go!”
Richard expected the captain to fight back. He did not. “We have limited rounds,” he said.
Fighting weariness, Richard mounted Lyrian.
“If that’s the case, pick up a sword!”
After giving Finn Arne a nod, Richard gave Deirdre a sad smile. She just looked at him, sorrow and anger mingling in her eyes.Before he said something he would regret, Richard kicked Lyrian into motion. With the fairy flying beside him, the Rhedewyr shot like a dart around the melee toward the portal and Rome. The battle spread out over the plains from his higher vantage point, dust polluting the scene and the hot, sticky air. The whole event sickened him. When Merle convinced the knight to enter Annwn, Richard had hoped he could prevent the very thing he now witnessed. He had failed at that. Now it engulfed him.
He hoped he could prevent it from spreading into Rome.
He would not fail again.
“Snedeker, I need you to watch over Bran,” Richard said.
The fairy frowned. “No, I will not leave your side.”
“You cannot go where I go!”
“I am to be your guide!” Snedeker said, flying, barely able to keep up as Richard pushed Lyrian to faster speed through the tumult. “Keep you safe!”
“Bran needs to be kept safe,” Richard offered, worried for the boy. “He needs you now. Protect him as best you can. I have faith in the Oakwells, faith in you. Even a portal knight needs a guide sometimes, right?”
“Where do you go then, McAllister?”
“Obey my command, Snedeker!” Richard roared. “Now!”
The fairy gave a quick nod before flying back into chaos.
As Richard battled his way through nightmare anew, hoping the fairy kept Bran safe, the shimmer of the portal and his revenge drew him on.
He would not be denied.
The white fire of the Dark Thorn raged like the sun.
As he broke from the maelstrom of battle and the sounds of the fighting and dying fell behind him, Richard turned away from it all, the staff clenched before him. He galloped Lyrian to the rocky base where the portal shone above. He dismounted and rushed up the trail, avoiding the bodies of Templar Knights killed by the Kreche. Philip had long since vanished into the host below, trying to regain control over it. Richard was alone and soon stood before the gateway. He turned from it and viewed the war of two very different nations as it ebbed and flowed over the expansive plains.
Keeping the staff in hand and bringing its protective magic to the fore, Richard took a deep breath and entered the portal. He went in hunt of Arawn.
But what he last saw on the plains filled him with ice.
The defeat of the Tuatha de Dannan was at hand.
When Bran saw Philip Plantagenet reenter Annwn, he knew he could end the war if he was strong enough.
The new portal knight was severely battered. After the initial charge by the Morrigan, Bran had lost sight of Richard, Deirdre, and most of the members of the Seelie Court. It had not been easy to enter the rending tide of halfbreeds created for Caer Llion’s war, but before he had time to think on it, the wrath broke over him like a wave, reducing him to reaction. With Arondight a blur of azure metal and fire, Bran barely kept the death from himself, the euphoria from using the magic ebbing as he grew accustomed to it. Several times he almost lost his seat on Westryl, the battle on the plains threatening to end both their lives at every moment, but his perseverance saw him through.
As he rode away from the mayhem to catch his breath, Bran looked over the battle, not liking what he saw.
The plan Richard and the Tuatha de Dannan had conceived had worked—for minutes only. Without Philip in control, his army floundered beneath the surprise attack of the fey, causing leaderless pandemonium. It became clear to Bran it would not last. The Tuatha de Dannan were hopelessly outnumbered, and after the initial shock given by the stampeding Rhedewyr, they were losing. The Grail-infused Templar Knights coupled with thousands of halfbreeds were wearing the forces of the Morrigan down.
The lines of the fey were collapsing.
When they failed entirely, the final resistance would die.
Bran flexed his new hand. The blood-spattered gauntlet gleamed under the sun, the runes blazing. He could feel everything as if the steel had nerves, but the metal was cold.
He didn’t care. The Mastersmith had made him whole again.
A unified scream erupted from the battle, drawing his gaze. A second later,