Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (68 page)

Despite Henry’s foot-dragging, they soon reached the broad stone staircase that led down to the wide courtyard of the Hall of the Throne. As they descended, Henry noted the large number of goblin mercenaries standing guard in the shadows of the ornamental flowering trees surrounding the hall.

Furtive figures peered from the tower windows surrounding the courtyard and below servants dressed in dull green liveries gawked at Henry as he drew near but averted their gazes when he looked back at them.

Then from some high place Henry heard a man sing out the first phrases of ‘the Song of the High King’s Return’.

“Blood of our true king,

Son blessed by the stone,

Even the storms will sing

Come claim your throne—”

Two wiry white goblins drew their scimitars and dashed across the courtyard into one of the many towers. Moments later, only the wind raised its voice to welcome Henry as he strode across the alabaster path to the golden doors of the Hall of the Throne. His guards trailed him with a wary tension in their movements.

Snow goblin mercenaries hauled the doors open and Henry had to shield his eyes with his shackled hands against the blaze of golden light that fell across him. The din of hundreds of voices burst over him only to be immediately silenced. Gathered on either side of the long gallery, nobles, courtiers, and ministers clothed in resplendent raiment stared at Henry.

“Son of Regent Cethur Greine, born of Princess Easnadh Naomh.” A goblin child, dressed as a page, announced Jason’s lineage and bowed before Henry. “Presenting Prince Lasair.”

Henry briefly wondered what Jason would have thought of being addressed as Prince Lasair. He probably would’ve been too disturbed by the thought that some man in a tower had just had his throat slit to even notice. Henry wasn’t particularly happy about that himself.

He glared across the sea of beautifully gowned and coifed sidhe. At the far end of the immense golden hall Cethur Greine brooded from atop the dark, decayed stones that had once been the shining gold throne of the high king. Without the Stone of Fal, the throne—like the citadel itself—was dying.

Goblin mercenaries flanked Greine and he returned Henry’s gaze with an expression that was like longing but more voracious. Phipps hadn’t lied. Greine strongly resembled Jason. Henry’s heart gave an unnerving kick as he stared into Greine’s dark eyes. Jason had obviously inherited his bronze skin, dark hair, and slim build from his father, but Henry had never seen Jason’s face light with a smile so imperious or cruel as Greine’s.

“At last.” Greine rose and held out his right hand. In his left he held an ivory knife. “Come to me, child.”

“Do not trust him, my prince,” the little goblin page whispered as Henry passed him. Then he bowed and backed away as Henry’s guards followed.

Henry crossed the Hall of the Throne with his head held high. On either side of him silk-robed courtiers and ministers sporting the jeweled rings of office averted their gaze. Not one of them protested; not one even whispered as much warning as the goblin page had. One woman covered her face with her hands and two men turned away, but all of them let “Jason” walk past to his death.

Henry hadn’t wanted to get angry—he hadn’t wanted to feel anything for fear he would betray himself—but as he glimpsed his reflection in the polished gold walls rage began to smolder inside him.

Because it was Jason who he saw striding past the assembled nobles of the Tuatha Dé Dannan. Slim, soaking wet, and barefoot, he looked too resolute to merit the iron shackles restraining his shivering arms. Too young to deserve the armed guards at his back or the goblins standing before him at the foot of Greine’s throne.

“Flesh of my flesh,” Greine addressed Henry, “your loyalty and life are mine to claim. For the sake of our kingdom I call upon you to submit—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Henry snapped. “You want to murder me, then come down and try, but don’t feed me bullshit about obedience and loyalty, Greine. You don’t even know what those words mean.”

Shocked gasps echoed through the hall and for just an instant Greine appeared too stunned by Henry’s outburst to respond. Far behind Henry someone stifled a nervous laugh.

Then Greine’s dismay turned to fury.

“Kill him!” Greine shouted.

With armed opponents both behind and ahead of him, Henry opted to go for Greine. If nothing else, he was going to ruin the regent’s white robes.

