would have become as fanatical and dangerous as Philip, the Church, or any religion willing to sacrifice lives for a particular brand of truth.
“To tell the Seelie Court of this would have planted a seed I’d rather not see grow into future hardships for you and I. If the lords discovered Arawn meant to return them to the Misty Isles, who knows what that seed could become. Look at the Court. Caswallawn believes strongly in restoring the glory of his house. How far would he take that? Lugh controls the Long Hand, who miss their Elven brethren in our world. Even Lord Latobius may believe the antidote to what ails his kin is in England where they once were fertile. Any one of those lords would reenter our world if they thought they could do it.
“And since Arawn came so close to accomplishing that very feat, I feel it best to not evoke such possibilities,” Richard finished, shrugging. “You hide the truth then,” Bran said. “As Merle would.”
“Perhaps,” Richard said, thinking on it. “Perhaps I’m more like the old man than I wish to admit.”
“The Church. The fey. Plantagenet and those he led,” Bran snorted. “All of them were willing to kill thousands for what they believe. Even on the street, nothing like that happens. This is the insanity I’ve been brought into, eh?”
“Thousands can die at the behest of the world’s powerful, yes,” Richard said. “But make no mistake, even the low man can succumb to extremism. I have learned over my life that the simplest and most well meaning thoughts and emotions can become an evil—whether they be from the man on the street or the highest religious Church member in the world. It does not matter. Religion becomes fanaticism. Love can become jealousy. Food and drink can become gluttony. Taking anything to the extreme is an evil.”
“Like your need to avenge the death of your wife,” Bran noted, his eyes piercing Richard’s own. “No matter if your leaving put the rest of us in Annwn in danger.”
“Like your feelings for Deirdre despite knowing her for only hours,” Richard retorted pointedly.
The boy stared hard at Richard before looking away, the pain he felt etched deep on his features. The older knight watched him before turning back to the Sound. Neither spoke. They both knew they had stung the other; they both knew the truth the other spoke.
“What of the Holy Grail?” Bran asked finally.
“What of it?”
“You really can’t use the Dark Thorn to find it?”
“I couldn’t,” Richard said. “A very old magic resisted my attempt. It is like the cup is in one place and two other places at the same time. I do not know how or why. I do know we must keep it from others who would use it for their own gain. Merle will speak more on that when we begin our training, I would imagine.”
“Training, huh?” Bran said unenthusiastically. “Schooling.”
“You already passed one helluva test in Annwn, Bran.”
Bran turned away from the Sound, hands still in his pockets. “We should walk to the bookstore,” he said. “Find Merle.”
“He will come,” Richard grunted. “When he is ready.”
As if on cue Merle appeared, the old man walking down the boardwalk with his hands buried in khaki pants pockets and customary pipe in mouth. He wore a light jacket that rippled in the breeze. Richard watched him come, wondering how much the wizard had actually known about Arawn and the truth behind the death of Elizabeth.
“Come from a Renaissance Fair, I see,” Merle commented with a twinkle in his eyes as he walked up, looking over the clothing both Richard and Bran wore.
“Very funny,” Richard growled.
Merle looked over at Bran and gave an almost imperceptible bow.
“Knight,” Merle greeted.
“Hello, Merle.”
“I am pleased to see you both returned whole and healthy,” he said. “It was not the easiest of paths you both trod.”
“Cut the crap, Merle,” Richard demanded.
Merle removed the pipe from his lips and tapped its charred contents out against the rail of the pier.
“Okay then.”
“Did you know how Elizabeth was really killed?”
“I knew well enough not to tell you,” the old wizard declared. Before Richard could protest, Merle raised his hand. “Be kind, Richard. You know, as well as I, if I had told you the fey lord Arawn had orchestrated the death of your wife, you would have left Seattle, abdicated your post, and ventured into Annwn with vengeance in your heart. It would have driven you beyond rational thought and ultimately would have led