The knight and his wizard in particular. Fools. Made a fool out of you also, did they not? They fail to tell you all. Does that not anger you?”
Bran turned away. The man echoed Richard’s warnings.
“That’s right,” John Lewis Hugo continued. “I see you know of what I speak. Myrddin Emrys hides much. There are factions everywhere, each trying to gain the advantage. The wizard represents one such group and he meddles, twists lies to truths to achieve an agenda. What does the wizard know of this world?”
“He says your king is a tyrant,” Bran said finally.
“And Myrddin is so wise, having not visited Annwn in centuries?”
Bran didn’t know what to say. Merle had coerced Bran to enter Annwn and yet had not come, his intentions riddled with mystery. Merle had also left Bran with a knight incapable of maintaining his power. It raised questions he did not have the answers for.
“I know you feel gratitude toward Myrddin Emrys,” John Lewis Hugo said. “It is only natural given your situation.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Everything,” John Lewis Hugo said. “Those who are lost can be found. Those who desire a path have it offered. There are those who ensure the sheep are shepherded by sheer will. Philip Plantagenet is one such shepherd. You are too if we have surmised rightly, if you are given the chance of course. The High King extends his welcome to you and offers a place at his side. No more sleeping out in the open; no more worrying about when your next meal will take place.”
Bran flushed angrily. “You have been spying on me.”
“We leave nothing to chance, Bran Ardall.”
“If that is true, then why try to kill me?”
“Is that what the knight and his master told you?” John Lewis Hugo clucked. “Do not be so quick to trust McAllister. He has failed a great many times in his life. Care he does not fail you.”
“I’m here because a cu sith attacked me,” Bran said. “I wanted answers.”
“I know not of what you speak,” the deformed man said. “If you were attacked at some point, I surely do not know from what quarter. We have watched you but nothing more. You were not harmed yesterday even by the demon wolves. Think on it. How can that be, if I wished you dead?”
“If this isn’t about me, then let me go.”
“I could,” John Lewis Hugo answered. “But my king commands your presence, and I do not trust you to not flee out of ignorance. You therefore are an enigma, but one the High King believes can serve a purpose.”
“And what would that be?” Bran asked darkly.
“That is for him to explain,” John Lewis Hugo answered before rising and leaving.
As the scarred man barked further orders, Bran looked to Richard. The knight lay unmoved, broken, the physical damage minor compared to that within. John Lewis Hugo had used Richard’s painful past to an advantage. At one time, Richard had a wife. She had been killed. That death was tied to the knight in some way. Bran did not know more than that. Yet Richard distrusted Merle just as John Lewis Hugo and his king did. Could Bran be on the wrong side of things? Or did the severely scarred advisor weave lies to suit his agenda?
Like his cramped muscles, the questions would not leave him.
The group broke camp. After the giants picked up the poles bearing the fettered prisoners, John Lewis Hugo traveled east through the new morning. The Templar Knights and remaining men led by Lord Gwawl surrounded Bran and Richard, their eyes hard and proud. The houndmaster scouted far ahead with his canines while the Cailleach remained behind to maintain control over the demon wolves that brought up the rear. The ache from being carried like a slung pig grew worse as the day progressed, the swaying motion tightening his bonds to agony. The dawn stretched to mid-morning as the forest thinned, the larger oak and maple trees giving way to beech and alder. Through breaks in the woodland, Bran caught glimpses of rolling verdant hills broken with white eruptions of granite, the stone like shattered bones through emerald skin. Atop one of the higher hillocks, the ruins of what had once been a great castle stood, its walls, towers, and buildings crumbled beneath the onslaught of time. It looked like one of the paintings Merle had in his bookstore, a remnant from an age long past.