 Henry took one of the goblins off guard, slamming his knee into the patch of soft flesh between its bone-hard legs. The goblin grunted and stumbled back, but others rushed forward.

He blocked a goblin’s blade with the chain of his shackles and then smashed the heavy iron manacles across the goblin’s skull. It dropped to the floor. Henry’s heart raced and sweat began to bead on his brow. He spat the name of pain into a third goblin’s red eyes and it fell, howling. The rest of the goblins retreated then.

On his black throne, Greine paled as Henry started for him.

“
Kill him
!” Greine roared.

Two goblins rushed him, one swinging a halberd and the other brandishing a scimitar. Henry lunged aside but still felt the halberd’s iron tip punch through his sweat jacket and graze his shoulder. He caught the shaft of the halberd and wrenched the goblin wielding it into the swinging blade of his comrade. The scimitar ripped through the goblin’s flank, spilling blood and bowels across the floor.

Henry’s hands were slick with sweat as he jerked the halberd from the fallen goblin’s dying grip. It wasn’t much of a weapon so long as Henry’s hands were shackled, but it put fear into the goblin mercenaries before him. Henry smelled it in their milky white sweat and saw it in their wide red eyes. He advanced and the goblin in front of him took half a step back.

For an instant Henry felt a rush of hope; he had only to reach Greine and it could be over. No one else would have to die.

Then two ivory spears harpooned him from behind. Pain ripped through his chest. One spearhead split Henry’s ribs and jutted through the front of his jacket. His lungs shuddered and suddenly he was breathing blood.

God, he hated getting it in the back.

“You stupid fuckers.” Henry spat a mouthful of blood at the nearest goblin. “You’ve trapped me here and now you’re all going to die with me.”

Wisps of white mist drifted from Henry’s body. Despite the blaze of gilded torches, the hall darkened. Bound by the iron shackles, he couldn’t escape into the shade lands, so now they came here to enfold him. Black rafts like rotting kelp drifted from the shadows and the air turned murky, cold, and acrid.

Henry stepped forward and the goblins before him broke ranks and pelted for the doors. But it was too late. The hungry dead were already descending. Choking screams suddenly filled the hall.

Henry dropped the halberd and staggered to the throne, dragging the ivory spears behind him. Greine stared at him in horror as he drew closer.

When Greine plunged his ivory knife into Henry’s chest, Henry hardly felt it for the numb cold spreading through him. He gripped Greine’s throat in both hands.

“No,” Greine gasped. “The kingdom is yours but have mercy on your father.”

Henry had neither the inclination nor the time to tell Greine that this was a mercy. He should have simply left him to the savage appetites of the hungry dead. But there was too much of Jason’s visage in Greine for Henry to bear the sight of that. Instead he strangled the life from Greine.

Greine’s wide-eyed corpse fell from the throne and Henry slumped to his knees. Darkness enfolded him, but it did not end his pain or the screams surrounding him.

Chapter Ten

Jason felt the difference the moment he stepped out from the rusting shipwreck of a portal onto the ragged rocks of the Tuatha Dé Dannan Islands. A sensation like an electric hum went through his body and the wild winds seemed to sing their names to him. The crash of the waves pounded with the rhythm of his heart. He didn’t know this land, but it knew him.

“That’s the citadel there.” Gunther pointed his long, taloned finger up to the towering white edifice jutting out over the crashing sea. “I told you Rake wouldn’t steer us wrong. The man knows how to travel.”

Jason simply nodded. He’d grown accustomed to Gunther’s lean, jagged visage, but Gunther’s retired ex-partner had been another matter: winged, towering, and wreathed in flames. Jason had felt like he was standing on the precipice of a volcano, gazing down into molten magma each time he’d met Rake’s gaze. But the man had behaved normally enough, offering Gunther directions and wishing them good luck when they’d left him.

At Jason’s feet, Princess let out an annoyed yowl and pinned her ears back against the rain.

“Can you find Henry?” Jason asked her.

