Chapter 18: Negotiations and Resolutions: Part One

  I was in over my head, again.

  Across from me, the remaining members of the Wild Hunt stood side by side, Loraxis looming over them from behind like a living mountain of scales ready to come down in an avalanche. All of them were looking at me, and I was pretty sure that I should have been more nervous than I was.

  Fortunately, I was still riding high on my power rush. In the absence of fortifying alcohol, it would make for a decent substitute.

  My wings flexed about me, and though the volume of my halo’s note had reduced, it still continued, both reminders of the power I had at my command. This was a chance, and I had to use it as best as I could.

  “Okay,” I broke the silent standoff by leaning forward slightly, resting both my hands on the table and meeting the empty pits of the deer skull that covered Herne’s face. “Let's just be clear. We’re talking, we’re going to be civil about this. So, no getting angry and jumping across the table. If we reach an impasse, then we both just back out, we can go back to trying to murder each other.”

  There was a pause, then Herne inclined his head in a nod.

  “With the power you now hold, it would be foolish to push this any further. The blood of your angelic ancestor runs strong in you.”

  And wasn’t that the truth? There was just one problem. On a purely instinctual level, I was aware of some of the aspects of this new form of mine, as though the information had been downloaded straight into my brain when I transformed. Was this what a proper Awakening would have been like, me just knowing everything about the powers I’d just gotten? Sadly along with that instinctual understanding came knowledge of my limitations as well as my strengths.

  Yeah, I could take on a full angelic form, but like Joan, I couldn’t maintain it permanently. Joan had held onto her angelic form for over an hour. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it to ten minutes. I’d already burned through something like three minutes, so . . .

  I relaxed and let the power flow back into the knot of power that I’d worked so hard to pull open. I could feel the changes retreating, my extra wings fading, components of my halo disappearing as it shrank, the raging magic roaring through me, simmering down into a gentle murmur. Still, it was there if I needed it. Just one tug on the knot, and I’d be right back to that state, and boosted enough to make sure the Wild Hunt had a really bad day.

  “Is it wise to withdraw your power? What if we choose treachery?”

  Herne sounded genuinely curious, but also as though he were needling me, ever so slightly. I didn’t want to admit to how limited my time in that form was, so I tried to answer with as much dignity as I could, while dancing around the truth.

  “It seems like poor manners to approach a discussion with a drawn blade. Better to put the blade away in its sheath to show some sincerity.” I let what I hoped was a cold smile touch my lips. “The blade can always be drawn if it is needed.”

  “Especially one with so keen an edge as you have just shown us,” Herne agreed. I saw a brief flare of hunt fire from within the darkness of the skull he wore, before it faded back into blackness. “You became a full-blooded angel, and one of great power.”

  “Yeah. And you know what? This isn’t even my final form!”

  I had to say it; the power of memes compelled me.

  Sadly, my attempt at humour was missed by every member of the hunt, though the centaur did narrow his eyes, and the dragon shifted in place ever so slightly. For his part, Herne simply nodded before very deliberately letting go of his spear and letting it just lean against the table.

  “Great power, and the ability to put it away, rather than letting yourself be carried away by it. More and more, I see why you have garnered such attention as to have the entourage that accompanies you.”

  He made a gesture, and behind him, the other members of the Hunt sat down on the grass; even his horse settled down, with the old woman leaning against it as though it were a couch. Only the Horned Hunter remained standing, facing me across the stone table that I’d made with my magic on a whim.

  “Okay, first off. I’m not letting you have the scabbard. That’s just not in the cards, and I want to make that clear.”

  I had to get that out of the way first. I owed it to Lancelot, and I had to make sure the Hunt understood it.

  “Understood.”

  Herne made no effort to hide the frustration in his words, but at least he wasn’t arguing the point. That was a decent starting point, but now it came to the main question that would set the tone for us going forward.

  “So, why were you hunting Mato? And then why did you want the Sheath so much?”

  “To pay a ransom.”

  The response was quick and clear, and also confusing.

  “Huh?” I didn’t bother trying to hide my incomprehension. “What do you mean by that?”

  “What you have faced until now is not the full might of the Wild Hunt; a full third of us are held captive far from here. The Hunt is broken, incomplete, and as such only a weak shadow of what it can be.”

  “You’re kidding! You’re telling me that we fought you guys while you were completely hamstrung?!”

  Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to let slip how much that statement shocked me, but I couldn’t hold it back. I’d fought the Hunt three times now, and even if they’d never been overwhelming, they had also never seemed weak.

  “It is no mere boast, young Demigod. The Hunt has grown over time, each member we take in being carefully chosen in regard to what they bring to the common well of power. From the mightiest dragon to the simplest sprite, they all contribute to make the whole greater than the sum of its parts. Having a third of our number torn away has left a massive gap in our being; powers become unbalanced, connections lead nowhere. Our power is functional, but crippled. We are incomplete until we can recover our lost comrades.”

  “Can’t you find new members? Get your power back by filling in the gaps?”

  Herne tensed at my question, and behind him, Loraxis let out a low growl. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was enough to make the earth seem to rumble.

  “And abandon our brethren? Never! The stars shall grow cold and dim before the Wild Hunt forsakes its own!”

  The Horned Hunter’s voice was iron, echoing the kind of resolve that would make the world twist around it before it gave.

  “Okay, let's step back a bit. How did it happen? I’m guessing that you didn’t just let a third of your number wander off and get caught in a banana trap.”

  The joke was a bad one, and I felt the urge to wince even as it slipped out; fortunately, no one reacted to it.

  “Nothing so childish. Our captive brethren are being held by the City of Roots.”

  Behind me, I heard an intake of breath, sharp and surprised. It had come from Joan, who still gripped the stump where her arm should be. She looked better, though, her face less pinched with pain and a bit more colour in her cheeks. Healing magic was awesome. Still, she looked . . . not shocked, but definitely caught off guard.

  “Joan?” I asked, curious as to what would draw such a reaction from her.

  “I know of them from my studies in the High Heavens. The city of Roots is one of the very few enclaves of magic that remained on the mortal plane even after the last of the connections to the divine realms were lost. During the times without magic, they managed to survive, hidden away and kept safe. I had not thought to hear of them so soon after the Paths opened though; they should still be concealed behind their wards.”

  That was surprising. It was general knowledge now that there had been magic once, but the end of the so-called ‘Time of Legends’ had led to it draining out of the world. For about two thousand years, the world had become inhospitable for creatures of magic and those that wielded it, like a desert was for people without preparation. You could survive there for a time, but death was pretty much inevitable without a miracle. Magic users had either lost their magic or been forced to leave the mortal world entirely. But now I was being told that there was an entire city of wizards out there that never left?

  “Indeed,” Herne confirmed. “The City of Roots was established by potent magic users, the peers and students of the likes of Merlin and Circe. It is one of the greatest concentrations of magic talent in the world, certainly the greatest concentration of mortal knowledge upon magic. Tomes from every culture in the world were painstakingly gathered and preserved there. Secrets that would have otherwise been lost were safeguarded and studied there. The entire city was sealed in one of the greatest acts of magic ever so that all within could continue on, even after magic faded. It was an ark for the magic users of the time, those who would not leave the mortal plane.”

  “So . . . what? Is this a real city we’re talking about?”

  It couldn’t be, right? How many could there be, a few hundred? If it was like an ark, then there couldn’t be too many people, right? How’d they live? And they’d all be from . . . what? The sixth century? No way.

  “Adam, the City of Roots has a population of nearly a hundred thousand, and of that population, more than ninety per cent are magic users.”

  I craned my neck round to stare at her.

  “What?! Where is it? And how come no one's found it?”

  It was Herne that answered.

  “The city has been sealed since the last gasps of magic passed. Without magic in the world around them, they sealed their city into a self-contained environment where they could generate and regulate their own mana and waited for the barren times to pass.”

  “Wait! That makes no sense!” A hundred thousand? What the hell? “How could a city last like that? What about food, water, supplies in general? Hells, how about just air and light? How long ago did they get sealed away?”

  “Magic fully left the world at the end of what is now called the seventh century.” All I could do was stare at the Horned Hunter in bewilderment. “It had been growing weaker since the death of the Heaven’s Heir, but it did not fully fade until then. They escaped fading into powerlessness by creating their City of Roots as a haven.”

  “What, so they’ve been sealed away for over a thousand years? They’ve been able to survive that long?”

  Even as I asked the question, I realised how stupid it was. Of course, they had a means to survive, since I doubted anyone would be willing to seal themselves in like that without some sort of guarantee of living through it.

  “It is a city of magic, young demigod. Space can be warped to grow large, time can be accelerated or slowed down, animals can grow and multiply at enhanced rates, crops can reach maturity in a day. With the myriad of methods and spells at their command, the city can survive independently for as long as they wish.”

