The Hunt: A Custodes Noctis Book (29 page)

“Not surprised, well maybe I am. I can see the power there, sense it, but I didn’t realize there was quite that much there. We need to gather the army and go,” Blake said.

“Not much of an army,” Galen said.

“You have us, Galen Emrys,” a shimmering figure said. Galen recognized the First Emrys, founder of the
Custodes Noctis.

 

“And us,” Rhiannon said.

“I’m here,” someone added sourly. Mike Silva walked up beside Rhiannon.

“Mike, you don’t have to,” Galen said.

“I know.”

“We are with you as well,” a voice said from behind Galen. He turned, Jeff and Vivian Owain stood at the head of a group of people. “Our families were once honorable, vassals of the
Custodes Noctis.
We fell, like the Hunt, but we wish to serve you, serve the Keepers once more.”

“How can we serve?” the First Emrys asked.

Galen swallowed, emotion threatening to overwhelm him for a moment. He wished Rob could be there to see the group gathered before him. Warm affection and pride flowed through him as he considered the plan. They would be fighting in two worlds and he had no idea if he’d remain himself or be lost, no idea if he could bring the Hunt into play at all.

“Galen?” Parry said gently.

“Dad? What do I do?” he said, unsure.

“What’s the plan?” his father answered.

He met Parry’s eyes, then looked at Bobby. “Okay.” Galen took a deep breath. “Rhiannon, Emrys can you come here?”

The area surrounding the bog was empty, only the remains of the dying fire left to indicate where the ritual had taken place.

Fog was still blanketing it, the world bathed in the soft twilight that preceded the sun. The strange stunted trees with their black trunks were dripping with moisture, the undergrowth was dark, the canes of reeds sticking out from the bog. Galen could hear the others behind him as he stopped beside the Great Altar. There was a wreath of evergreen placed on the stone.

 

In the silent morning he could hear it, the call of the Hunt, the joyful longing aching in his bones. He would serve, he would ride the Hunt and stand loyal to his king. Shaking his head, Galen thrust away that tempting thought. It was pulling at him, the bells becoming audible as he stood there, the harsh laughter of a raven coming from the trees. They, too, served the king.

At the edge of the bog, he could see the soft curtain of the Veil. It was visible in the growing light, a dark slash moved through it, those who would precede the
feorhbealu
already gathering on both sides of the Veil. Galen knew their time was running out faster than he’d thought it would. Guy had said time moved differently for them as they rode with the Hunt, but hadn’t elaborated. Longer? Shorter? How much time would it take before he could attempt to reach Rob?

He could hear the horses as he turned to his father, uncle, friends and—he felt odd thinking the word—vassals. “It’s nearly time. They’re coming. I’ll try to bring the Hunt to the fight, but I trust you will all do your part.”

“No playing horsies for eternity, Galen,” Flash said softly.

“I hope not, Flash.”

“No, wait.” Flash shook his head, took a deep breath and walked to Galen. “I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“You think you get to go off and play horsies without me? Oh, fuck no. I’m your servant, remember?”

“Flash, I can’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“All the more reason to have someone at your back. I can hear them, you know, I have since last night.”

“He’s right,” Parry said gently. “You need someone you can trust.”

“The idiot would be good for that,” Blake added.

“No,” Galen said, shaking his head.

“You don’t trust me,” Blake went on, “and I don’t blame you. Guy and Robert are my friends, I am willing to fight for them, and fight in this battle. My kind will be wiped out by the
feorhbealu
, we know that, and we will fight here. We helped form the Hunt and we will be on this field.”

“We?” Galen asked, confused.

“Yes, my kind are here as well, we will serve your interests today.” Blake gestured towards the trees, Galen saw something form into existence and wait beneath the dark branches. He could sense them now, the flowing power of the Fae gathered in the growing light.
 
He looked at Blake for a long moment, he couldn’t “see” a lie the way Rob could, but he could feel the emotions moving through the other. He might not be telling the whole truth, but Blake was determined to fight.

“Thank you,” Galen said quietly. He was debating saying goodbye when he saw movement, one of the
each uisge
gallop into the clearing, its skeletal muzzle red with blood. The riders followed, parting to make way for the king. He swung off his horse and came towards Galen, the face no longer shifting like the mist, but Rob there in the death’s mask visage.

“My king,” Galen said, bowing his head.
 
“I beg you, let me join you, let me ride with you and serve you under these stars.”

The king stepped forward and laid a hand on Galen’s shoulder, dead eyes meeting Galen’s. Cold flowed through him, robbing him of thought as the call became deafening. “My brother, you will ride with us, I have been waiting for you.” The king smiled. “It has been a long wait.”

“I, too, have waited long,” Galen replied. “We will ride together.”

“Yes,” the king said. Then, just for an instant Galen saw something flicker in the dead eyes—recognition.
“Galen?”
Rob whispered through the bond.
“You’re here to ride with me?”

