlessness, and then the current of the river taking chunks of ice and his body into itself. Thousands of bees stung him through his clothing but he barely felt them; magic encased his body but it would not keep him safe for long.

  Not while ice bled him of life and therefore the main fount of his power.

  He stroked his way into the sluggish current, the spear unwieldy in his effort. It did not take long for his strength to dwindle within the icy waters. The last remaining aspect of his magic disintegrated. He looked back once to see the Unseelie gathered on the bank, mewling hatred, unable to enter the Achles River.

  That’s right, Richard thought. I beat you.

  “You can make it, Rick!” Snedeker screamed from above.

  Richard had a final thought of wanting to fry the fairy for his childish encouragement before the Everwinter overcame his spell entirely and the real pain began to kill him.

  His boots became weights about his feet. He had one moment to howl inwardly at finding one of the most precious relics in the history of the world