and it had worked. But, as he had done with so many others, Merle had used the Kreche.
One day, if Richard survived the coming battle, the wizard would have to answer for it all.
It did beg questions though: What other wheels could Merle be setting in motion, particularly on this day?
Separating from the others, Bran came over to Richard.
“I know you are ready for this,” Richard said without preamble.
“What will we do?”
“Try to stay alive,” Richard snickered. He crossed his arms. “What happens to a snake when you cut its head off?”
“It dies,” Bran replied.
“No,” the knight said. “The body lives but no longer functions rationally.”
Richard pointed out into the plain. The undulating ribbon from Caer Llion wove toward the small mountain granite outcropping at the edge of the Forest of Dean. Philip, Arawn, and the Templar Knights who made up the forward battery had already begun their ascent. The portal glimmered, waiting. It would not be long before they would pass into Rome.
“Why are we allowing this?” Bran questioned.
Richard ignored the question, an unsettling sight to the north.
“Look at that.”
Bran turned and peered through the canopy leaves. In the far distance black specks flew, miles away. Richard could not make out what they were but he was fairly certain he knew.
“Damn griffins,” he growled.
“Why are they separated from their host?” Bran asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps Philip feels they have no use in the crypts of St. Peter’s. To be honest I don’t care,” Richard answered. “The dryads shield us as best they can and at this distance the halfbreeds can’t know we are here anyway. If those griffins are that distant they won’t be in our way and won’t alarm their master to our presence.”
Bran said nothing. Richard gave the tightly packed groups of griffins another cursory glance. Instincts grown comfortable with time set alarms. Something was not right. The half-bird, half-fey creatures were Philip’s power in the sky. It made no sense for them not to be patrolling over the massive host.
“Can’t the Nharth help us? Conceal our attack?” Bran asked.
“The mountain fog fey cannot leave their heights,” Richard said and then pointed ahead. “It is as you said, Bran. Look.”
Philip left his horse at the base of the rocky pinnacle and traversed the trail upward. Arawn walked a step behind. Templar Knights followed, several thousand strong, their white mantles and gray steel forming a walking wall of death upon the outcropping. Philip, Arawn, and their Knights all possessed leather bags. Richard had wished to attack them early, kill the leaders quickly, but the power of the Grail would let no such plan succeed. Below, the two standards that had led the army now stood to the side of the trail entrance, each bearing a golden lion against a field of crimson. The Cailleach remained far back in the ranks, still within the plains and among the creatures she had bred, controlling them with her magical arts. To the side of the host galloped Lord Gwawl and the other men and fey who made up Caer Llion.
Philip stepped into the portal, absorbed by the gray light—and leading his army just as he had told Bran he would.
A flutter of wings above heralded the return of Arrow Jack.
“It is time,” Richard said, patting Lyrian. “Get mounted, Bran.”
While Kegan helped Bran mount Westryl, Richard swung up on Lyrian. The Rhedewyr pawed the ground, anticipating what was to come. The former portal knight marveled over the fiery energy beneath him. Lyrian had been a husk of an animal when Richard had met him. Now he lent strength to the knight instead.
“He has become your own,” Deirdre said from Willowyn. “He would die for you.”
“I hope it never comes to that.”
“We all hope for that, McAllister,” Kegan said as he and his son Kearney aided the lords to mount. “Best of luck to ye.”
The lords of the Seelie Court dispersed, disappearing into the depths of the Forest of Dean to lead their respective peoples. The Morrigan remained while Lugh climbed down from his tree and brought up the bulk of the Long Hand.
Electricity infused the air and the Forest of Dean.
“Wait for my signal,” Richard cautioned Lord Faric, who held a silver horn.
Almost a quarter of the Templar Knights, most being the command elements of the horde, had ventured into the swirling mass, the remaining soldiers entering two at a time and vanishing like they never existed.
“Wait…”
Lyrian shivered beneath him, muscles shaking and tense. Several hundred more Red Crosses entered Rome.