 

 
The next second Rob was gone and the king was back. “We do not have much time,” he said impatiently. “I am tired of waiting.”

“I understand. My… My servant rides with me,” Galen said, glancing at Flash and seeing his friend swallow nervously.

“I wish to ride with you,” Flash said in the language of the Hunt, then looked surprised at the words that came out of his mouth. “What the fuck, Galen?”

“It’s okay, Flash.”

“It is time,” the king said and led Galen to the Great Altar. Galen glanced back and met his father’s eyes briefly before the king laid his hand over Galen’s heart and the fog flowed around them, the mists curling through him, chilling him. He heard a startled cry from Flash, but the fog, the call of the Hunt overwhelmed everything else.

He was falling, dropping down thousands of feet into darkness, into the abyss. Gentle hands caught him and lowered him onto the Great Altar. The king bent over him. “Rest my brother, soon, soon you will ride with us.” He reached a hand out and gently closed Galen’s eyelids as the fog pulled at him, tugging like the claws of a thousand creatures, rending him apart. There was a wrench of pain and something shifted, pushing at him, the cold changed, the light against his eyes, it was all different.

He could hear them singing as he opened his eyes, a fire was burning, the song of old swirling around night filled with smoke and the sound of the Hunt—his brothers’ laughter.

 
“My brother.” The king stood over him. “Welcome, welcome.” He laughed in joy as he held a hand out and pulled Galen to his feet.

Galen smiled. “My king, we will ride this night,” he said, walking over to the horse he’d ridden the night before, running a gentle loving hand over the dead flesh.

“This is a little, um, gross,” Flash grumbled. The gray horse had its nose buried in Flash’s hair, snuffling happily. “Yes, I’m here,” Flash said to it with an affectionate chuckle.

“You okay?” Galen asked him.

“Yeah, weirded out, but okay.”

Galen slid his hand over the saddle and pulled the great sword from the scabbard. “I offer myself as your champion, my king.”

 
“There is one who rides in that place, my brother,” the king said, Rob’s smile on his face.

“I challenge him, my king. I stand before you and offer the challenge, asking for the worthiness of his loyalty to stand beside you.” The words rolled off his tongue easily. Galen stood in the center of the stone, balancing the heavy sword in his hands, it was closer to Rob’s bastard sword than Galen’s falcata, but he was well trained.

“How dare you?” the champion hissed, several others gathering behind him. He had his sword in his hand as he glared at Galen.

“It is his right,” the king said.

“I will stand in your stead,” one of the riders said to the champion.

The riders had gathered around the stone, ringing the two combatants, the king waiting patiently at the head of the stone. The horses were whuffing in excitement as if they sensed the battle waged between the two facing each other, swords in their hands.

“You don’t have the stomach for this fight?” Galen sneered at the champion.

“He can fight this battle, I don’t fight with common dogs.”

“Coward,” Galen snapped.

“How dare you!” The champion dove at Galen.

Galen stepped forward, raising his sword as his opponent took the first swing with the large blade. The blow vibrated down the sword as Galen blocked it. He countered with a swing, too wide, the tip of the blade cutting a slash across the rider’s shoulder as he ducked away. The champion came at him again, another swinging blow, nearly driving Galen down as he blocked it. He realized that the champion was trying to use brute force to win the fight. Galen didn’t know if that indicated a lack of skill or lack of practice, but he planned on taking advantage of it.

Dropping out from under the rider’s blade, he rolled and was back on his feet an instant later. The champion growled as Galen leveled a blow at his back. The other danced away, escaping without injury before he stepped in again, his blade moving so fast Galen could barely see it, not a swinging blow, but a savage thrust. Galen managed to duck, but the sword caught him on his arm, slicing flesh and scoring the bone. He got his own sword up and swung, catching the other on the thigh, he felt the vibration in the blade as the sword stopped hard against the bone. The champion howled in pain and attacked blindly, driving Galen away from the Great Altar with the force of his attack.

Galen waited, watching the other, letting his training take over. He parried another swing and landed a blow, a cutting thrust aimed at the champions chest. A shout from the watching riders spurred him further, fighting his way back to the altar. Galen recognized his moment when it came—his opponent stepped in, sword raised for another blow. Before he could even move, Galen swung his own blade, using the huge weight of the sword to add momentum to his blow.

And it was over.

His opponent dissolved in a blackened pool on the Great Altar, head severed from body. One of the waiting horses gave an agonized cry and it, too, disappeared from amongst them. Small creatures flitted in, circling the Altar in joyful swoops, crying Galen’s name on the wind. Their laughing song filled the clearing with noise. Guy came forward and embraced him, joy flowing through the contact. The riders cheered him, some coming forward to pound him on the back, others held back and the group that had been with the champion turned their backs and walked away.

“My brother,” the king said, approaching him. “Well fought.”

He dropped to his knees before the king, head bowed. “I but offered the challenge, my king. My arm knew who it served.”