  I’d been right. But even so . . .

  “Okay . . . okay, I’m going to have to spend some time getting my head around that. So, how’d they end up capturing your guys? Did they lure you into a trap or something?”

  There was a short pause, and I could swear that Herne looked a bit uncomfortable. It was nothing overt, but something about the way he shifted his posture ever so slightly made me think that he was about to reveal something he didn’t want known.

  “No. In truth, we were the ones who conducted a raid upon the City in its earliest years.”

  This time, I was the one who took a moment to reply, unsure of how I wanted to phrase my next question. In the end, I decided to go with simplicity.

  “Why?”

  “The approaching drought of magic was felt by all. Every faction that could was escaping to other planes or realms where they could ride it out. Such was our plan, but the Wild Hunt has ever stood apart, a faction of our own beholden to none. This left us with few allies, and as such, while we would have been accepted into the fey realms, we would not have been welcomed.

  “We sought to improve our standing by plundering the City of Roots and making off with what tomes, treasures or captives we could. Any would have been fine spoils to offer our new hosts, enough so to ensure their favour during our stay.”

  There was frustration in his voice now, subtle, but enough for me to notice.

  “I’m guessing something went wrong, right?”

  The Horned Hunter’s fists clench.

  “We underestimated the wizards of the City. We had faced magic users before, even powerful ones such as Morgan le Fay or Gwydion fab Don, but we did not face champions; we faced an army.”

  He looks up at me, and again the yellowish green flames of the Hunt burn in the sockets of the skull he wears.

  “The magic users of the City of Roots have found some way to act in unison in a way none of us had ever seen. Hundreds, thousands, of them all casting the same spells, melding and reinforcing them in ways I had not thought could be possible. All of that was guided by their elders, the greatest casters alive, the students and successors to Merlin and his peers.

  “They overwhelmed us. All of our numbers, our immortality, our power, were not enough. Two-thirds of our number were captured and imprisoned; only a third were able to escape.”

  I didn’t know too much about formal magic, the sorts that real spellcasters used. My divine inheritance let me use magic directly, bypassing the need for spells, rituals, and other such castings. It let me be incredibly flexible in my use of magic, but it also meant that I missed out on the advantages of more established methods. Joan had explained that more traditional spellcasters couldn’t do what I did nearly as easily, but they could do things I could not. I might be able to throw around fireballs that exploded like military weapons, but a mage could make a small fireball that homed in on a target without the mage having to maintain continuous control, for example.

  I hadn’t known that it was possible for multiple casters to reinforce each other to cast a single spell. And the way Herne described it, hundreds or even thousands working together on one spell . . . I could see how that might overwhelm even something like the Wild Hunt.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Queen Maeve of the Winter Court came to our aid. We had fought on her side during several of her wars as mercenaries, and we were surprised by how high a regard she held us in. She negotiated with the rulers of the City, bargained with them and was able to secure the release of half of their captives and a ransom for the rest.”

  Maeve . . . I knew that name. Again, it was thanks to Joan, who had been more knowledgeable on the faery courts than on the schools of magic. Since her mother had raised her on some children’s tales of faeries and sprites, she had chosen to learn the truth about them while studying in the High Heavens.

  Maeve was the daughter of Mab, the Queen of the Winter Court during the more primordial times. Maeve had been crowned queen after the newer gods, such as the Olympians or the Aesir, had come to power. There had also been something else that Joan mentioned about her, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Trying to keep the discussion from stalling, I dismissed the thought for now and asked the obvious question.

  “So, I’m guessing that the ransom would have been Mato, or the Scabbard?”

  Herne’s fists loosened, and his shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t obvious, but somehow I was able to notice it. I couldn’t recall being this . . . this tuned in to tells and body cues. So why was I having such an easy time now? Some kind of aftereffect of my transformation? Something else to consider later.

  “The child is heir to three bloodlines, and all of them are strong within him. The rulers of the City would prize him greatly and would be eager to add that blood to some of their own lines. As for the scabbard . . . it is one of the greatest artefacts that we could offer them. Valuable enough to not only ensure the release of our brethren, but also wipe away our disgrace.”

  “Your disgrace?”

  “When Queen Maeve bargained for us, the rulers of the city were greedy and sought to extract any treasures they could from her. In order to purchase the freedom of half of their prisoners, her majesty surrendered her wedding dress to them.”

  Ah! That was it! That was what Joan had told me!

  The court of Winter was more complicated than its summer counterpart due to the unmarried status of its queen. Though her rule was unquestioned, the fact was that Maeve’s daughters had been born out of wedlock. This had led to problems. Though her daughters had the titles of princesses and were at least as powerful as the elite of the Winter Court, they were still denied certain rights and privileges that ‘legitimate’ princesses would have enjoyed. They couldn’t petition to learn the secrets of royal magic. They couldn’t be used to secure marriages of alliance. They couldn’t be named as heirs to their mother.

  The reason that Maeve had never married was a mystery. Even in the High Heavens, the exact reason for her reticence was unknown, at least as far as Joan had known. Was this the reason?

  “Okay. So, I’m guessing that’s not something she can fix just by having some seamstress fix her up a new one, right?”

  Herne shook his head, his great horns making the action exaggerated, but not comical.

  “For the queens of Faerie, certain items have intrinsic meaning and power. Such artefacts are either inherited from past monarchs or created during their own reign. They are powerful and valuable, but also dangerous if lost.

  “A sword can be imbued with the power of war, a scroll with the nature of law, a tree with the nature of fertility. The sword shall be a mighty weapon, hewing foes and leading armies. The scroll shall ensure that the laws written upon it are followed more faithfully and not forgotten. The tree shall ensure that nearby fields yield bountiful crops, that cattle multiply and that even the citizens have strong and healthy children. However, if the sword is lost, then its wielder can no longer march to war or even fight. If the scroll is burnt, then all laws upon it are lost and cannot be enforced. If the tree dies, then the land shall become barren and lifeless.

  “When Queen Maeve gave up her wedding dress, she gave up the ability to legitimately marry. She could not seal an alliance with matrimony, her children could not be held as legitimate by even the very laws of magic, and she could never take another as anything more than a temporary consort. In many ways, it was a crippling wound to her rule, though she was able to overcome it. That she has given up so much for our sake is a debt and obligation that weighs almost as heavily upon us as the imprisonment of our fellows.”

  Things were starting to fall into place, but I still had some questions before the whole picture was finished.

  “Okay, so a third of your Hunt is held captive, and they’ve got the wedding dress of a faerie queen, who you now owe a massive debt. What are they asking for?”

  This time, the reaction came from all of the Hunters, except for the old woman, who seemed to have fallen asleep. Herne tensed, the centaur’s lip visibly curled in disdain, and another growl rumbled from Loraxis, though this one sounded angrier than his previous one.

  “Power. The coin that magic users ever traffic in. They care not if it is artefacts, knowledge, bloodlines or the corpses of slain foes. So long as it grants them power in some way, they shall be content.”

  “Like the scabbard, or Mato . . .”

  My eyes darted to the scabbard I held, and I was all too aware of the huge form of Mato’s transformed self behind me. Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place.

  “Indeed. So, what now, young demigod? We are not willing to leave our brethren imprisoned, nor our debt unsettled. So, what do you propose?”

  “Well, first off, you aren’t taking Mato, and the scabbard is going back to Arthur.” I’d already said it, but I thought it merited repeating. “I’m also not going to just let you go hunting another demigod, okay? I get you wanting to save your friends, but I’m not letting you kidnap some kid off the streets to sell to a magic chop shop.”

  The one that replied wasn’t Herne, but Loraxis, as the dragon rose to his equivalent of sitting up, his wings flaring slightly. His voice was tight, controlled and surprisingly soft. His earlier growl had made the earth vibrate, but this time it was as though he was just another guy speaking to me at the coffee shop. Somehow, that was even more intimidating than a thundering roar.

  “They have my mates, demigod. I would be happy to burn entire cities to ash if it would secure their freedom.”

  A chill went down my spine as I realised that the dragon meant it. If it would free his . . . mates? Plural? Whatever, if it meant freeing them, then he would happily reduce whole cities and their populations to nothing but scraps of bones and cinders.

  Still, I couldn’t let the huge beast intimidate me, and I had a rejoinder that I hoped would hit home.

  “And how many gods and demigods would that end up hunting you? You guys are powerful, tough, but we’ve managed to push you this far with our group. How’re you going to deal with larger groups, more gods and more demigods?”

  Some divine parents or ancestors didn’t give a damn about those who carried their bloodline, but there were also those who did. How could you tell them apart? How likely was it that the Wild Hunt would manage to tick off someone with real firepower if they went on hunting powerful demigods? Hopefully, it was likely enough to give them pause.

