The Stag Lord (25 page)

Max didn't answer. Apparently, he did not speak Gaelic.

Still in a half-crouch, the hound slunk along the ground toward the side of the house. Bann followed. Reaching the southwest corner, he pressed himself against it, holding Max back with a hand on the dog's neck. Sheltered somewhat from the worst of the wind, he steeled himself and peered around the corner.

The area was empty except for a plastic garbage container blown over on its side, vomiting trash from its open lid. Tense from the increasing cold, he forced his muscles to relax, then blew on his fingers before starting along the building. When Max pushed past him to take the lead, Bann let him, trusting the dog's nose. He followed Max to the next corner, then paused with a whispered command for the dog to heel. The image of something or someone circling the house and coming up behind him made him check back over his shoulder every other step.

That, and years of training to hunt goblins under the stern hand of an exacting but affectionate Knight.

Why, ye stupid lump of an apprentice
. The voice of his old master echoed in Bann's head.
Look
behind
ye whilst hunting or ye'll find one of those beasties on yer heels, eager to deliver the
poc sídhe
and scramble what few brains ye have in that thick skull of yers
. A cuff on Bann's thirteen-year-old head had followed, driving the lesson home.
Ye may be a long-son of the King, but I'll kick yer arse if I see ye failing to guard it
.

With a final glance behind, he eased around the house to the backyard.

The snow blew harder. The juniper trees at the edge of Shay's property waved their arms, smacking the boulders at their roots for trying to peek up their trunks. Further north, the wind moaned around the hoodoo rocks of the park, sculpting away as it had before the Tuatha Dé Danaan ever stepped foot on the Emerald Isle a continent and an ocean away.

Before he could stop him, Max suddenly shot across the yard and disappeared into the rocks. “No, Max!” Bann shouted above the wind. “Come!” The wind laughed at him. He ran after the hound, cursing the dog, and himself. Knowing he was doing something he would strangle his son for even
thinking
of doing.

He did it anyway.

The tempest diminished as he entered the maze of sandstone. Grateful for the reprieve from the wind, he called again. A bark pulled him deeper into the boulder field.
What the bleedin' hell am I doing? The beast can look after himself
.

He knew the reason why he was chasing after Max.
Two
reasons, actually.

He jogged around more rocks, ducking under the low branches of a lone juniper tree, head swiveling from side to side as he ran.

Fu-whith
! The spear came out of nowhere, impaling the sandy ground between his feet. It looked like a third leg as it stood quivering from the impact.

“Shite!” Bann flung himself backwards. He hit the ground and rolled, barely avoiding the second spear. Scrambling to his feet, he dove for a nearby boulder and threw himself behind it, scraping an elbow along the sandstone. Panting, he crouched down, back pressed against the rough surface, straining to hear over the storm's wailing. He tensed as Fir Bolg voices spoke nearby.

“Damn,” growled a voice. “He went to ground.”

“Find him. We can't let him get back to the house.” A second voice spoke. “That other Fey is removing the rest of the wards even now. Once those are down, we won't have any problems getting in.”

“I don't know about all this,” the first voice said, doubt slowing its words. “It's weird that a Tuatha Dé Danaan would turn against another. And what about Sreng and the master? I thought we're supposed to wait until Samhain…”

The voices faded as they moved away. Toward the house, Bann realized. Rage, mixed with dread, tore through him at the thought of those monsters getting anywhere near the woman or child.
My woman and child
, the most primitive part of his brain snarled. He gritted his teeth as he bunched his legs under him in preparation, ready to unleash his own monster.

I am the roar of the sea. I am a bull of seven battles
.

Movement wrenched his head around. A few yards away, a shadow stirred in the deeper shadows. Low to the ground, it crawled toward him, an amorphous shape. He thought of the moonstone in his pocket. Palm-sized, it emitted a pale, soft light when held in a Tuatha Dé Danaan's hand. Fumbling for it, he raised his knife.

“Come along, ye fokking brute,” he growled in Gaelic. “I haven't got all night.”

22

W
HEN THE FRONT DOOR
closed behind Bann and Max, Shay grabbed Cor and pushed him toward the hallway. “My bedroom. Move!” The boy sprinted along the corridor in front of her.

