The Stag Lord (13 page)

By driving his blade into the Fir Bolg's throat.

The creature gagged on blood and iron. Dropping his spear, he clawed at his neck. Bann twisted his blade. With a wet sound, the creature slid off the knife and slumped to the ground. Viscous blood, in a shade of red so dark it was almost black, began pooling around his head like crude oil.

Bann sprang back, ready for the next attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shay ready at his left arm.
The shield arm
. Part of him wanted to thrust her back into the house. The other part was grateful for the fellow warrior beside him. They both tensed when the other Fir Bolgs crouched in preparation. Hefting their weapons higher, they started to charge.

“No, you fools!”

The Fir Bolgs stopped as if their feet were suddenly nailed to the ground. Growling in frustration, they looked back at the boulder field. As did Bann and Shay.

Another Fir Bolg appeared from behind the nearest hoodoo rock. He was dressed like the others but with white tattoos also decorating his forehead; they started just above each eyebrow and curled up and over his shaved head. On closer inspection, Bann realized the tats were stylized antlers. In his hand, he held a rod about the length of his arm. The Knight noticed it was topped with a single antler prong sharpened to a needle point.

The Fir Bolg halted a few yards away, motioning the others back with his baton. Pursing his lips, he stared down at the dead youth, then up at Bann and Shay. “Typical action of a Tuatha Dé Danaan whenever our kind meet—kill the Fir Bolgs.”

“He attacked first,” Shay said.

“That's the excuse your people gave each other when they invaded our land those thousands of years ago. ‘Oh, whatever shall we do about the Fir Bolgs,'” he said in a falsetto. “‘They resent being forced from their homeland by a bunch of Fey pretties. I know, let's slaughter them before they can harm us. Then, we'll start on the
Amandán
.'”

“The Goddess Danu gave
Éireann
to us,” Shay said. “It is ours by divine right—”

“Oh, please. Spare me the speech. The humans said the same thing about this New World before they fell upon the Native Americans.”

Bann laid a hand on Shay's arm, stilling her protests. “What do you want, Fir Bolg?”

The creature held up the baton. “I am Sreng, leader of my people.” He grinned, revealing sharpened teeth. “And we all know who you are. Bannerman Boru. Knight of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. Long-son of the High King, Brian Boru.”

At Boru's name, the other Fir Bolgs surged forward again. Sreng made a cutting motion with his hand. “I said
hold
! We were commanded to deliver the message only.” He scowled over his shoulder at the pack. “Or do you wish to explain to the master why you killed the Knight without orders? No? Then stand down.” Sreng turned back and pointed at the dead youth. “While you were within your rights to destroy that one, be warned, Knight. We always repay blood with blood.”

Bann flicked his knife. Crimson drops fanned across the concrete at Sreng's feet. “As do I.”

Sreng sneered. “Tell us, Boru. Have you enjoyed the gifts we've left for you? Antlers by your camper? The bird outside this house?” He chortled at Bann's expression. “So, now that you understand there is no hiding from our master,
he
has a proposal for you.”

“‘Master'? You mean Cernunnos.”

Sreng ran a hand along his forehead, tracing the marks with his fingers in almost a lover's caress. “Yes, the Stag Lord. The Horned One.”

Bann's mind whirled.
How did Fir Bolgs come to be allied with him?
A soft gasp made him glance back. His son stood in the doorway, both hands clamped on Max's collar. “Stay there, Cor. And keep the hound with you.” Feeling like he was waging a losing battle, he braced himself. “The proposal?”

“Lord Cernunnos has decided to forego vengeance upon the line of Boru. It has become a moot point. He now wants something more valuable to him.” Sreng gazed past him, a strange light in his eyes.

“Shay has nothing to do with this. She is only a healer—”

“Oh, the Stag Lord doesn't want the female. Those he can have at will. No, the master desires something else.”

“Which is?”

Sreng licked his lip. “The boy.”

The boy?
Bann frowned.
What boy
? For a moment, his mind refused to process the words. Then, horror dumped ice cubes in his bowels. “You mean
my son
?”

“You look so stricken—it is only a child. Rut with your female and breed another. Out of respect for the Old Ways, my master will give you until Samhain to decide.”

“Samhain.” Bann fought for time to allow his rational mind to catch up with the rest of him that begged to stop talking and start killing the creatures in front of him.

“Yes, Samhain. Or, as the humans call it, Halloween. Fitting, no?” Sreng bared his teeth, a shark's smile. “It suits my master to take possession on that holy day. But after that, he will slaughter every Fey in the region and take the boy by force. Consider it a sacrifice by the one for the many.”

“Why does he want Cor?” Shay asked.

The leader ignored the question. “Samhain. Then we come for the boy. Freely given or no.”

At a gesture from Sreng, the rest of the pack began backing away, their eyes on the weapons in the Tuatha Dé Danaans' hands and their own spearmen at the ready. Two of them dragged the dead one away by the feet; Sreng followed, the last to leave. Reaching the safety of the boulders, they disappeared into the maze of stone.

Eyes locked on the rocks, Bann choked down his fury. “Cor. Gather your things and wait for me by the front door.”

“Dad, I don't want to…”

“Go!” He sucked in a deep breath as Cor scampered away, Max on his heels.

“Bann…” Shay began.

“You're wrong, Shay Doyle,” Bann said before she could finish. “While I appreciate what you have done for us, we cannot stay here.”

He started after his son, then stopped. Without a word, he took her free hand. Raising it to his lips, he allowed himself one moment of warm skin beneath his mouth, one whiff of soap and honeysuckle lotion, before facing hell again.

He hurried through the house, pausing to scoop up the remaining personal items from the guest bath before joining Cor at the front door. Spotting the dog waiting next to his son, he cursed silently.
This is a skirmish I do not need right now
. “Say your farewells.”