  “Then they shall-”

  “Enough, Loraxis!” Herne cut the dragon off by rapping his knuckles against the stone table. “You have more reason than most of our number to seek the freedom of our bound number, but do not think that you speak for us all.”

  For a moment, it looked as though the dragon wasn’t going to back down, then he exhaled a puff of flames through his nostrils before he settled down again with a low grumble. Herne nodded to the great beast, then turned back to me.

  “What the City of Roots demands is not an easy price to pay. We were unable to pay their price before the age of magic ended, and we have had to wait. For centuries we have waited. Now we have returned, with this new era of wonders, and we have been granted a new opportunity.”

  A thought occurred to me as I looked at the Horned Hunter, a god who had become very famous due to his work in America.

  “How did that get you working as a bounty hunter for the US?”

  “The Hunt could not all come at once. At first, only the strongest of us could travel the newly opened pathways. Myself, Skloris, and Loraxis, we arrived at a similar time to Balor, but chose to remain as hidden as we could, to be hunters stalking new lands, rather than conquerors seeking plunder.”

  Herne spread his arms, as though introducing himself to a new audience, the fires of the Wild Hunt playing across his skin in tiny tongues.

  “I chose to offer my service to one of the great empires of this new world, hoping that they would be able to supply me with sufficient tribute to satisfy the City of Roots. It was proving a workable strategy; the masters of their lands were ready to pay me any price in order to secure their rule. But then the demigod was found, and a more immediate solution presented itself.”

  “Okay, can’t you just keep doing that? Hells, with the whole Hunt helping, I’m pretty sure the US will fork over half the gold in Fort Knox to have you guys on their side.”

  And that was an understatement. In the early days after the Black Sun, the USA had been hit hard by the change, new demigods, sea monsters off the coasts, entire towns being overrun and overgrown by returning forests, the fear of the unknown hitting them. The first few weeks had been hectic before things settled down.

  Getting a hammer that the government could bring down when needed, in the form of Herne and Artemis, had let them regain some control, enough to stop that downward spiral and establish a new status quo. To keep Herne on their side, they would have been willing to fork over anything short of blood sacrifices, and even then, I wasn’t too sure how far some black ops units would be willing to go.

  “Adam, the nature of the Wild Hunt is to be just that, wild. They can ally, serve briefly, but it is not in their nature to be tied permanently to any other force. Herne may operate as an independent agent, but the Hunt itself is leashed by none.”

  It was Joan who spoke, chipping in to help explain. Herne nodded in agreement, then continued.

  “Also, the elders of the City of Roots would not be satisfied with so simple a tribute as mere gold. If they were, then we would have plundered the coffers of many nations in order to pay them off. They desire treasures of a far more potent breed.”

  Not good. If they wanted rare and powerful . . . that wasn’t the easiest combo to fulfil.

  “Okay . . . so, where does that leave us?”

  The Horned Hunter gestured to me, his hands open and the palms out.

  “You are correct in that we can no longer defeat you and your allies. You have won here, but you cannot stop us from leaving and seeking fresh prey or spoils. However, you seem unwilling to allow that, but we must complete our obligations. Therefore, we are at an impasse.”

  I bit back a grimace at that. Yeah, I didn’t want to stop them here only for them to go off and hunt down some other demigod in a few weeks. I wanted to end this here, but I still needed more information.

  “So . . . assuming you got your friends free and took the wedding dress back, what would you do next?”

  The horned head tilted slightly, then waved one hand dismissively.

  “In truth? Disperse for a time. Though the Wild Hunt has only recently been assembled for this hunt, it is still too early for us. I have obligations in the USA, Loraxis would wish for time with his mates; many of our members have personal debts to the Winter Court, even with the wedding dress returned. We would wait until the world is more filled with magic and monsters, until there is worthy prey for us to hunt.”

  That sounded like a pretty good outcome to me, as long as none of those debts included attacking whole cities.

  “Okay, back to the City of Roots. What kind of price are they looking for? Can you give me some examples?”

  “Well, any artefact on par with the scabbard of the Blessed King of Albion. The Holy Grail would satisfy them, perhaps the Golden Fleece of the Argonauts or the Hallows of Ireland. Do not think that they shall accept anything less. The wedding dress itself is a powerful artefact, but not one they can easily use themselves.”

  “Then why did they want it?”

  Even as I asked the question, I felt as though it was all a twisted sort of joke. The Holy Grail? The Golden Fleece? I think that if I hadn’t been holding the Scabbard of Excalibur at that very moment, I wouldn’t have been able to wrap my mind around it.

  “The wedding dress is an ancient and powerful artefact, that alone was enough for them. Wizards like them hoard such prizes as a greedy dragon would hoard gold.”

  A thought occurred to me. Well, just the edges of one, but maybe . . .

  “What about the wing of a nephilim?”

  I gestured to the side, where the wing that had been blown off me lay on the bloody grass where it had landed. It was risky, since I knew that parts of an angel could be used as reagents to summon them, and even bind them, but I was banking on my nature as a part-mortal to help with that. I’d learnt from Joan that Nephilim were too fleshy, too mortal as opposed to spiritually based, to summon or bind, and I was willing to bet a Legacy like me fell under the same rules.

  My offer seemed to catch Herne off guard, because he turned to look at the wing, then his head snapped back around to look at me way too sharply.

  “Bold of you. It is a powerful prize, though I do not think you would enjoy some of the uses they could put it to. Still, it is not enough.”

  Okay, if the wing wasn’t enough, then what more could I offer? What was I willing to offer? There were those lumps of metal, one a spoil from beating Etienne’s monstrous form, the other a gift from Nüwa, my Chinese divine ancestor, but I didn’t know what they were worth. There were also my armour and the helmet of invisibility. Those might be worth something to these wizards, especially the Armour of Achilles. The problem was . . .

  “Do not think to offer the gifts we have given you, Adam. They are yours to wield, but to give them away would be an insult to Olympus.”

  Athena’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts. Damn it, she was cutting my legs off for negotiation here. Still, I could understand why she said it. I offered her a nod of acknowledgement, then turned back to face the Hunters.

  “Then . . . what if we spoke to them? Tried to work something out?”

  It was a vague idea. Just the thought that if I could talk with whoever was in charge in this city of magic, then maybe I could work something out that would satisfy everyone. For his part Herne just tilted his head in the opposite direction to earlier, his unseen gaze still heavy enough to let me know he was studying me.

  “The rulers of the City of Roots will not hear us. Those decrepit old fossils will not hear us, for they harbour grudges as though they were dear treasures. They view our raid as a grave insult and so will only allow us to address them when we make our payment. In no other circumstances shall they allow us to address them. They will not even acknowledge us. We have tried.”

  There was a deep bitterness and frustration in his tone, that stood out to me, even though I couldn’t really pinpoint any specific intonation that gave it away. There was an opening here, if I could use it. So, I said the first thing that came to mind, gesturing to my group as I did so.

  “What about us? Would they speak to us?”

  Beside Herne, the centaur shifted, his eyes flicking from me to those arrayed beside and behind me. I could see him adding up the sheer power that we all represented, not just in personal power but also in connections and influence. I could tell the Horned Hunter was doing the same, even if the skull he wore concealed his features. He must have liked the conclusion he came to, because he offered us a slow nod.

  “You have considerable backing, two goddesses, both of whom are held in high regard, as well as servants of the High Heavens and your other allies. If you came seeking an audience, I doubt that you would simply be turned away.”

  That tracked. Now, to see if the next part of my budding idea could work.

  “Okay . . . so what if I spoke to them on your behalf?”

  That caught him off guard, his weight shifting to his back foot for just a moment.

  “What?”

  Not letting go of my momentum, I continued.

  “Yeah, you guys can’t speak for yourselves? Then what if I do it for you? Would they deny me?”

  “You . . . wish to join the Hunt?”

  Herne sounded genuinely confused by my suggestion, and I found myself answering reflexively.

  “What?! No!”

  “If you are to speak for the Hunt, then you would have to be a part of it. I do not see the leaders of the City of Roots accepting you addressing them on our part otherwise.”

  I waved a hand, and a wing without meaning to, in vague dismissal.

  “Look, we can work on that. The important part is that if I can speak on your part, then maybe I can get this all unravelled, you can get what you want without hunting any demigod kids.”

  Herne leaned forward, both his fists pressing down on the table and supporting his weight. An aggressive stance, but not actively so.

  “And just what would you seek to win by speaking on our behalf? And do you believe you can gain the freedom of the held hunters simply by asking nicely? Do you think that we have been wasting our efforts in our hunt? That the sages of the City would be so easily satisfied?”