Reaching the room, Shay flung open her closet. The inside of the door held a rack of weapons, most made from bronze but a few from steel. They clinked, swinging wildly, the bronze blades like tongues of fire in the light of the bedside lamp. She scanned the collection, cussing under her breath.

“What's wrong, Shay?”

“I need an iron weapon. Bronze is only useful against goblins, not gods.”

“Here.” Cor held out his switchblade.

“That's steel, not iron.”

Cor shook his head. He pressed the button. To Shay's surprise, a dull gray blade, apparently handmade, sprang out with a click. “Dad had some guy make this for me. Out of an old knife he had in his barn. The guy was a smith something.”

“Blacksmith?” At the boy's nod, Shay took the blade. At second glance, it was less crude than Shay had first thought, and it was sharpened to a razor edge. “You keep this. I'd feel better knowing you're armed.” Squatting down until they were eye to eye, she pinned Cor in place. “You're to stay
right with me
. No matter what. When I stop, you stop. When I run, you run. And if I tell you to go hide, you go hide. Okay?”

“Okay.” He swallowed, eyes wide.

Shay could see his pulse fluttering under the soft skin of his throat.
No child should have to be ready to run from things that go shit in the night. But he's not just any child
. “Remember, Cormac Boru, you're a descendent of the High King of Ireland, and Tuatha Dé Danaan to boot. You know what that means?”

“That I'm one tough son of a bitch?” he whispered.

In spite of everything, Shay burst out laughing. She pulled the boy into a hug, squeezing tighter when he hugged her back.
I think I'm falling in love with
both
father and son
. “Damn straight. C'mon.”

“Where're we going?”

“Need to find another iron weapon. Get dressed, then meet me in the kitchen.”

Cor darted into his room. Shay hurried into the kitchen. She began opening and shutting drawers.
There's got to be
something
around here made of iron I can use as a weapon
. She paused when she spotted the cast-iron skillet on the stove.

At that moment, Cor appeared, hopping on one leg with an odd bowing motion as he tried to tie his shoe and walk at the same time. Even as Shay picked up the skillet, he finished his task, then made a beeline for the fireplace. Snatching up the poker, he scattered the rest of the hearth tools on the wooden floor with a
clang
. Ignoring the mess, he hurried over and passed her the poker handle-first.

“Cor, you're brilliant, you know that?” She took it and brandished it in the air, getting a feel for its weight and balance. She eyed the tip.
About as lethal as a cotton swab, but better than nothing, I guess
.

A weak grin flitted across his face. He licked his lips and thumbed his knife open with a click. “Can we go now?”

“Go where?”

“To help Dad.”

Every fiber in Shay's body wanted to do just that. The thought of Bann out in the storm, by himself, with only Max for backup, gnawed a hole in her gut. The thought of leaving Cor unprotected in the house or, gods forbid, dragging him into the battle, hurt even worse. “You can help your dad by staying safe. He doesn't want you—”

“I'm going.” Cor set his jaw. Stubbornness vied with desperation in his eyes. He began edging around her to the back door. “And you can't tell me no.”

A mini-Bann
, she thought. “Actually, I can. Because I'm your friend. And I'm your dad's friend. And friends protect each other, even when the other friend doesn't want them to.” She moved to block him.

Cor looked past her into the night. The stubbornness faded, leaving the desperation. “Please?” He looked up at her, eyes swimming with tears. “I've got to get my dad. Please, Shay?”

Damn you, gods
, she thought.
Damn you all for doing this to this kid
.

They jumped as a shape crashed against the glass door. A ghost in the darkness. Whirling around, Shay leaped in front of Cor, the poker raised.
The house is warded
, she reminded herself.
They can't get in
.

The door flew open.

Max burst in, followed by Bann gasping for breath. He slammed the glass panel behind him.

The three of them stared at each other.

Shay wasn't sure who moved first. Probably Cor, since he ended up sandwiched between Shay and Bann in a three-way hug. Melted snow from the Knight's shirt chilled her cheek as she clung to him. And him to her. She could have stayed that way all night, especially since Cor squirmed about to wrap an arm around her waist.

