the group had stopped. Beyond them, the torchlight had gone out, the only illumination a weak light emanating from the floor.
“Sometimes this happens,” Hollick said. “Odd gusts, odd wind.”
“Well, I don’t believe in sometimes,” Richard said, calling forth the Dark Thorn.
“No chances?” Bran asked.
“None,” Richard said. “Ever again. What Guardsman Hollick did not tell you is more than just the coblynau live in these mountains. Didn’t wonder where the silk came from to build the tents we passed through in the market, did you?”
Bran shook his head.
“The Gorryn,” Henrick answered. “Man-size spiders. Very dangerous if prodded. They live deeper in the wild Snowdon, above- and belowground, spinning the silk for their webs. We collect it when possible. Gorryn rarely come into Caer Glain; they have no need, and when they do it is almost never this close to the surface.”
“‘Almost never’ is still code for sometimes,” Richard muttered.
The group moved forward slowly, weapons drawn, Richard leading the way with the white light of the staff fending off the darkness. It felt more comfortable in his hand than he liked, an extension of the anger he reserved for Merle. Henrick was close behind, his spear held at the ready. Both came to the first unlit torch sconce, set at a corner where a new corridor of gaping blackness to the right met the passageway they were in.
“This happened recently,” Henrick pointed out, examining the smoking sconce.
“Light it so we can move on.”
The coblynau moved to relight the torch.
Richard stepped into the junction, peering into the gloom—and had the wind knocked from him as a massive shadow slammed him against the opposite wall.
Fighting the swarm of unconsciousness, Richard focused on his assailant. Screams followed echoing chaos; the knight barely heard them. It was not a spider that attacked him. The bodach had found them. The Unseelie creature had him pinned, the white fire of the Dark Thorn enacted out of sheer instinct his only protection. The beast was relentless. It clawed and screeched at him, the smoky predator fighting to get at him.
Sweat and panic poured over Richard. There was nothing he could do to dislodge the bodach; it had him cornered with no intention of letting up until its strongest adversary to killing Bran was dead as well.
As Richard fought for his life, Lugh charged, roaring with Areadbhar lowered like a lance. The Long Hand followed their leader. Deirdre chased with the coblynau guards a step behind, rushing the Unseelie creature as well with weapons drawn and ready for the fight.
All fell upon the bodach.
All but Bran.
Claws grazed the knight’s side but he ignored the pain, focusing on the Dark Thorn and the power it lent him. The beast screamed pain as multiple blades bit into its form. It did not relent its attack. Even as it prevented Richard from dislodging it, the beast lashed out with a hind leg, kicking at any of his companions within reach.
Hollick and Lugh flew like tossed dolls into the intersecting passage, lost from view.
From the side, Richard saw Bran finally enter the fray. He held Arondight, the sword flaming azure more brightly than Richard had ever seen. With singular purpose, the boy drove the blade into the side of their attacker’s darkened silhouette, the magic infiltrating the shadow like lightning. The bodach roared inhuman. Richard could feel the white-hot pain erupting within the monster, the unholy stench pungent in his lungs. Bran pulled Arondight free and sent its entire length at the head of the beast, thrusting beyond his means as he tried to deliver a deathblow.
The bodach recoiled. The pressure on Richard vanished.
It was all the space the knight needed. The power of the Dark Thorn exploded forth. The blast of white fire sent the bodach reeling. It twisted in the air, flame incinerating the beast as it hit the ceiling and jarringly crashed against the wall near Bran, flailing limbs and howls of pain filling the corridor.
The bodach righted itself instantly, its eyes fixed on Bran.
Adrenaline rushed as fear through Richard. He struggled forward, a wave of weakness from the expenditure of magic chaining him, roaring a warning Bran could not hear. The coblynau and others were running toward the boy, hollering with weapons raised.
Bran swung at the bodach.
It feinted and, with a dark laugh, knocked the fabled blade from the boy’s hand.
Arondight vanished.
Eyes burning hatred, the bodach leapt.
Like a cat unleashed, his face’s ferocity covered in crimson from a gash above his nose, Lugh reentered the battle, his spear held low