  “No . . . but as you’ve seen, I’ve got a lot backing me up.” I waved at my assembled allies and tried to head off the head of steam that the Horned Hunter seemed to be building up. “I don’t have anything that they’d really be chomping at the bit for right now, but I think that will change.”

  There was a pause, and I tried to find the words I was looking for, tried to articulate the idea slowly forming in my head. Struck by sudden inspiration, I held up the scabbard.

  “I’ll soon be returning this to King Arthur, and I don’t think any of us are going to say that he’s the kind of king who won’t reward something like that. Merlin served Arthur, and maybe still does. I don’t know what’s going on with him. That’s one ‘in’ I can use, if these wizards are descended from the likes of Merlin, I’m sure there’s something to be used there.”

  The Centaur spoke up, after having let Herne do the talking.

  “Look at those who follow him. See the armour he wears, the items he carries. I think there may be something to what he says; there might well be a chance there.”

  There was a growing tension as Herne turned to face the other hunter, and their gazes locked.

  “He has a strong backing, but are you ready to risk it all on that?”

  “No! Were it up to me, we would find some rich foes to plunder, or some other demigods in distant lands to hunt and capture! We would be acting as the Wild Hunt should, beholden to none!”

  That last was said with a snarl of frustration, and I didn’t need to have any sort of insight or special sense to understand just how much anger and bile he was holding back. Still, it was being held back, controlled, leashed, and that kind of control made me all the more wary of the centaur.

  “But . . .” He continued. “I understand that we are not at our full power, and that we face new challenges.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  He looked at me with that last bit. He then continued, speaking more to Herne than to me, but making no effort to keep it private between them.

  “Finding the younger demigod was a stroke of good fortune, but it has also drawn the attention of this demigod and his allies, so that has turned sour. He has already stated he will try to prevent us from hunting other demigods. He may not be able to completely stop us, but with the power he has shown, I’m sure he could make our lives difficult, if nothing else.

  “If he wants to aid us, then let him. He may well be able to navigate these new times better than us, he is familiar with them and has the allies he needs.”

  There was a rumble from the dragon. Not quite a growl, not really a grumble, it was more him making sure we didn’t forget he was there. The centaur looked up at the much larger creature, no fear on his face.

  “Loraxis, I know that it would ease your mind to have the prize we need now, but we do our captured allies no service if we become embroiled in a grudge with forces that can stymie us. Your mates will remain trapped. This approach gains us aid, and should he fail . . . I am sure we can still gain something from it.”

  Okay, that was surprisingly rational for a guy that I’d first taken for just a warrior. The guy looked like a brute, but it looked like you didn’t get to be one of the leaders of the hunt without a working set of brain cells. I might not like the fact that he was planning for if I failed, but at least he was willing to go with my deal.

  “Okay, assuming that you do agree, how much time do I have to work with? If you’re looking for something by the end of the week, then I’m going to be disappointing you, I think. More time means more opportunities.”

  Herne was the one to reply, casting a glance over to the centaur and the dragon before he did.

  “We would have had to wait until the appointed time before we could submit our prizes to the city. We intended to hold until then, hiding away in the deepest shadows of the world.”

  “So it’s a ways off? How long are we talking about?”

  “It shall be in three months. If we agree to this bargain, then you shall have three turns of the moon before you must provide us with a prize that will win our brethren’s freedom.”

  That . . . that was actually pretty good. I’d been expecting them to only give one month, six weeks at the most, but three months was damned good. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d be able to rustle up, but I was sure that I’d manage something. After all, it had only been two months, or thereabouts, since Joan came knocking on my door, and now I had awesome powers, various treasures, an actual fortune, and an insanely powerful group of allies following me around.

  Still, I did need to know more.

  “Why then?” I asked.

  “That is when the City of Roots shall lower the wards that have kept them concealed all this time,” Herne explained. “Until then, the City shall remain cut off from this world. It would not open earlier under any circumstances, not even if we were ready to present them with the bones of Heracles, the tomes of Merlin and the crown of the Fisher King.”

  Okay, so that was a set date to work towards. At least it didn’t sound like it would come early, but it also meant I couldn’t ask for more time. Some good, some bad, always the way of it.

  “Now then, a question of our own.” The Horned Hunter rumbled, leaning forward slightly, the Hunt Fire playing over his skin, brightening a bit. “What guarantee do we have that you shall keep your word if we accept this pact? How do we know you shall not make other arrangements instead to curtail us, rather than help us pay our blood price?”

  I paused for a moment, staring into the black pits of the skull that covered his face. It was harder to meet the darkness than it had been to meet the flames. Them I could see, measure myself against them. They might have burned as I stared, but at least they were something. Trying to have a staring contest with nothing on the other hand . . .

  “How about the fact that I’m not an idiot?” I started, hoping that my face matched the surety I was trying to put in my voice. “If I screw you guys over, then at the very least you’re going to go back to hunting demigods to use as tribute, right? At the worst . . . well, you guys don’t strike me as the sort to just forgive and forget. You’re powerful, old and knowledgeable, so I’m guessing that with enough motivation, you’ll be able to think up plenty of ways to make my life miserable, if you have to. No. The smart thing to do is keep my word as best as I can. If I give it my best shot, then I’m pretty sure I can manage something, as long as these elders aren’t completely unreasonable.

  “Aside from that, if I do go back on my word, then it won’t take long before everyone knows that my word is worthless. The Wild Hunt might not be a pantheon, but you’re famous enough, even in the world before the Black Sun. If I screw you over, then I’ll be screwing myself over, plain and simple.”

  “Self-interest then,” Herne commented. “I can accept that. It is a fine measure by which to judge most men, and you do not strike me as a fanatic or a saint, despite the wings you bear.”

  I heard Joan move behind me, but I carefully twitched one wing to brush against her, and she settled down. I knew the Huntsman’s words would have irritated her, but I didn’t need more complications right now, especially since it looked like they were going to take my deal.

  “What are the exact terms?” He asked.

  Okay, I had to get this right the first time. My mind raced as I tried to pull off a credible impression of a half-decent lawyer, trying to keep it simple without painting myself into a corner. The last thing I wanted to do was get shafted by the metaphorical small print in a supernatural agreement.

  “Right. First off, you guys agree to stop hunting demigods, starting with Mato. Agreed?”

  That was the main thing to get out of the way, since it was why I’d started this in the first place.

  “We shall not simply abandon our hunts of demigods entirely,” Herne stated. “Those who have wronged another are marked, and if those whom they have wronged are willing to pay the price, then we shall hunt them. Such is our nature, so has it been since the Hunt was formed.”

  Not quite what I wanted to hear, but it was somewhat in keeping with some of the legend of the Hunt. Of course, not all of their hunts were for villains that had caused great harm; sometimes it was for some unlucky idiot who had ticked off the wrong person, or just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Look, I’m making this deal so I won’t have to worry about you guys hunting kids like Mato, or just any innocent demigod that happens to cross your path. That’s one of my big motivators here, so we’re going to have to hash something out.”

  There was another pause, and I could feel the weight of the hunter's gaze as it flicked from me to my allies, and then back to me. I couldn’t see it, but I knew he was weighing me, weighing how much pull I had with he others, and what it might all add up to in the future. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, but after a moment, he nodded.

  “Very well, if it is something that you feel so strongly about. The Wild Hunt can pledge not to hunt any innocents, be they demigods or otherwise, for a year and a day. That is the most I am willing to offer; the Hunt shall not change its nature.”

  Not quite what I wanted. Of course, what I wanted was for him to agree unconditionally and also throw in a promise not to do evil ever again and also tell me the secret of gaining invincibility, so that wasn’t too much of a surprise.

  “Fine, I guess I can take that. The second thing I’m looking for is that until it’s time for me to speak with this City of Roots, the Hunt is to keep its nose clean.”

  This was to cover all the other stuff they might do. I didn’t want to cut a deal with them not to do any hunting, only for them to turn around and rob a national gold reserve or something like that.

  “Under other circumstances, we might chafe under such a condition, but ironically, you have made it easier to agree,” Herne stated, giving a wave of one arm that somehow seemed languid. “This battle has wounded and exhausted the Hunt in ways it has not had to deal with in centuries. We need to take time to rest, to recover, to regain what was lost or sacrificed in the course of this battle. We would be happy to sink into the shadows and do little more than lick our wounds until the City unlocks its seals.”

  “Glad that works. Okay, third thing . . .” I paused, my mind going blank for a moment as I tried to think of something else. “I want you, the Hunt, to owe me a favour.”

  That got a pause. The centaur shifted in place, and Loraxis adjusted his wings. They were small movements, but given that the centaur outmassed a small car, and the dragon’s wings were bigger than a jumbo jet’s . . . well, it was hard to miss. For his part, the Horned Hunter gave nothing away. He simply kept looking at me with those pitch black eye holes.