“Dad, can't we—”

“No. Now out the door with you.” Bann could feel the minutes ticking away in his head.
I have scarcely one month to figure out how to keep Cor hidden from that monster
.

“You said we were staying here.” Cor kept his fingers curled around Max's collar. “You
promised
!”

Locking gazes with Shay, who had joined them, Bann pleaded silently with her. She sighed, then snapped her fingers at Max. “Come here, boy.”

“Cor, let him go,” Bann ordered.

“No!”

“Now, son.”
Before I pick you up and throw you over my shoulder
.

Blinking furiously, Cor uncurled his fingers. Max looked up at the boy's face, then trotted over to Shay. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around the dog's neck. Without a word, Cor opened the door and left.

Bann looked at Shay. “May the blessings of the Goddess be upon you,” he said softly in Gaelic.
Keep her safe
, he prayed to the same goddess, certain he was praying to empty air.

“And upon you and the child.”

Standing by the fuel pump, Bann massaged his neck, his body still buzzing from the encounter. For the last two hours, he had driven west, watching with a growing unease as clouds billowed up and over the mountains, until the need for gas forced him to stop in a mountain town so small, it had only the one service station. Even as he stood there, a few early flakes drifted down.
Bleedin' hell. And this truck on balding tires
.

As the pump clicked off the gallons, he peered into the cab through the half-open window. Cor sat curled in a ball on the passenger side, a lump of misery.

“Care for a treat?”

His son deliberately turned away, an eight-year-old's equivalent of flipping him the bird.

He clamped down on his own bitterness. “Use the restroom, then. We're not stopping again for a long while.” The door squealed in protest when he opened it. Making a point of acting like the man didn't exist, Cor climbed out and headed inside. Bann barely managed to refrain from smacking the boy on the skull when he walked past,
the little shit
.

A Hummer from a redneck's wet dream rumbled into the parking lot. It pulled into the far corner of the lot and sat idling, its tinted windows masking the interior. Its chrome and size reminded Bann of the Transformers toys Cor used to play with not so long ago. Like last week.

Instincts whistled a warning. Finishing the fueling, he made a show of replacing the nozzle, then sauntered over to the store. Once inside, he peeked back out the windows. The Hummer sat motionless, renegade snowflakes dusting the black paint. Even inside, Bann could hear the low growl of its engine.

He looked around the store. A woman dressed in jeans and cowboy boots was purchasing a bag of pork rinds and chatting with the clerk about someone named Vikki. Over a door in the corner, a sign proclaimed that the restrooms were for customers only—all others had better just hold it.

The door opened. Cor walked out, drying his hands on his shirt. At Bann's silent command, he rolled his eyes and ambled over, making sure to stop and examine as many things as he could along the way.

“Wait for me inside while I use the loo.”

“It's called a
restroom
.” Cor pushed the disrespectful tone right to the line. “Not a
loo
.”

Bann ground his teeth. “Restroom, then. Do not go out to the truck until I return.”

Cor raised a shoulder just enough to show he heard but really didn't give a rip, then walked over to a rack displaying cheap toys.

Locking the door behind him, Bann unzipped and aimed. His mind kept returning to the vehicle outside.
Pee faster, boyo
. After finishing his business, he hurried out. Not spotting Cor immediately, he spent a few moments cruising up and down the few aisles. Nothing.

“Can I help you, sir?' asked the clerk.

“I'm looking for my son.”

“Young kid? Dark hair? Yeah, he went outside already.”

Bann hit the door hard. The Hummer was gone. So was Cor.

A distant growl yanked his head around. The mammoth vehicle was parked a block away, red taillights like rat eyes in the deepening gloom. Even as Bann started toward it, it revved up and roared away. Mocking him.

“Son of a bitch!” Bann bolted for his truck. Scrabbling for the handle, he heaved the door open and threw himself inside the cab. He turned on the ignition even as he pulled the door closed. “Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, desperate for the engine to crank. He punished the gas pedal, almost flooding the engine before it finally coughed to life. Swearing continuously under his breath—or was it praying?—he tore out of the parking lot, camper bouncing wildly behind him. He debated taking time to stop and unhitch the trailer, then decided against it. Flooring the pedal, he blasted through town, the Hummer going just fast enough to stay ahead of him. Snow began pelting the windshield. As he flipped on the wipers, the other vehicle took a violent turn off the highway onto a dirt road. It lurched dangerously to one side. For a moment, Bann was sure it would roll. Resisting the pull of gravity, it swerved, then straightened. Gravel and snow squirted from its tires.

Bann followed, losing speed as the camper balked like a stubborn mule on a lead line, while the truck protested about the ruts. Eyes locked on the Hummer's taillights, he fought the steering wheel, desperate to keep up as the other vehicle sped around the curves, escaping higher into the mountains. Each time the Hummer disappeared around a hillock, Bann had to force himself to keep breathing.

Suddenly, the Hummer skidded around another turn onto an even narrower road that was little more than a driveway. “Shite!” Bann stomped on the brake, barely making the turn in time. Pine branches raked the side of the massive vehicle ahead of him as it shoved its way through the trees. The driveway dead-ended in the yard of an abandoned cabin. The woods crowded the clearing, the shadows between the trunks made darker by the storm. Even as Bann slowed, the Hummer drove around the structure and disappeared.

So, it begins
. He turned off the engine and let the truck roll to a halt.
Gods, make me fast
. Easing out of the cab, he closed the door with a soft click, then slid his knife free and crept forward. The snow increased, thick flakes powdering the ground and muffling his footsteps. Behind the building, doors slammed. Voices called back and forth, followed by a child's cry of pain.