distinguished coblynau warriors displaying weapons, kings sitting in dignity, and scholars bearing large tomes and wise faces. Each statue had a different massive jewel set into its stone, twinkling.
The only illumination in the hall came from orbs at the far end of the room where a multistep dais gave rise to a throne of ornate silver and quartz. It absorbed the light and shone like a star.
Upon the throne, Lord Fafnir glowered at everyone.
He was an ancient coblynau, bald with a long ratty beard hanging from a face thick with wrinkles, black eyes burning from beneath bushy white eyebrows. Pale skin spotted with age like mold in milk hung in jowls below a round face while purple robes hid an emaciated frame. With a bony finger, he caressed the leather-wrapped handle of a black steel war hammer as though it was a prized cat.
Below the dais, six round oak tables stood, each bearing a checkered marble game board with two players seated across from one another.
“What is the meaning of this, Masyn?” Fafnir snarled, his teeth missing or rotted to yellow nubs. “Can you not see I am entertaining a tournament?”
“We have visitors, Lord Fafnir,” Masyn answered, guiding Richard and the others forward. “Not of my making.”
“Well, rid us of them,” Fafnir said, waving dismissively as he watched one of the games. “I am busy.”
“They were told this, my Lord, and refused to leave.”
“Then kill them, Commander,” Fafnir growled.
Masyn turned to Henrick and, with a raised eyebrow, began pulling his short sword free as the rest of his unit did the same.
“My Lord Fafnir!” Henrick roared.
All eyes turned to the Master Guardsman.
“Here is a Knight of the Yn Saith, on an errand of utmost importance for the people of Caer Glain,” Henrick introduced, gesturing to Richard. “From the Morrigan, Queen of the Seelie Court herself.”
Fafnir darkened. “Who addresses me thus as if I care?”
“Henrick, son of Harrick, Master Guardsman of Caer Glain.”
“Commander, see this Guardsman is punished for insolence.”
Before Henrick could respond or Masyn conduct his orders, Richard strode forth. “Lord Fafnir, I am Richard McAllister, Knight of the Yn Saith and emissary of the Queen. I must be allowed to speak. The courageous coblynau of Caer Glain deserve to hear the news I bear and risk their peril if they do not.”
“What power does the Morrigan hold here, in my city?” Fafnir interrogated, gazing at the knight and still caressing the hammer at his hand.
“I represent her wishes in this matter, with her authority,” Richard said sternly. “The Morrigan is still your Queen, whether you believe it or not is moot. Her judgment in this must be addressed and given its due.”
Long moments passed.
“Do so then, if that will leave me to my games.”
“King Philip of Caer Llion amasses an army of dark halfbreeds, nature twisted to a means that will see the world of the Seelie Court reduced to ash. Even as I speak, he mobilizes a force unseen before in Annwn—former lords, the Templar Knights now thousands strong, and demon-wolves, griffins, Fomorians, who knows what else. The final days of Annwn are upon you. Philip will not stop at Arendig Fawr; he will eventually be at your entrance, and even a brute like Llassar Llaes Gyngwyd will not stop him any more than Llassar stopped me. Your world will end then, this mountain your tomb. The Queen requests the army of Caer Glain join the Seelie Court to prevent this. Only by combining what forces of good remain will you have a chance.”
“Caer Glain remains impartial and ever shall be so,” Fafnir decreed.
“Even if the battle comes to your doorstep?” Richard pressed.
“I care not. Never has an army come to these halls and forever will that be true. The Snowdon is a fortress impregnable,” Fafnir dismissed. “Despite that, wisdom has ever not been a part of the Seelie Court. They quarrel and hate. Forever has leadership lacked, under Arawn and under the Morrigan. Now you expect the coblynau to inherit eons of poor judgment, even while we are safe.” He paused then waved them away again. “Take these people from my sight, Masyn.”
“Are they still to be executed, Lord Fafnir?” Masyn asked.
“We will not go,” Richard said loudly for all to hear, stilling Masyn with a hard look. “Wisdom calls you to action. If you do not join with the Seelie Court, Philip will see your head on the end of a spear!”
“I have heard enough wisdom,” Fafnir croaked. “Guards!”
Richard stared dispassionately at Fafnir, the righteousness of