  “A favour? Just what would you be asking of us?”

  “No clue,” I answered honestly, given that I had no idea what I’d ask. “But having the Wild Hunt owe me a favour strikes me as a valuable card to have up my sleeve. Especially if you guys end up back to full power. What I’ve faced already was damned impressive; I’m betting that the complete version is something most people would be willing to pay in blood to have on their side.”

  Herne leaned forward, and somehow I got the impression that a smile was on his lips. And that it was not a nice smile.

  “You are not wrong, blood sacrifices have been offered before. Some we have accepted, some we have declined. We may not consider ourselves a good or kind force, but a father who offers up the child he has been abusing is unworthy of our regard and pays the price. Blood was had, plenty of it.”

  The Horned Hunter’s claim should have sounded melodramatic, maybe even theatrical, but it didn’t.

  “. . . you do realise I was being metaphorical, right?”

  “I was not.”

  His reply was flat as a calm lake and dry as the heart of a desert.

  “Ooohh-kay, if you were trying to remind me that you can be terrifying, then you managed to succeed.”

  I didn’t see anything, but once again I had the impression of a smile.

  “Further evidence that you are no fool. Now . . . you have told us what you wish for, what do you offer in exchange? Declare it.”

  And now we were getting down to business. I repressed the urge to gulp as my throat suddenly felt dry. It was too obvious a sign of weakness, and I needed to be strong.

  “This is just me putting it out there, understood? I’m not saying this is the finished version, so no saying ‘I accept’ and holding me to it, got it?”

  I had to get that out of the way. I’d seen far too many films where a careless word or phrase was taken as an agreement or a wish and then ruthlessly exploited. I wasn’t going to fall for that trick.

  “One would think that you were treating with the Fay or devils. I am unsure if I should be insulted or flattered.”

  I offered the best smile I could manage and hoped it was charming.

  “Let's go with flattered. It’ll be less of a headache for both of us.”

  Maybe I pulled it off because he nodded and gestured for me to continue.

  “Very well, but as to your part of the bargain . . .”

  “Yeah . . . okay,” I paused for a moment, getting my thoughts straight on what I wanted and what I was willing to offer. “I’ll use any contacts I have or might make to secure something, or somethings, that the City of Roots will regard as precious enough to cover their price for your captured members. In fact, I’ve already got my first one.”

  As I said that, I gestured, and my severed wing floated over to settle on the table between us. Despite the bloody and ragged stump, the rest of it looked pretty good, the feathers still white, the hardened ones still sharp as swords, the fluffy ones still soft as clouds.

  I knew I was taking a risk, but I was banking on a couple of things. Firstly, this wing was blasted off before I gained my latest power-up, and I was willing to bet that using my transformation was something of a game-changer. I was all healed up after I dropped the new form, a new wing and everything. Hopefully that level of healing broke some of the metaphysical connections that would have remained if I’d still been missing a wing. Secondly, I’d have a few months before I had to hand it over, time enough to learn how to set up some protections against it being used against me.

  “This is just to sweeten the pot. I’m planning to add more to it, but I think it shows I’m off to a decent start.”

  A snort came from the dragon, and a tiny lick of flames illuminated the night beyond my light. For a moment, I tensed, ready for an attack, a betrayal, anything. Then I realised that it had been a sound of amusement. I’d managed to make Loraxis . . . laugh?

  “A bold step,” Herne commented. “And an acceptable show of faith. So, your plan is to accumulate treasures and favours enough to satisfy the City of Roots, return our captured fellows, and the Wedding Dress?”

  “That’s the plan,” I agreed. “Once I’ve got enough, then I’ll meet up with you and we both try to get them to talk to me, and get your people back.”

  A thought hit me, and I continued.

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to give it my best shot, but if they flat out refuse to talk with me, or they start making crazy demands that I can’t fulfil due to them being unrealistic or unconscionable, then that’s it. I’m not going to declare war on them or help you storm the place, are we clear?”

  “Herne . . .”

  It was the dragon again, his voice low and hard, rumbling like an unseen avalanche. All hints of his earlier amusement were now gone, and his eyes burned as they glared at me. The Horned Hunter held up a hand though, and the mighty beast settled back, still tense, but no longer as coiled as he had been a moment before.

  “Loraxis . . . I know.”

  He turned back to me, his hands pressing flat on the table of stone.

  “That is . . . not as much as I would have wished for.”

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then laid it out.

  “You said that you guys were going to have to go to ground to heal up anyway. Right? You're not going to lose too much time, and you are going to get me on board. I’m not going to shortchange you; I am going to give it a serious shot. I just don’t want to be locked in if we end up dealing with a situation where I’m banging my head against a brick wall.”

  Actually, banging my head against a wall wasn’t too bad these days; I was pretty sure the wall would give out before my head would. Having superpowers played hell with some of the metaphors I was used to using.

  Ignoring the distracting thoughts I kept myself focused on Herne, waiting for his response. He made me wait a bit, that unseen gaze of his settling on me. However, after a few tense moments, he nodded.

  “Very well. We have an accord.”

  As he spoke, Herne pressed both his hands down on the stone table and, to my shock, the yellowish green fire of the Wild Hunt spread across it in lines and curves, drawing out a large and elaborate spell circle. I could see runes and symbols adorning it, also picked out in Hunt Flame. All in all, it looked big, impressive and distinctly powerful.

  “Yeah, you’re going to have to explain this a bit more before I do anything,” I told Herne, shoving my hands under my arms in a clear display that I wasn’t shaking hands any time soon.

  “We are forming a pact,” The Horned Hunter explained. “This oath shall be recognised by both underlying powers of the Hunt, and shall enforce them. If I should break the terms of our agreement, for example, then I shall be consumed by those powers, cast out of the Hunt and crippled. If you were to violate the oath, then the Wild Hunt would mark you as prey to be hunted forevermore, unable to hide, unable to rest, and made vulnerable to the power of the Hunt.”

  By the time he finished explaining, I was looking at the table as though the design on it were a live cobra rearing up in front of me, back before I’d Awakened, of course.

  “ . . . Athena?”

  Yeah, no way I was making any kind of agreement until I was sure this thing was on the up and up.

  “I believe that Lord Herne is being honest with us,” she stated, after taking a few moments to go over the circle. “It shall bind both of you equally and honestly, without subterfuge or bias. I can see no traps or hidden clauses. The entire spells circle is clear and blunt, almost unapologetically so.”

  “True to the Hunt then,” I commented, trying to ease the tension that had sprung up.

  I wasn’t too sure how well it was received, because Herne simply placed one hand on the table, and the spell circle shifted so it was now outlining that hand. Looking up at me, he gestured for me to do the same.

  “This shall suffice in place of a handshake to seal our agreement. It shall be sealed in power, the might of the Hunt, and your inherited divinity.”

  There was something in his tone that made me think this was one last test, seeing if I was willing to go through with it, put my money where my mouth was, or just try and coast along on a promise.

  Well, I’d come this far; was I going to back out now?

  My hand came down onto the table, and the Hunt Fire shifted, outlining my palm and fingers. I felt a slight press on my mind, a wordless invitation to accept my own words, the promise I’d outlined. Taking a deep breath, I accepted, though I kept my magic ready, just in case.

  In response to my acceptance, the table lit up, the flames flaring up until it looked like someone had lit up a yellowish green bonfire on it. I could feel the magic of the Wild Hunt, old and wild, a colour I wasn’t familiar with, but one I thought I might be able to copy, with a lot of practice. Before I could follow that thought any deeper, the fire surged back into the table and seemed to flow into the two outlines of my and Herne’s hands, draining into them. In seconds, the fire had faded, leaving only a single line running across the table’s stone surface, connecting us. The link brightened and seemed to harden, becoming something like a glowing crystal hovering only an inch or two over the stone.

  As it snapped into being, I felt in my . . . not quite my mind, but not in my soul either. It was somewhere . . . between them? My enhanced awareness of my own being was sometimes difficult to understand, as I couldn’t quite wrap my head around what I was sensing, and this was one of those times. Still, I knew that the link had left something in me, not a brand, but definitely a mark. As I puzzled over it, the magic faded, the link going with it, but the mark remained, dormant, inactive, but there as a reminder of what I had agreed to.

  “The bargain is struck,” Herne’s voice sounded more formal, clanging with he weight of ritual and history. “The Wild Hunt shall abide by the terms set. We shall abandon our hunt and take time to rest and recover until such time as the City of Roots is ready to reveal itself. We shall not hunt other demigods or innocents for the time agreed. If you succeed, then you shall be owed a favour from us. These are the terms we shall abide by.

