tip the scales in their favor against Philip. They see an Ardall and have hope.”
“But I’m not anyone. I’m not the Heliwr.”
“They have a perception, no matter the truth,” Richard said. “I hope it will be enough.”
“You used me then.”
“I’d say the Morrigan used you by your invitation,” Richard mused. “I am averting a larger threat, hoping to avert a larger war with a smaller one. If the Tuatha will unite to attack Philip, perhaps that will alter any possibility of Philip attacking through the portals, if that’s even his intent.”
“You are getting us involved in a way that might kill us.”
“Life changes our direction sometimes,” Richard breathed. “You could die walking down the stairs of the Cadarn. The future is not a sure thing—not in love or dreams or promises. Never forget that.”
Bran did not look convinced.
“Trust me,” Richard said. “I accepted the wishes of the Morrigan for a reason. It serves us and in the end will protect us in another problem we face.”
“What do you mean?”
“We will talk in the morning,” Richard answered. “I am tired.”
Bran muttered something unintelligible under his breath but didn’t give Richard another look. He walked through the chamber doors into the environs of the Cadarn, Arrow Jack flying after.
The tunnel swallowed them both, leaving the knight alone.
He sighed. The boy echoed a growing fear in the knight. Richard risked their lives even as he questioned his ability to control Arondight. Journeying into the reaches of Snowdon aided the Seelie Court but also diverted him from facing his inadequacy to call the power of his fabled blade as well as his uncertainty of knowing how to break into Caer Llion. He hoped the trip into the mountains would give time to overcome both problems.
Richard peered up at the numerous fey banners hanging from the ceiling, the orbs lighting their every color.
And never felt such sure darkness.
The foggy morning clung to Arendig Fawr like a hoarded blanket.
Richard stood outside of the Cadarn with Bran, the grogginess of early waking leaving him grouchy. Kegan had woken them but not returned, still visiting the Morrigan inside the mountain. Nearby, six black-haired warriors of the Long Hand ignored him as they prepared their Rhedewyr for the journey, the dark elvish hellyll lithe and powerful in white and gold armor, their slanted dark eyes stern above chiseled high cheekbones. The city slept, cradled in gray gloom, only a few risers mingling between the darkened buildings and peering at the gathering warriors with wary glances.
Arrow Jack sat perched on a tree growing from the rock cliff, watching all.
From the Awenau path, Deirdre led her mount and two other Rhedewyr out of the forest shadows, her fiery hair hidden by the cowl of an ashen cloak. While her steed held its head high, the accompanying horses plodded like decrepit old men.
“Are you coming?” Bran asked her.
“Good morn,” Deirdre said. “I am. And so is Willowyn, of course.”
“I know you wish to aid us, Lady,” Richard said. “But I do not remember the Queen asking you to be a part of our journey into the Snowdon.”
Deirdre stared hard at Richard, her green eyes flashing even as they punctured his soul. “My father, Lord Gerallt, wishes it,” she said. “If my people are to go to war with the Tuatha de Dannan against Caer Llion, I will express his wishes to Caer Glain and Tal Ebolyon. Mochdrev Reach will be represented.”
Richard sighed. She gave him a final pert smile before turning to Bran.
“This is Westryl,” she introduced. “Your Rhedewyr.”
“Mine?”
“You did not think we would be riding double again, did you?”
The boy flushed. Richard didn’t like the look he gave the girl. If Bran spent more time fawning over the redhead than focusing on survival, he may not make it back home.
“I guess I hadn’t considered it,” Bran said.
“Westryl is a bit spirited,” she said, flashing a smile and patting the horse. “But so are you, standing up to Caswallawn the way you did. Westryl will keep you safe just as I would.”
“I think I’ll manage.” Bran cupped the nose of Westryl, who stared at him with deep, sorrowful eyes. “Why so sad, Westryl?”
“Westryl lost his rider a few days ago, as did Lyrian here,” Deirdre said, introducing Richard to the second mount. “Both are Orphaned and having a hard time of it.”
“Their riders died rescuing us, Bran,” Richard added.
“They did,” Deirdre continued sadly. “Seven became orphaned in Dryvyd Wood alone, as Kearney explained to me. The Orphaned are a sad aspect of