times? Had he known Richard and Bran had been captured? That Richard would be tortured and Bran would lose his hand? If so, Merle had a lot to answer for.
But sending the Kreche had been a Godsend.
Richard turned back to the battle. He did not worry for the Kreche. If bullets could not take it down, the medieval weapons of Annwn surely would not.
“What of Deirdre? And the Rhedewyr?”
“She has already made her way to the Morrigan,” Caswallawn answered. “So must we.”
The lord whistled loudly, the sound shattering the din. The Kreche spun, staring directly at Richard and those with him. It took a final roaring swipe at those who attacked him, scattering the warriors like gnats, and then charged across the courtyard, the ground thundering.
The warriors of Caer Llion chased after but lagged behind. Caswallawn was already nowhere in sight, invisible once more.
“Get ready, Rick,” the Kreche bellowed as he closed in. “Carrying you out of here.”
The Kreche rolled over the last of those who stood in his way until he picked Richard and Bran up in his massive arms like rag dolls without missing a step. The breath flew from Richard as the rushing wind of their flight increased.
He let the Dark Thorn dissolve as the world eddied.
“We go now,” the Kreche rumbled. “Keep your head down.”
Richard did, tucked in the left arm of the Kreche like a football. Arrows and spears zipped by as they approached the broken wall. More warriors gathered there, swords and axes drawn as if trying to build a new wall of flesh to keep the prisoners from escaping. The Kreche gave them no mind. He leapt through as if nothing could hurt him. At the last moment the warriors of Caer Llion gave way from terror or died on impact, the heavy muscles of the Kreche unforgiving and the force in which the beast ran into the hole decimating all in its path. When the Kreche hit the ground beyond, his legs tirelessly pumped through those who tried to stop them until nothing but open ground spread into the dark.
The night embraced them as they ran into it.
Richard protected his broken arm and slept.
As the pink tinge of morning light peeked through breaks in canopy foliage, Richard awoke to a new day and to freedom.
He glanced around at the plains. Caer Llion was long behind them now, the orange glow of the army’s campfires outside its walls a memory. No one was about; the stars were giving way to day. The Kreche still carried him and Bran, the halfbreed a machine, unstoppable, despite the dozens of arrows sticking from his body like a porcupine. After about an hour he took them across a wide river and into a part of the land that gently sloped upward where rounded mounds slowly gave rise to trees that thickened into a forest, blotting out the sky.
Richard perked up to get a better view. A hellyll wearing the armor of the Long Hand stood poised with a spear pointed directly at the Kreche.
“I have come with the two knights,” the Kreche rumbled.
The guard lowered his weapon. “Follow me.”
The Kreche lowered Bran to the ground. The boy stretched the kinks out of his muscles while looking at his absent hand. Richard remained in the cradling arms of the Kreche, not sure what to say to Bran about his amputation. He had warned Bran about Merle and about coming to Annwn. In his heart, though, Richard felt pain for him. Bran had learned his lesson the hardest of ways and had paid the gravest of costs.
With the Kreche unwilling to put Richard down and Snedeker hovering nearby like a nurse of some sort, the hellyll guard brought them through a screen of trees into an open forest encompassing thousands of warriors, each fully armed and armored for war, each watching the Kreche with a mixture of open curiosity and fear. Upon first glance Richard thought they were all hellyll, but as they made their way through the throng he realized they were dozens of fey—merrow, sprites, clurichauns, leprechauns, wood nymphs, fairies, minotaurs, bugganes, coblynau, and many more.
The Queen of the Tuatha de Dannan had called for war.
And that call had been answered.
As the Kreche carried Richard deeper into the forest, a pointed sweeping tent grew out of the land, its height almost as tall as the trees around it. The pavilion was a huge construction of thick silk and ornate planning, shimmering beneath the lightening sky and blending