  “In return, you shall aid us in securing the release of our captured brethren and the return of the Wedding Dress of the Winter Queen. You shall find suitable tribute to pay the price the Wild Hunt owes, and you shall speak upon our behalf to the leader of the City. You shall give your best and most sincere effort, but if we are faced with unreasoning terms, then the fault shall not be your own.”

  “Agreed,” I replied.

  With that one word from me, the conflict was over; I could feel it. The Wild Hunt would honour its part of the bargain, and it would be up to me to honour mine. I had time, though, and for now, at least, the fighting was over.

  Turning, I faced my allies, uncaring that I was showing my back to the Hunt as they also retreated.

  Joan was looking at me with unconcealed pride. Her arm was still a stump, but at least the wound had closed up. She didn’t seem to care though, as she offered me a smile that should have been able to light up the night on its own.

  “Well done, Adam!” she congratulated me, her one good hand patting me on the shoulder as soon as I was in range. “A victory won not through violence, but through reason. Masterfully done!”

  “Hey! I wouldn’t have minded if there’d been a bit more violence!” Kali complained, though the grin on her face belied her words. “Good going though, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone ever getting a dragon to back down like that before, let alone the whole Hunt!”

  “A fine achievement, and certainly a worthy start to build upon.”

  Athena was less emotional, speaking like a teacher addressing a troublesome student who had learnt a difficult lesson. There was a certain level of pride there, but no great affection or investment. By contrast, Sir Lancelot was more open in his feelings, giving me a grave nod of approval. Mato, on the other hand, was openly grinning at me, having shrunk back down to his human form. The boy’s hands were clenching into fists at his side, but the smile on his face made it clear he wasn’t angry with this outcome.

  Hadriel stood to the side, her face oddly inscrutable. Normally, she wasn’t too shy about showing me how she felt, but this time, I wasn’t getting anything from her. Her eyes were measuring, but I wasn’t sure what she was measuring or by what metric. Honestly, I was getting more from the Golem, which was standing some distance away. The weird link between us was still active, and I could feel . . . something that might have been called satisfaction in a normal person. In the construct, it was muted, something of metal and stone rather than blood and muscle, but it was there. More proof that the thing wasn’t just an automaton, but actually alive in some way.

  So many reactions, but first things first.

  Stepping forward, I held out the scabbard to Lancelot.

  “Thanks for bearing with me until now. I think you should take this now, it needs to be returned to your king, right?”

  Lancelot reached out and took the sheath. For a moment, he just held it, a complicated look on his face, then, to my surprise, he passed it back to me.

  “I think it more fitting for you to continue to hold it,” he explained. “Carry it with you, and be the one to return it to my king. You were the one to retrieve it from the Hunt; you should be the one to place it back in his hands.”

  The knight paused for a moment, then smiled.

  “It shall be a fine feather in your cap, and may open some doors that shall be of use in fulfilling your promise.”

  I took the scabbard back, surprised but pleased. Behind me, I heard a soft whisper in the air, and when I turned to look, the Hunt was gone. Even Loraxis, a dragon bigger than a jumbo jet, had disappeared like morning fog before under warm sunshine. Now, that just wasn’t fair! How the hell was something so huge meant to disappear like a master ninja?! I demand a rebalance!!

  I shook my head and tried to get my thoughts back on track. I might be all healed up, but I could feel exhaustion starting to creep up on me. I’d been pushing myself hard, injuries, adrenaline and my transformation had been keeping me going, but it was like now that I’d finally stopped moving, it was all catching up with me. A yawn tickled at the back of my throat, but I swallowed it back.

  Tired, sleepy, and with a debt hanging over my head. It didn’t matter, I’d won! Tilting my head back to look up at the stars, I let that single fact wash over me like a refreshing wave. I’d come out of all of this with what I wanted!

  I’d won!

  Not a bad way for things to end. At least for tonight.

  --------------------------------------------------------

  Alain Dubois stumbled back to his car, unable to take his eyes off the screen of his phone, hypnotised by the ever-increasing numbers and seemingly endless comments.

  He’d kept streaming, all the way until first the dragon and its allies left, and then the Nephilim and his companions left too. The stream had ended there, but the video was uploaded on his account for anyone to watch.

  And people were watching it. So many!

  Alain had never considered himself someone who chased after online attention. Yes, he put up videos of his sports and achievements, but that was simply so that others, mainly those who knew him, could have fun watching them. Sure, it was a boost to his ego to see the number of watches going up and to read the comments, but it had never been about that, it was about putting the videos up for friends and family. Now . . .

  He collapsed into the driver's seat of his car, feeling as though he’d just finished climbing to the top of Mount Everest barehanded. That had been insane! The power, the intensity, he’d been literally at least a mile away but he’d still been able to feel the heat from the flames, the impacts through the ground, the tingle in the air as lightning had been called down! If he’d been closer, he did not doubt that he’d have died, just a collateral, not from anyone actually wishing him harm.

  But . . . he’d felt that old familiar rush, sweet adrenaline, and now he was coming down from his tense state, realising he was safe, and the sweet buzz from knowing that he’d made it through again. He felt a grin start to spread across his face as he looked down at the Olympus Phone in his hand.

  More and more messages, he couldn’t help but read a few, see what they were saying.

  SharksSmile: What happened! I DEMAND MORE VIOLENCE!!!

  ArrestMeMommy: Give peace a chance!

  BlueEggShells: Ddi he just win through negotiation?

  SeeMyCannons: He had them, then he pussed out like a B*TCH!!!

  WendyWillWin: I WANT THAT TABLE!!!

  CatsAndDogs: Does it legally belong to anyone, since they just left it their?

  BadJUJUtrip: That could actually be worth quite a lot of money.

  That . . . was actually a pretty solid suggestion. Both groups had just left that table lying there. The table that had been lit up by a really complicated magic circle, which both the nephilim and the Horned Hunter had used. These days, people, hell, even governments, were buying everything they could that had anything to do with magic. If he did . . . what? Call some sort of moving crew and a truck?

  Actually . . . that could work. Well, not now, obviously. But come morning, maybe he could. It’d be expensive, but it wasn’t as though he was too short on money, and it could make for a decent profit. If he was lucky, then he’d be able to make more than enough to finance a trip around the world, mountains to climb, waves to surf.

  Leaning back in his car seat, Alain took a deep breath. For now, he wasn’t entirely sure what would come next. Part of him just wanted to go back home and sleep like the dead, but another part of him wanted to stay here, to see the aftermath of the battle under the moonlight, then see it once again when the sun came up. And then he could see about moving that stone table once he got a better look at it. He was starting to think that shifting it might be more expensive than he’d originally thought.

  How much would a table like that weigh? It was pretty huge, and it was made of stone. A wooden table would have been difficult enough, assuming he didn’t have to cut it into pieces, but one made of rock? It would have to weigh tonnes, literally! And it would also have to be moved carefully, if he didn’t want it to crack under its own weight. More and more, he was starting to wonder at the practicality of trying to get it transported to his place. It might well end up costing him more than it would make.

  Wanting to distract himself, Alain returned to reading comments, still oddly fascinated with how they just kept on coming. Some were insightful, some nonsensical, but all were in response to the video he’d recorded. That made them . . . what? Important to him?

  RedGoesFaster: Where’d the dragon go?! WHERE’D THE DRAGON GO?!!!!!

  Paperpaperpaper: So . . . he got the scabbard, does that mean he won?

  EnormousheadTinybrain: Turn back into the six wings please! I need it!

  Singasongofsilence: Go back to fighting!!!

  Xler84theW1n: Hay, that was Adam, right?

  Jettixabove!!!: Athena is the sexiest!!!

  ApplePieMomma: So they managed to just talk it out in the end? Respect!

  1234NaNaNaNaaahh!: Arthur’s getting his scabbard back.

  RoYalBattlers45: Hail to the KING!

  Loki4Eva!!!: NO, keep it, that thing makes you almost invulnerable! Instant powerup!

  UFOsRrEaL99: Whose the scary and sexy goddess with the black hair?

  DemonDolly%: Lancelot had betraye the King!!!!

  That was right, he’d been the only mortal witness to a battle to determine the fate of Arthur’s scabbard.

  Like any young boy, Alain had been read the stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table as a child. The kiddified versions, anyway. He hadn’t found out until he was well into his teenage years that the real reason for a split between Arthur and Lancelot had been that the knight had been having an affair with Arthur’s wife. The same was true of learning that Mordred had been Arthur’s son with his half-sister.

  Still, regardless of the gory details, he knew that the loss of the scabbard had been an important milestone in the legend of Camelot, the point where Arthur became vulnerable. One could almost call it the beginning of the end. If the scabbard could be returned to him, then it would mean a lot, though Alain was willing to admit that he didn’t know exactly what it was that it would mean.