She gave a little sniff, then leaped across the ragged rocks toward the jutting white prow of the citadel. Both Jason and Gunther sprinted to keep pace with her. As they drew closer to the huge citadel Jason thought he glimpsed a figure wearing a red jacket at the very height of the wall.

Please let that be him. Let him be all right.

Jason wanted to call to Falk, but he knew his voice wouldn’t carry across so vast a distance. Instead thunder boomed across the leaden sky.

And then the figure was gone.

Jason’s muscles burned, but his whole being called out to move faster still—to reach Falk sooner. And suddenly storm winds roared over them, lifting and throwing them ahead nearly too fast for them to keep their feet.

“Are you doing this?” Gunther shouted.

“I think so,” Jason called back.

“Don’t kill us, okay?”

Oddly, Princess appeared delighted, bounding into the gusts and all but dancing on the air. They took the stairs up the citadel wall in the same wild, terrifying manner, springing into the wind as if they could fly as easily as the flock of doves rising above them.

Just as they reached the height of the wall Jason released the winds. He and Gunther staggered a few steps on the rain-slick flagstones, regaining their equilibrium. Princess set down with a hop.

In the courtyard below, dozens of toothy white snow goblins stood at attention, their weapons ready. One yawned and then glanced up to the wall. It gave a shout and pointed up to where Jason and Gunther stood. Jason’s whole body went cold as he watched entire ranks of goblins raise their toothy faces to glare at him.

“Crap,” Gunther muttered.

Then, with a howling cry, the goblins charged.

Princess dashed down the staircase, straight for them. Gunther drew the scimitar he’d taken from Phipps’s shop and Jason let the razor-sharp notes of the ‘Amhrán Na Marú’ fill his mind.

Then, racing past Princess, he released the cruel melody of bone-cutting blades and merciless flames. Goblins fell, their bodies torn in half, their limbs burning. Gunther defended Jason’s back, growling and swearing. Blood from his scimitar spattered Jason as he swung its edge through their attackers’ bodies. Soon blood slicked the steps. Steadily, the goblins fell back as he and Gunther advanced.

They reached the courtyard. The white-flowered trees burned before Jason’s song, sending plumes of smoke into the pelting rain. One of the remaining five goblins lunged for Jason with his blade drawn. Jason called fire from his heart and the goblin seared to ash as he charged. The remaining goblins turned then and fled.

Princess bounded to the golden doors of an ornate building. Jason followed her and Gunther brought up the rear. Despite the rain, all Jason could smell was blood. His ears rang and his throat felt cracked and raw.

Somewhere across the citadel someone sounded an alarm.

“They’ll bring out their archers in a—” The rest of Gunther’s words were drowned out by the cacophony of screams rising from behind the set of huge gold doors.

Princess arched and hissed. When Jason laid his hand against one of the doors Princess backed away. The golden surface felt deathly cold against Jason’s bare skin.

He remembered this bone-deep cold from when he’d lain in the murky darkness of the shade lands. Suddenly he knew why people were screaming. The thought of going in terrified him. But Henry was in there and he couldn’t just leave him.

“You’d better get behind me.” Jason’s words came out in a hoarse rasp.

Gunther nodded, and holding his scimitar, he stood at Jason’s back.

Jason pushed the doors open and stepped into the choking, acid depths of the shade lands. Stinging pain washed over his exposed skin. His lungs caught on the sickly, thick atmosphere and his stomach clenched.

Before him, ghosts rose in an endless a sea of shadows and darkness. They were the dank air and its sticky black drifts. They were the chilling cold and the contorted monstrosities biting, grasping, and devouring every shred of life.

In their midst, the living were few. One tiny goblin only a foot from Jason yowled like a dying kitten as dark, clawed limbs sank into its chest. A bleeding woman crouched with her arms over her face while the man beside her was torn open.

Helpless fear shuddered through Jason.

There were too many of them and he had no way to fight them. Jason couldn’t burn the dead or drive them away with wind. They were ghosts—nothing but hunger and hurt.