through the giant doors of the Cadarn into the late morning sunshine. “The lords of these conclaves rarely discuss matters. It takes a grave reason, like the war with Philip, to make it happen. The Morrigan feels she has a good reason to call the Court today.”
“That reason has to do with us?” Richard asked.
“I know not, although it is interesting ye are able to leave your post, McAllister. Ye are not the Heliwr,” Kegan stated, looking at Richard darkly. “But your appearance brings hope.”
“Hope for what?” the knight questioned.
“That is for the Morrigan to say. Whatever she wishes to discuss with the lords, it will be a difficult task.”
“Why?” Bran prodded.
“They rarely all agree—and several will not appear as commanded,” Richard interrupted, shielding his eyes from the hot sun. “When is the Court convening, Kegan?”
“The gathering is not until late afternoon at the earliest,” the clurichaun said. “It will take time for last night’s request missives to arrive and longer for them to be answered. While we wait, I meant to show Bran some of Arendig Fawr.”
Bran looked to Richard.
“Might as well,” the knight said. “A walk should do us both good.”
After receiving a sour green apple and a loaf of warm wheat bread smothered in butter from Kegan for his breakfast, Richard walked Arendig Fawr. The city was a lot larger than he had originally thought, encompassing much of the mountainside. The Cadarn fulfilled the role of a palace, the city populace living around it. As he walked near buildings constructed of nature, Richard observed bakers, butchers, spinners, tailors and shoemakers. Carts filled with vegetables and fruit made their way to the city market, and other than the occasional leprechaun sitting idly by with bottle in hand, everyone worked at perfecting whatever trade they employed.
But to the careful eyes of the knight, there was an underlying darkness—a pervasive sadness—that haunted each set of exotic eyes he looked into, every smile sent his way that was far too brief.
Richard knew what that sorrow meant.
It was the look of life being swallowed by war.
The sun passed its zenith and Kegan led his charges to the far northern side of Arendig Fawr, outside the city. The forest, mostly large fir and pine trees, gave way to a flat oval meadow encircled by a smattering of oak and lesser brush—and filled by hundreds of horses.
“The Awenau,” Kegan shared. “The gathering place of the Rhedewyr.”
The great animals cropped at the browning grass, their muscles rippling beneath coats shimmering like sun-drenched water. Some turned toward them, marked interest in their round eyes, while the foals and yearlings frolicked, lost in their own worlds of delight. A few humans tended the Awenau while two young clurichauns bearing a striking resemblance to Kegan worked together on the same horse, one humming while he dug clean the inside of a hoof, the other grumbling as he pulled the horse’s mouth wide to look at its teeth. Several other fey aided the horses, but Richard could tell the important work was done by the short clurichauns.
“The Rhedewyr aren’t fenced in?” Bran asked.
Kegan barked a laugh. “There is no need. They depend on us as we depend on them.”
“Horses in our world would never be allowed to roam free like this,” Richard explained to the clurichaun.
“Horses in your world aren’t that smart,” Kegan argued. “The Rhedewyr come and go at their own volition. They know when they are needed. My sons and I, along with a few others, tend them as required—a relationship that benefits both the riders and the cared for.” He smiled. “And look who wants to greet ye.”
Richard observed one of the Rhedewyr cantering toward Bran, a tall chestnut mare with a flowing black mane and tail. The horse pranced to a slow trot as it grew near and stopped to nuzzle Bran with affection.
“You see, lad,” Kegan said. “Smart.”
“Willowyn,” Bran breathed, smiling. The boy looked around as if seeking someone but disappointment quickly filled his face.
“I am surprised at the amount of humans among the Tuatha de Dannan,” Richard said.
“All are ancestors of the Misty Isles,” the clurichaun sniffed. “Philip brought thousands of men and women and hundreds of those Templar Knights with him. Over the centuries not all of their children embraced the rule of the Usurper. Those who cannot tolerate him come to us—out of a change or safety or any number of other reasons.”
“How can you know they aren’t spies sent by Philip?”
“There is no way, knight,” Kegan acknowledged. “Other than the