  The fact that he’d seen the fight go down had to mean something, right? This was something that could leave a mark in history, in legend. Being a witness to that, being the guy who let the world see it, did that mean something? Did he want it to?

  Uuugh! His thoughts were getting a bit too heavy for his taste. Maybe he should just go back to reading comments and leave the deep thinking for when he wasn’t coming down from a buzz of adrenaline and felt less exhausted.

  CoastalSees: Watch the recorded video, you still get some good waves from the recoding of the six wings.

  GlassEyesEverywhere: Demigods arentt hat powerful, right?

  SillyHatterRed: I want to be a demigod!

  Muscles4EVA!:FAKE!!! ITS ALL FAKE!!!

  SmartyPantsCat: Votes are fake! Its all rigged!!!

  ApollosLoveSlave: Does anyone know who the huge bear is?

  ZeroSumGame: What’s Herne doing there? Wasn’t he in the US?

  EditorialWittness: That was Jeanne d’Arc! Didi she lose an arm!!!!

  IWillNeverBeBatman: Did the nephilim lose a wing?!?!?!

  PleaseOfficerWalkalloverme: Lancelot lost a LEG!!!

  SmileyfaceTEETH: And none of them slowed down, does anyone else find that intimidating, and sexy?

  TheDollsAreOutToGetMe: limb loss is too extreme of a kink for me.

  99Arteest99: Guys . . . this video is running on a newsflash in the UK!

  TickTackToe369: Is that legal?

  FluffyFurEva!!!: The fatcats are stealing our boys footage!

  Wait! What?!

  Alain reread those last comments, then tapped at his screen until he tuned into a news channel. Sure enough, there was a news anchor, and on the small screen next to them was the video he’d been streaming only a few minutes ago.

  “. . . has been confirmed. The nephilim demigod Adam West seems to have retrieved the lost scabbard of King Arthur and is . . .”

  It was in English, but Alain was pretty good at the language, enough to be able to understand what was being said. He watched for a few moments, then turned it off. There wasn’t much substance to the report, just a rehash of what was already known and some speculation on what had happened here. Nothing concrete.

  Rather than watch it, he decided to just think about what happened. It had been . . . had it really been less than two hours? The fight, the negotiations, the agreement, all of it had taken longer than most films, but it had felt like it was just flashing by. Two hours ago, he’d just been driving along, heading home to . . . hells, he couldn’t even remember right now. Then he’d stopped to record the fight, and now his account was exploding with hits, and the video he’d taken was playing on national news across several countries!

  How was he meant to react to that?

  Leaning back in his seat, he thought for a moment and then came up with a plan.

  He was going to go to sleep.

  The car’s driving seat might not have been the most comfortable bed, but he was sure he could at least get a couple of hours rest. Actually, a yawn forced his mouth open as he leaned back. It looked like the last of his adrenaline was gone, and exhaustion was turning into sleepiness. He might well end up sleeping longer than planned.

  Eh. That could work in his favour. Closing his eyes, Alain waited for sleep to come as he reflected on his actions.

  What was the worst that could happen?

  --------------------------------------------------------

  Mato wasn’t quite sure how he was meant to feel.

  On one hand, he’d joined in on the fight because he wanted to get back at the Wild Hunt. They’d been hunting him for so long, dogging him, driving him into the ground. He’d wanted revenge, to take his pound of flesh with his own two hands! Adam had been reluctant to let him come along on this raid, but Mato had been able to persuade him.

  In the end, the young demigod had gotten in on the fight. He’d taken on the Hunt, tying up a good chunk of them during the blitzkrieg, keeping them from reinforcing their fellows. It had felt good to crush and burn them, to let loose and not be the one overwhelmed. As the fight had run on, he’d felt more satisfaction, more vengeful catharsis than he had been expecting, even when the Hunt had pulled out new tricks and turned into exploding ghosts.

  When Adam had transformed and gained wings, Mato had known the fight was over, that they’d won . . . and then Adam had made them talk.

  That wasn’t what the younger demigod had wanted, but he’d been mature enough to understand that it was probably necessary.

  Some of the stuff that had come up during the negotiations had been interesting. A whole secret city of wizards? How could he possibly find that anything other than awesome? And they’d kicked the Wild Hunt’s collective ass? Yep, that just earned them more points in his books.

  Adam’s final agreement with the Hunt made sense. It kept them from going after anyone else, and that was probably the best they could get out of them. Mato didn’t like it, but he knew he didn’t have a way to keep the Hunt down permanently. He could smash them, burn them, impale them on metal, but they kept recovering. Most of the others didn’t seem to have any way to do damage that stuck, except maybe Kali and Athena. He had a feeling that the goddesses hadn’t been putting their all into the fight, but he also knew that the more powerful you were, the more complicated the rules you had to follow were. He knew it instinctively.

  So, the evening ended with a deal being cut. Technically, a win for the ‘good guys’, but one he wasn’t too sure he was happy with. Still, it was an ending.

  Now Mato was back to flying through the air, this time in a shield made by Adam, rather than one of Joan’s bubbles of light. It was different, not in anything he could point at, but in some subtle way. Adam floated at the centre of the sphere, though he did provide a flat plane for them all to stand on. Most of the room was being taken up by that huge moving statue that looked like it had to weigh at least a couple of tonnes, but there was still plenty of room for the rest of them.

  No one had spoken yet, even as they flew through the night’s sky, and, eventually, it was Mato that broke the silence.

  “So . . . now what?”

  He had to know. Adam had let him stay with them because he’d understood that the younger demigod needed closure with the Wild Hunt. Mato knew that though he was powerful, he was still a kid. Adam letting him take part in the attack on the Hunt had actually been pretty reckless, but Mato was glad that he had. It let him . . . work through things, feel as though he’d managed to pay the Hunt back for the way they’d hounded him.

  But now that they’d gotten the scabbard back and cut their deal with the Hunt, what came next? What was going to happen to him?

  “Now we find somewhere to rest up and heal.”

  Adam said it with a grin, but he did sound tired. His grin slipped slightly as his eyes slipped towards Joan and then Lancelot, and Mato couldn’t help but wince slightly in sympathy. Both of them seemed to be coping, but they’d still both lost major limbs in the fight. His reaction must have been noted though, because the resurrected saint took a step forward while gesturing to her missing arm.

  “You need not worry on my account,” Joan stated. “This wound was painful, but I shall be able to heal it by tomorrow morning.”

  “Really?”

  Adam mirrored Mato’s own uncertainty, but the French saint simply smiled and waved her remaining hand.

  “Indeed, the healing shall require effort and concentration, but so long as I am not disturbed, it shall be completed.”

  “And what about you, Lancelot?” Adam asked, turning to the knight standing on a leg made of seemingly solid water.

  “I fear that my own healing is not quite the match of Lady Joan’s. I am not without the ability to recover though, in less than a week, I shall be back on my own two feet.”

  His response was calm, almost dismissive of the injury that would have been crippling to anyone under normal conditions. Despite himself, Mato couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. That was how a legendary knight should be!

  “Cool. Honestly, I’m just happy that my transformation fixed me up, I . . . wasn’t prepared for what losing a wing was like.” Adam visibly winced as one arm moved towards the wing that had been severed, only to stop at the last minute. Instead, he turned to face the younger demigod.

  “Actually, Mato, I’ve got to thank you; if you hadn’t told me about how you transformed, I might not have worked out how to do it in time.”

  “Really?”

  The shapeshifting demigod was genuinely surprised that his short chat with Adam had managed to have so much impact. In response to his question, Adam just grinned back at him.

  “Well . . . having a dragon in your face was damned good motivation, so maybe I would have managed it. Your advice sure helped, though.”

  Mato found himself grinning back, somehow finding the image of the older demigod frantically searching his mind in the face of an oncoming maw full of teeth funny. It shouldn’t have been, given that he’d seen the dragon only a few minutes ago, but somehow it was.

  That smile faded as a thought occurred to the younger demigod, a thought that he could put off, but one he knew he had to voice. There was the temptation to put it off, to wait until tomorrow, after they’d all had a chance to rest and recover. But . . . would he really ask it then? Or would he put it off some more? And would he do it again, and again, and again until time ran out and events just rolled right over him without him being able to say or do anything?

  “What’s going to happen with me now?”

  Mato more or less blurted out the question, wanting to get it out before his nerves got the best of him.

  “What do you mean?”

  Adam asked the question with mild confusion in his tone, and the younger demigod scrambled to explain himself.

  “Now that all this is done. What’s going to happen with me?”

  “Well . . . you helped us get back the scabbard, so you’ll be coming with us when we return it to King Arthur. I guess we’ll get in touch with your family, let them know you’re okay and . . .”

