to know, my king,” John replied, squinting into the light. “But I do not believe so. It feels not like the wizard. More… free. Less intelligent.” John paused. “I now see a seed sprouting from soil as black as midnight, growing into a warped tree of daggers and deep roots. It stands alone, powerful, unfettered—but sad, the forest encircling it unwilling to encroach upon its presence. Red eyes from the dark. Red eyes.”
“The hawthorn tree. Am I anywhere near it?”
“No, my king.”
Philip darkened. It was not what he had hoped.
“Night, as terrible as the dawn,” John continued. “It falls over the enormous dome in Rome where a raven sits upon a cross, lording over all from the gloom.”
“A merlin. Now a raven,” Philip mused. “Do you at least know the raven’s significance?”
“I do not,” John replied. “The raven is an animal of great power. A defiler.”
“The Church is that defiler, needing direction,” Philip said. “Where is our prey now? The knight and the boy should be our focus.”
John clutched the sides of the bowl with white-knuckled hands, beads of sweat springing to life upon his brow. “They will emerge within Dryvyd Wood when the sun rises and will be far from the safety of the portal by midday, my king. The Shield and the men of the Church who challenged them have not followed. A halfbreed intervened and caused great damage to them.”
“Good. Good. Come back to me now, John.”
The cauldron glow faded, leaving the advisor’s mismatched eyes clear but circled by dark exhaustion.
“When the time comes, will you have the strength to blind the Vatican?” Philip asked.
“It will not pose a challenge,” John answered, straightening.
“I hope not.”
“I could never dishonor your father and brothers that way.”
Philip looked back out the window, the sun rising from its bed to paint the world in color. Those of his immediate family were dead long centuries past, their remains lost to antiquity, their desires dust with the exception of Philip. King Henry II of England had been a man of vision and power—one who sacrificed his family for gain. As a boy living in the trades quarter of London, Philip had not known his unique parentage. It was not until he had been brought before his true father and begun his secret education with Master Wace of Bayeux that he left his apprenticeship and embraced a greater calling, his existence as an outsider made clear.
The mantle Philip carried had finally ripened to fruition.
“I want you to lead the Cailleach, the Houndmaster, and the Templar Knights,” Philip ordered. “I want the boy brought directly to the dungeons to begin his new life.”
“What of the knight with him? He is a grave threat.”
“He will be broken like the boy—and made an asset.”
“He could also undo your plans, my king.”
“If what you say is true, this knight is near broken anyway,” Philip countered. “He is the weakest of the Yn Saith.”
“He is,” John said, looking away. “But I still feel—”
“Your true feelings are known.”
“The knight is not necessary,” John finished. “Kill him and concentrate on the boy.”
“I do not care for your tone, John,” Philip said darkly. “Use of the cauldron has warped your logic. Imagine the power our army would acquire with the Heliwr and a knight of the Yn Saith at its head. Imagine the authority we would hold over the Church and its governments. The ability to end the Tuatha de Dannan and shape both worlds in the Godly image intended.” Philip paused. “One thing I have learned these great many years, my friend, is usurped power is power acquired. I mean to have it rather than lose it.”
“I have to concede attaining the services of Arondight would be a great boon to your efforts,” John said. “But the risk remains severe.”
“The sword of Lancelot is a prize beyond any I now possess,” Philip remarked. “Give the knight to Duthan Loikfh. The Fomorian is the best at what he does.”
“And the boy, my king?”
“He may not be as hard to persuade as you think, John,” Philip said. “If what you’ve seen it true, he is a wanderer, lost, looking for direction. He has never had the finery we have had for so long. He may join us willingly if given those things his life has lacked as a street pauper.”
“Indeed,” John said. “I also still worry of the Tuatha de Dannan.”
“What of them? I control Annwn.”
“Right now, my king,” John pointed out. “But the fey have yet to be defeated.”