John’s disappearance irked Philip but it had also rid the cavern of the Vigilo. The battle continued, unchecked. Blood ran in rivulets down the embankment toward the river behind the glimmering portal, most of it from unmoving Swiss Guards who littered the stone floor like dead leaves in fall. Still, Philip was unhappy to realize the fight was not ending as quickly as he had hoped, his forces from Annwn needing to increase to finish the Vatican once and for all.
Gauging how best to ensure a quickened victory, Philip felt ice run through his soul.
He realized no more of his soldiers came through from Annwn. The portal was still open, shining its ethereal glow, but his army no longer crossed over.
Something was wrong.
Philip cursed, gripping Hauteclere tighter, angrier than he’d ever been before. The instincts he had ignored in the moment of his triumph rang louder—their warning all too real.
With John gone, he would have to discover the reason himself.
Philip knew the Templar Knights he had brought through could hold the inadequate power of the Swiss Guard. For every warrior who fell and needed time to recover, two more pushed forward, cutting deeper into the hundreds of defenders who tried to keep Philip from his birthright. With the Pope and Vicar gone, it would not take long for Caer Llion to control the cavern. Neither the Swiss Guard nor the wizard’s knight had the power to drive his warriors back through the portal. It gave Philip the time he needed to learn what had become of his army.
Then the cavern would fall. St. Peter’s would be his. Vatican City would embrace him for the hero of the faith they yearned for. Then Rome.
The world would be next.
Philip needed the rest of his army to do so though.
Barking orders at one of his commanders and taking a dozen of his Templar Knights with him, Philip strode toward the portal back to Annwn.
The shimmering void swallowed him again.
The army of Philip Plantagenet spread across the grasslands like a black stain.
With Snedeker on his shoulder, Richard watched in horror as the army plodded forward, unable to take his eyes off it. The sheer volume of Templar Knights, unaffiliated warriors of the lords Philip had conquered, and various darkly spawned creatures staggered the mind. He had seen thousands of soldiers camped north of Caer Llion; it had been barely a twentieth of the host now on the plains. Philip led his throng around outcroppings of shattered white granite bursting from the ground, toward the hills fronting the Forest of Dean where a portal shimmered between two leafless oak snags upon the middle of a sentinel mountain almost a mile away.
Arawn rode up to join Philip as the despot led his army.
Hate like he had never known coursed through Richard.
The fey creature undoubtedly had his own plans. Richard had kept the knowledge of John Lewis Hugo’s true identity secret. Arawn had once led the Tuatha de Dannan. Richard could not share the truth. To do so could splinter the unified fey army, old factions given new life, destroying any chance of saving both worlds—and getting revenge against Arawn.
He looked over at Bran. The boy looked scared. He fidgeted with his new steel hand as he watched the progress of the host with trepidation.
“What are you thinking?” Deirdre asked Richard, the redhead appearing beside him.
“I am thinking…this is the day of your true freedom,” he said, hoping he sounded stronger than he truly felt.
“I hope so.”
“Confusion and surprise are our only weapons, I fear.” “They will have to do,” Deirdre said, pausing. “No matter what occurs today, know that I care for you, Richard McAllister.”
Richard looked into her eyes. They were a dark green like a deep sea. He had been hard on her the previous night and a part of him regretted it. He had no idea why she felt the way she did—the wiles of youth or a deeper connection he no longer understood—but it didn’t excuse his harshness. Still, it was best he not give her hope for love. Not with him anyway.
He looked at Bran. The boy stared at them hard.
“Deirdre, I hope we survive the day,” Richard said simply.
She squeezed his arm and smiled, her freckled face lighting up. She returned to where her father held Willowyn and his own Rhedewyr mount.
“She likes you,” Snedeker said.
“Shut up. I know this,” Richard growled. He looked around. “Are you prepared, fairy? We will have to be swift if we are to