was not in control but an entity far more ancient and dangerous.
“You see the truth, Knight of the Yn Saith.”
“Arawn,” Richard said in fear for what it meant, the realization damning. “You are the one—”
“Who sent the korrigan,” the fey creature residing within the human body sneered. “John Lewis Hugo died the moment he tried to imprison me. I turned his magic against him—and Philip Plantagenet. You as well, since it was I who brought you here, who has controlled your life, who put your wife beneath your blade. How do you think I crippled you in Dryvyd Wood? I have been watching you for a long time, my Knight of the Yn Saith—and make no mistake, you are mine.”
The implications bore Richard down in a fast spiral. John Lewis Hugo no longer existed. Not in a way that mattered. Arawn lorded at Caer Llion, and Philip Plantagnet, like Richard, was more than likely a puppet as well. The fey lord that stared with fury at Richard had once ruled the Tuatha de Dannan with an iron fist, kept the Seelie Court together through will, and helped thwart the initial efforts of Philip to take over Annwn. Powerful beyond legends, the loss of Arawn centuries earlier had crippled the Tuatha.
But Arawn had never been evil. Not like this. If the ancient fey lord went along with Philip’s plans—raising one of the largest armies ever conceived—he did so for his own gain. The motives of Arawn were a mystery, but Richard knowing what he did about the thought-dead lord of Annwn, revenge had to be part of it. A plan that longstanding and intricate did not bode well for Richard, Bran, or the two worlds they hoped to protect. And Arawn had drawn Richard into it, killed his wife, and ruined his life.
Anger filled Richard with fire.
He strained his shackles, enraged, trying to call the Dark Thorn to avenge the death of his wife and end the menace standing before him. Nothing happened. The giant Fomorian took a lumbering step forward as if not trusting the chains that bound Richard but he stopped once he saw the knight was powerless.
“Why did you kill her?!“ Richard roared.
“To prepare my way into your world, of course,” Arawn said, his eyes lightning. “Weakening the Seven, even if only one or two of you, gave me the opening to soon return home and set wrongs of old right.”
“Then you killed the Heliwr Charles Ardall too!”
“No, no,” the fey laughed. “Ardall did not matter. Not to me, anyway. He was an idealist with a pure heart. Having everything, he had want for nothing. It is difficult to bribe people of that nature.” He paused. “His son, on the other hand. His son, has spent his life wanting. He will be easier to persuade.”
Richard wanted more than anything to be free to rend the fey lord with his own hands. “Bran Ardall is too stubborn and too smart to join you.”
“We will see,” Arawn replied, grinning darkly. “We will see, my dear knight. If he survives. It was a grievous wound dealt his hand in the bowels of Caer Llion. Even right now, as we speak, Philip is with the lad, making him an offer. When the lad agrees, I will gain Arondight. Think on this. You should join the side of victory, not slaughter.”
“Then you do want what Philip desires,” Richard said. “Dominion.”
“Not his father Henry II’s call, but my own.”
“Does the Morrigan know of this?”
“Shades, no,” Arawn guffawed. “The Tuatha de Dannan know nothing of my plan. They would not even be able to comprehend it. They want to be left alone in their precious Annwn. But as I learned when we fey left the Misty Isles, your human world will forever keep intruding on our sovereignty. War will continue until one side wins. That time has come by my hand, using Philip to gain entrance to Rome and the relics it contains. The Tuatha de Dannan will be all powerful, with me as their returned leader.”
“Why tell me all this?” Richard asked.
“Because after what is about to happen to you, it won’t matter, I think,” Arawn said, stepping aside and offering Richard to the Fomorian. “You see, I have no further use for you if you will not grant me the Dark Thorn. Therefore, I give you Duthan Loikfh.”
The giant lumbered forward, a grin splitting his boulder of a head. Arawn sunk back into the shadows, eagerly watching. With meaty hands the size of