to the Queen for guidance but she sat impervious on her throne, watching the bickering with cold eyes. Beyond her taut, pale features sadness emanated, centuries of worry weighing down the long-lived fey woman.
It became obvious it would take more than the Snowdon lords to unite the Seelie Court.
“Listen to yourselves!” Bran thundered.
The chamber emptied of noise, all eyes turned to the boy.
“You face death and you yell at one another?!” Bran roared, eyes flashing.
“Speak not of what you do not know, lad,” Caswallawn said, loathing twisting his soured cheeks. “Son of Ardall or not, you know nothing of us, of our trials. I lost my kingdom, my people, and all that I am to one such as you. For centuries I have waited for the opportunity to strike back at the outworlders. Now is the time, and sacrifices must be made!”
“Easy for you to say, someone who has nothing to sacrifice!” Aife shouted.
“I know petty bickering when I hear it,” Bran shot back. “I may not know you but that much I know.”
“Then you know nothing,” Caswallawn snarled.
“I’m surprised you know anything, other than the bottom of a beer keg.”
The room went deathly still. Tension tightened about everyone like a noose. Richard placed a steadying hand on Bran’s forearm while shielding him from any possible harm.
“Insolent fool!” Caswallawn hissed. “How dare—”
“Sit down, Caswallawn,” the Morrigan roared, her fairies fluttering behind.
“Bran Ardall is right,” Richard said, his hard eyes warning Caswallawn away. “None of you have the right to demand anything from one another. What you face is far more dire than the seeds of these arguments.” Richard turned to Aife. “Horsemaster, the clurichaun and I will ensure the Rhedewyr are kept sound. Of that I promise.”
“You are going to pin all of our hopes on these outworlders?” Cawallawn spat.
“There will be much to sacrifice,” the Morrigan interceded. “From all of you. For you, Caswallawn, I demand patience. Not all outworlders are thieves of lives like Philip, just as not all drunks are wise.”
Color drained from Caswallawn and he sat down.
“And what of the other knights?” Govannon asked. “Are they able to help?”
Richard pursed his lips. “They cannot. I will speak to them once we finish here, to warn them of what is coming. They fulfill the role handed them, guarding the portals with their lives. To leave their post and come here would leave the portals undefended.”
“But you are here,” Lord Gerallt pointed out.
“The portal is guarded, by one more than a match for anything to come through it,” Richard said. “Bran Ardall can attest to that.”
“And of Myrddin Emrys?” Lord Eigion inquired.
“He is weak,” Caswallawn scoffed. “Powerless.”
“Of that, Caswallawn is correct,” Richard agreed. “The wizard is as he has been for centuries—unable to perform even the smallest aspect of his craft. If he attempted magic, he very well could lose control unleashing dire consequences for the world. He cannot help in this.”
Silence pervaded the chamber. The uneasy truce between the lords lingered.
“It is settled,” the Morrigan said, rising from the Sarn Throne with elegant resolve. “On the morrow, Lord Lugh will lead Richard McAllister into the Snowdon, to speak with Caer Glain and Tal Ebolyon. With the sun you will leave Arendig Fawr and return the Seelie Court to its former prominence. Caer Llion will feel the might of our resolve once more. Please gather what might remains in each of you; McAllister will not fail us, and the need to move quickly once he returns will be tantamount.”
The lords of the Seelie Court stood and bowed, an act Richard found more perfunctory than meaningful. The Queen stepped from her dais and strode through the opening double doors of the chamber, her fairy companions following on the air behind her. Lord Finnbhennach threw the dead griffin back into its bag, and with a polite nod of gleaming white bull horns to Richard, also left the room, his tall, heavily muscled frame only covered by a kilt. The other lords and the clurichaun followed, some casting approving glances at Richard and Bran, others ignoring them entirely. After a few minutes, Richard was alone with Bran and Arrow Jack.
“That was a brave thing you did,” Richard said.
“Not so sure about that,” Bran said. “Why did you keep using my last name?”
Richard stood, feeling tired. “The name Ardall holds much weight here. Your father is still greatly respected. Some of these lords, and in particular those we go to meet, will view you as an acquisition of power, one that can