  Adam’s voice trailed off as he looked at Mato. The younger demigod tried his best to keep his face under control, but something must have slipped, because the winged demigod’s eyes narrowed lightly, as though focusing in on the boy with greater attention.

  “Mato . . . Is there a reason you don’t want to see your family again?”

  The question was asked carefully, and for a moment, the boy was unsure of what he meant. Why wouldn’t he want to see them? Then realisation hit home.

  “No!” The denial burst out of him as the penny dropped and he realised what Adam was worried about. “No. I’ve got no problem there, my parent are great! I love them! It’s . . . it’s just . . . I left. I left without saying anything.”

  He could remember his panic, his excitement, his fears and his dreams. He’d thought it was all going to be one great adventure, that he’d make it to King Arthur’s court and be welcomed. That they’d kick the Hunt’s collective asses and then he’d be made an honorary knight or something. He’d been thinking of his family, in that he didn’t want them to get mixed up in the fighting, that he didn’t want the Hunt to target them to get to him. Mato had been expecting to be able to wave at them out of a television, so that they’d find out what was going on after he’d already won.

  Looking back, it had been . . . childish? Hopelessly optimistic? Na?ve in the extreme? Well, in his defence, he’d just gotten superpowers that let him turn into a massive bear with power over fire and metal. He’d been all excited about his new powers and primed to use them in an adventure; was it really a surprise he’d let himself think he was the hero of the story?

  More than a couple of weeks on the run from the Wild Hunt had forced him to mature. His mistakes had gotten people hurt, and he’d had to toughen up when it became clear he wasn’t going to be having fun on a grand adventure. He’d also been forced to acknowledge where he’d gone wrong, like leaving his home without a word to anyone, not even a note or a letter to explain himself.

  He wanted to call them, to let his parents know he was okay, but he was also . . . scared. Scared of how angry they were going to be. How disappointed, how hurt, and knowing that it was all his fault.

  “I screwed up,” Mato admitted. “I just left! I thought I could handle everything, then everything went wrong, I ended up in France, and I was being hunted. There was never a chance to call home, and even if there was, I was scared of dragging them into it, then time went on and . . . And . . . I’m not sure how things are going to go when I do call them, or meet them, or anything.”

  He’d rambled a bit there, but he finally got to the point. Adam’s stare had grown softer now, supportive, and Mato was honestly unsure of how he felt about that. Did he want support? Did he need it? And if he did, did that make him weak? Aaarrggh! Why did this have to be so hard?

  “Okay . . . look, Mato. I can’t say I know your family, but you’ve shown you’re a decent kid. You're definitely brave, you're no quitter, and you’ve seemed nice so far. You’ve also got a lot of power, and you haven’t used it badly as far as I’ve seen, so, yeah, you’re a decent guy.”

  Adam paused, and Mato felt his guts settle a bit, the nervousness fading as the older demigod looked at him with . . . respect? He wasn’t sure, but it was something.

  “Look, good guys are normally raised by good families. And good families know the golden rule,” Adam grinned and leaned in close, as though imparting sage wisdom. “Everyone screws up. Mums, dads, kids, everyone. Friends and family know that when someone screws up, you roll with it. You don’t dismiss it, but you forgive and move on.”

  “So . . . my folks won’t be mad?”

  Mato’s question came out a bit more hopeful than he’d intended. That hope died when Adam shook his head.

  “Hell no! They’re going to be furious!” He paused, giving time for Mato’s heart to plummet before he continued. “But that doesn’t mean they’re going to hate you or anything. Like you said, you screwed up, but family forgives you. They might yell at you a bit, call you an idiot and then tell you everything you could have done better, but they’ll forgive you, and keep loving you.”

  Yeah, that sounded about right. The Carran family hadn’t ever been perfect; his mother had a temper, and his father could be forgetful, but they were always good enough. Good enough to raise him, good enough to love him, good enough to make him happy.

  “I’ve really got to call them, don’t I?”

  The question was meant more for himself than anyone else, but Adam answered anyway.

  “You’ve helped get things sorted with the Wild Hunt, your folks aren’t in danger and you’ve done a good thing. If you miss this chance, then things are going to start to fester.”

  Mato nodded. He was going to get some sleep, get his mind in order after this fight, then, once he was rested and had some food in him, he’d call his home and talk to his family.

  Time to pay the piper.

  --------------------------------------------------------

  Morgan le Fay could not say that she was displeased with how matters had ended.

  She and wanted upheaval, change, chaos in general. She had wanted Arthur to be frantic, to fret and worry and lash out in an attempt to recover his lost scabbard. She had wanted him to call in favours, make alliances, declare wars, raid other territories, anything, everything!

  But most of all, she had wanted to watch her half-brother overturn destiny. She had wanted him to abandon the fa?ade of passivity he wore and become the conquering monarch she knew he could be! She had wanted him to ride out and seek his scabbard through adventure and enterprise! She had wanted to see him exercise his power, show it to the world, and make even gods quake before him! His scabbard had been stolen, so he should claim it back, spit in the eyes of fate and destiny and prevent legend from once more repeating itself.

  She had not received the reaction she sought. Arthur had not charged out at the head of an army. Instead, he had dispatched his knights to search for his lost artefact while he had remained in London, Excalibur ready to face any threat to his nation that might rear its head in a moment of perceived weakness. It was not the reaction she had sought, or wanted, but it had served her own ends well enough.

  There had been chaos aplenty to be sure. The dispatched knights had caused disruptions across the length and breadth of the British Isles. Hidden enclaves of demon worshippers had been found and destroyed, a sea serpent had been slain, several renegade faeries had been captured and returned to the Fay lands.

  There had also been the inevitable results, powerful being warned of their discovery, gods insulted, grudges sown, envy incited. For all their efforts, the knights had also buried the seeds for future difficulties with their deeds. Seeds for future chaos.

  Yet, all of that was only secondary to the prime results of her actions.

  She had not been expecting to catch the Wild Hunt in the web that had been spun by her machinations. They were a difficult to predict faction, though their power and unity made them worthy of consideration. Still, their theft of the scabbard from her agents had not been unwelcome. With the power of such a potent item in their grasp, she had been sure there were all sorts of routes they could have taken that would lead to growing chaos and mayhem.

  Of course, the appearance of a young and strong demigod who had been the prey of the Hunt had complicated matters. Things had only grown even more complicated when another demigod, this one extremely powerful, had joined the fray, supported by several powerful allies and even a pair of goddesses. Even more surprising was that the demigod in question was the one whose blood she had been gifted by the mortal Marcello as part of their negotiations. Having seen what the demigod in question was capable of . . . that blood suddenly seemed far more valuable than she had previously thought.

  His clash with the Hunt had led to an altogether different chaos. His might had been revealed to the world, the scabbard had been retrieved, but the other demigod had been captured, leading to further clashes with the Hunt. The situation had continued to escalate, with the demigod and his allies pushing themselves harder, while the Hunt had called upon all their forces, even that mighty dragon. That had sent shockwaves across the world that the immortal sorceress was still smiling about. The mortals had learned that dragons were truly real, and she could feel the fear, desperation and wonder that had stirred up around the globe. Already, she was certain, some fools planned to become dragonslayers, while others desperately sought some way to fight them, simply as a way to escape their own fear.

  But things had not ended there. The demigod had unlocked a powerful transformation and, to all intents and purposes, won the battle, but had chosen to parlay rather than annihilate his foes, an interesting choice.

  However, what had caught her by surprise was the way that his bargain with the Hunt had set him on a collision course with the City of Roots.

  Of course, she knew of the City. Several of her disciples had been involved in its creation, and she had kept an eye on it, even after she had left the mortal plane. She had watched its construction, observed the growing factions and the petty plots being made, noted the vast knowledge being accumulated, and acknowledged the genius and effort being employed. She had watched the City humble the Wild Hunt and treat with gods and demons. After the City had been sealed, she had no longer been able to see within, but she was certain that it would have survived.

  The City of Roots represented possibly the single greatest accumulation of mortal knowledge on the arts of magic and other supernatural forces. It was also the greatest concentration of magic users on the planet, assuming things within had proceeded as she believed they would during their time sealed away. It had been sealed away, cut off from the world by its own protections, and the society within had developed and changed during that isolation. What would come out would be different from what went in, of that she was certain.

  And their first contact with the outside world would be a very powerful demigod backed by an assortment of powerful figures connected to a number of powerful pantheons or individuals. A young demigod who was speaking on behalf of a group the City of Roots hated and took great pride in having defeated and humiliated. An idealistic demigod who sought a peaceful solution, but who also had a spine with steel in it.

  Oh yes, this could lead to chaos of a flavour she had not been expecting.