Who else, indeed.
Antony halted Bonecruncher with one hand on the barguest’s shoulder. The other went to the carved corner post at his side.
He’d felt it before, almost as a man might hallucinate a missing limb, that the Onyx Hall was an extension of his body. Now he reached for the connection, and found it tenuous, almost gone: starved from lack of contact.
Like a man half-dead of thirst, he dove into the waiting pool, not letting himself wonder if he could swim. Antony immersed himself in the power of the faerie palace, and found himself—not seeing, for it was not a thing of the eyes. But he felt movement through the chambers and passages, and knew, if he concentrated, who stood in each chamber.
Or at least whether they fought for him, or against him.
Me. For or against me. I am not this place…
His sense of self threatened to dissolve into the vastness of the Hall. Bonecruncher’s claws, digging into his neck, grounded him in his flesh; the barguest had gone for the most tender place not protected by armor. “My lord—”
Claws in his neck, and Lune. He felt her like a cool silver beacon, matching and balancing him. Antony’s senses cleared. “Send to Pollikin,” he said, opening his eyes. “There are fae—Red Branch knights, I think—waiting for him near the amphitheater.”
Bonecruncher stared.
“Send it! ” Antony growled, and grabbed Dandelion. The sprite squeaked again, then fished in one of the cages at his belt. The moth he extracted fluttered on his fingertip as he whispered to it, then flew off with remarkable speed and purpose, to warn Pollikin of the ambush.
Irrith had assigned Sir Peregrin Thorne to be Lune’s guide. Lost in her awareness of the Onyx Hall, Lune could barely see where she was going. But it didn’t matter; she had found an unexpected weapon, and was using it to the fullest.
She could feel the fear from Vidar’s people, especially the Irish and Scots, to whom this place had never been home. Now it rose up to fight them. Working in concert, she and Antony blocked the paths of the defending knights while opening the way for their own, and a veritable storm of moths snowed through the passages, carrying commands to the different groups. Someone on Vidar’s side had set a salamander to hunt the moths, and half their messages were being crisped, but Lune and Antony both were almost to the great presence chamber, and they were winning.
Not without cost. The Red Branch knights were unsurpassed as warriors, and some of the invading force lay dead. The elfshot of the muskets and pistols had claimed few lives outright, but it tore flesh and cracked bone where it struck, and that was not always in the enemy. We should have trained them longer.
Her own group had grown to half a score, collecting other pairs that had split off and rejoined them. Now they were hurrying through the night garden, an incongruously bloody assembly among the quiet of the trees.
Up ahead, a narrow bridge arched gracefully over the dancing Walbrook—until a roar and a surging form shattered it into pieces.
Lune’s heart sank at the sight of the creature waiting for them. I hoped they would not have one… The fuath were water spirits, and not fond of leaving their homes. But Vidar or Nicneven had compelled this one south, and now it blocked their path, tainting the brook with its foulness.
Irrith stared at the twisted alloy of goat and human shape. “What is that?”
Lune could not answer her. All her attention was lashed to the presence chamber, the heart of the Onyx Hall. Antony was almost at its doors, and if he got there without her…
“I must go,” she murmured, barely hearing her own voice. “I cannot afford to delay—”
There were other paths across the Walbrook, but the fuath could move faster through the water than she could run. Irrith gripped the hilt of her sword more firmly and nodded to Angrisla. “We’ll cut a path through, as quickly as we can.”
Desperation clawed in Lune’s gut. That will take too long—
She felt more than heard the approaching hoofbeats. Tearing herself free of Sir Peregrin’s supporting arm, Lune threw her hand out and caught an insubstantial mane. With a wild twist of her body, she swung herself upward and over, and settled onto the back of the White Horse just as it gathered its hooves beneath and leaped.
The fuath roared and clawed upward, but the sudden rush of the Horse took it by surprise, and its claws caught nothing of the half-material body. Lune’s teeth jarred together hard enough to break when they landed; then they were out of reach, past the Walbrook and running for the far entrance with terrifying speed.
Fortunately, the passage on the far side was a lofty one, suitable for the giants of the Onyx Court, and the White Horse crossed from soil to marble without missing a stride. With a wrench almost as physical as the one that put her on the Horse’s back, Lune dragged her concentration inward, clearing her mind of all the rest of the palace. The presence chamber was just around the corner.
As was Antony. Lune slipped from the Horse’s back at the corner, and the beast charged on without her. Whether it had any sense of what was going on, she couldn’t say, but it took the doors of the presence chamber at a dead run and slammed them open with all the weight of a charging stallion backed by the hillside that was his bed. The panels came half off their hinges, leaving Lune and Antony a clear view into the chamber—and robbing them of any chance to prepare.
The invasion had taken Vidar by surprise. They knew that by how scattered his forces had been, dispersed around the Onyx Hall, and relatively easy targets for the fast-moving scouts of their two companies. But he was not stupid; he guessed who had come, and knew they would seek him out.
Fully half a dozen Red Branch knights waited in gleaming array across the presence chamber floor. That much Lune saw, before they scattered like leaves in the face of the White Horse’s charge. They were great charioteers, the stories said, but the Onyx Hall was no place for chariots, and they were not expecting cavalry.
Behind the knights, though, another figure stood his ground.
A fist like granite slammed into the side of the Horse’s head, and this attack struck home. The Horse’s scream sounded almost human. All its speed went abruptly sideways, the white lines of its body flying into one of the fluted black pillars that arcaded the chamber’s sides.
Kentigern Nellt’s answering growl shook the ceiling.
Lune had arrived at the doors with no allies save the White Horse. Antony had a bloodstained Bonecruncher and a Berkshire goblin. She bore the London Sword at her side, and had learned something of its use during her exile, but the four of them did not stand much chance against the giant.
She drew the blade anyway—and Antony stepped in front of her.
Antony moved to protect Lune without thinking, drawing his last remaining pistol and firing. The giant was coming for them, advancing like an earthquake across the floor; he thought his shot struck home, but Kentigern did not so much as stumble. The Red Branch knights were recovering. Four against seven, and those four outmatched; their allies would not reach them in time. They had overreached themselves, and now would pay the price. Even if they retreated, the battered doors would not hold Kentigern for more than a heartbeat.
The Onyx Hall had moved in their defense when they bade it.
How far does that go?
Antony spun, reaching for the hilt of the London Sword. He got Lune’s hand and the pommel, and forced the tip down. Throwing the full weight of his body behind the strike, he stabbed the blade downward, into the floor.