Bann placed his lips against her ear. “What's with the poker?”

“Wasn't
my
choice,” she murmured back. “Cor picked it out.”

“Oh, sure, blame the kid,” Cor complained, his voice muffled.

Shay sighed when Bann released them.
Too bad. I was enjoying the family hug
. “What was it? Was it a tree limb?”

“Fir Bolgs.”

Cor stiffened, one hand knotted in the tail of his father's shirt. “They can't get in. Right, Dad? Because of the wards?”

“No, they can't, kiddo. You're safe here…” Her voice trailed off at Bann's expression. “What's wrong?”

“The wards are down. Someone's removed them. And the Fir Bolgs know of it—they're on their way even now.”

“Wait.” Shay held up her hand. “Someone
removed
them? That's impossible! Only a Tuatha Dé Danaan—Oh, shit!” Rage spiked through her. “That fucking son of a bitch!”

“Whoa,” Cor breathed, impressed by her language.

“Aye. Apparently, our fine Knight has allied himself with the Fir Bolgs.” Bann's jaw tightened. “I should have struck him harder.”

“Can't we put the stick things back up?” Cor asked, a quaver in his voice.

Bann shook his head. “They've touched the earth, son. They're no good to us now. Shay, I'll need another weapon. Bronze or iron.”

Dread squeezed her heart. “Why?”

“I'm going to meet them in battle. I'll hold them off while you and Cor—”

“Are you crazy?” Shay grabbed Bann's arm. It was rock hard and thrumming with tension. “We're talking six to one. Maybe more. And what if Cernunnos shows up as well?”

“Then, ‘twill be a fair fight. A weapon. Please.”

“You can't win.” Out of the corner of her eye, Shay spied Cor slipping out of the room.

“But I can detain them whilst ye take the child and flee.” Bann's voice rose. “Now, do as ye're told and fetch me another blade, woman!”

Reminding herself to slap Bann later for that chauvinist remark if they all lived through the night, Shay snapped back. “Fine. But I'm coming with you.”

“No, ye're not!”

“Yeah, she is.” Cor appeared, a hunting knife in each hand. “Me, too.” Max yipped twice. “And Max,” he added, handing a weapon to Shay and his father. He frowned when the dog bristled and began growling. “What's wrong, boy?”

The window and door exploded inward.

23

F
IR
B
OLGS BOILED INTO
the kitchen.

Bann whirled around, shoving Cor to the floor by the island as glass showered down. With a grunt, he buried his blade in the chest of the nearest Fir Bolg, punching through skin and bone and muscle with a satisfying pop. Yanking the knife free just in time, he ducked as another attacked with a spear. White-hot pain ripped through his bicep. His weapon flew from his hand, spinning past Shay's head a few feet away. The Healer was backing into the living room, dueling knife to knife with a third Fir Bolg while Max was busy ravaging the legs of a fourth.

As the spearman lifted his weapon for the killing stroke, Bann lowered his shoulder and plowed into the assailant. The Fir Bolg's feet left the ground; sailing through the air, he crashed onto the kitchen table. It collapsed beneath him, trapping one of his arms. The spear fell from his hand.

“Dad!”

Still on the floor next to the island, Cor scrambled for the spear. One-handed, he sent it skidding across the tile toward his father. His other hand still clutched his switchblade.

Bann snatched it up. Leaping on top of the downed Fir Bolg before he could roll away, the Knight stomped on the creature's wrist. A wet snap, then a shriek. Eyeing the enemy writhing beneath him, Bann raised the spear, then hesitated. Something niggled at him. Something about the creature seemed familiar.

It was the Fir Bolg that had hurt and terrified his son.

The sheer ecstasy of planting the point of the spear in the creature's eye with a moist pop—the
right
eye, to be sure—made Bann laugh aloud. He leaned on the weapon, pinning the Fir Bolg's skull to the table's remains. The creature shuddered, legs kicking, then stilled. Two other Fir Bolgs bolted for the broken door, one of them dragging a ravaged leg from Max's attack. They clawed at each other in their haste to be the first one out. Before Bann could free the spear and skewer another, they disappeared into the darkness. Cursing, he spun around at the sound of Shay shouting to Max.