them, a passage vanishing upward into Caer Llion.
On their right, another tunnel disappeared from the lake, one that had been carved deep into the rock of the world.
Having circumvented the lake, Richard stepped to the gravelly shore on cat’s paws.
He yearned to call the Dark Thorn.
“Where to now?” Bran whispered.
Richard searched the gloom, perplexed. The vision from the Dark Thorn had been completed and yet he saw no mirror or other device in the cavern. He was about to express as much when faint breathing stopped him.
“Who…is there?” a ragged voice croaked.
Richard suppressed calling the staff and lashing out as the lump of rock at his feet moved. An emaciated face camouflaged in grime shakily lifted toward him, eye sockets deep pits, their orbs removed forcibly at some point. The figure reached blindly for him, as if asking for aid.
“Get back!” Bran roared, spinning around.
Before Richard could even respond, a flurry of steel ringing to life screeched through the cavern as four soldiers detached from the shadows, confronting them with weapons drawn. They wore Templar Knight garb and sneers of hatred. A leather bag hung like a backpack from each set of shoulders, a tube running from the pouch to within inches of the warriors’ mouths.
The Dark Thorn flamed to life in his hand, sudden light flooding the chamber even as Bran called Arondight.
“Surrender. There is nowhere for you to go,” a grizzled soldier ordered.
Richard gave his answer. The fire of the Dark Thorn exploded into the midst of the Templars, white hot and angry. The magic burned like an animal unleashed, casting three of the warriors aside like a battering ram as their leader leapt away. The men flew through the air to crash against the cavern. Bones snapped. Screams of pain followed. The leader shielded his face with his forearms as he rolled to bring his sword against the knight.
Angry that they had been discovered so easily, Richard parried the blade, and with the deft motion of someone who has warred for a lifetime, he spun and jabbed the end of the Dark Thorn into the guard’s throat, shattering his larynx. The man toppled over backward, clutching at his neck and at a tube that lead into the leather bag on his back.
“Where do we go?” Bran hissed.
“This is where my vision told us to go!”
“Well, try again! Now! Before more guards come!”
Just as Richard was about to drive the staff into the shore, the soldier he had just bested regained his feet, sucking on the tube. Surprise filled the knight. The man should have been dead but instead he appeared whole once more, his throat healed.
A tight grin spread across his face. He raised his sword and charged again, screaming hate. The other warriors who Richard thought were shattered against the stone of the cavern also struggled to their feet, their bodies working as though no damage had been done to them, each man sucking down the contents of the bags on their backs.
Putting it all together far too late, it dawned on Richard suddenly what the glimmer in the center of the lake had been.
They were in great danger.
As were two worlds.
“What have you done, Plantagenet?” Richard breathed.
Bewildered, Bran sent the fire of Arondight into the soldier ranks. It burned at their clothing, but the men beneath were untouched, fighting through the hot affront as though the flames were merely a warm wind. Still sucking on the tubes, they raised their weapons to attack.
Within moments, Richard and Bran were put on the defensive, fighting for their lives.
“My pretties,” a voice cackled loudly. “Ye’ve returned to me.”
The Cailleach emerged into the cavern from the glowing passage, covered in filth. “Came back to me, ye did,” she laughed and made a lewd gesture. “Want what dat wife could not give ye, eh knight?”
Richard maintained the Dark Thorn despite the guilty memories rising to greet him.
“Best ye stay put,” the Cailleach intoned, her hands weaving.
Richard found he couldn’t take a step to confront the witch. Ice crawled from the damp shore up and into the waterlogged boots about his feet, crystallizing him into stasis. The same happened to Bran.
“Richard!” Bran screamed.
“Now, now, younglin’, no need to worry,” the Cailleach purred. “I want ye alive!”
As Bran fought to free himself, Richard sent the fire of the Dark Thorn over his boots, hoping to free himself, but the ice of the witch barely melted. The warriors bore down on the two companions, surrounding them with steel. Both Richard and Bran sent