(no subject)
Okay, this was hard. Still not sure how happy I am with it, but it does what I wanted it to. Prequel already planned (called Sit: Akeyla's Story).
Not everything that is lost can be found, but with a proper search, most missing people can be located. It’s the status of the located that so often ties the seekers in a knot.
“Dead!?” The woman wailed helplessly and the man clutched Apache’s shoulders much too tightly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Davies, Mrs. Davies, but Hywel was killed by thieves on the road outside Hebogau Cwym. We brought the body back, if you would like to see it, but I suggest you allow me to fetch an undertaker and have him prepared for burial now.”
“Is it that bad?” Mr. Davies asked, face pale.
Apache inclined his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Mr. Davies stumbled away from him, sinking to his knees.
“Get the undertaker, Patch,” Apache’s partner, Haydn, suggested gently as he moved to comfort the man.
Apache nodded and transformed, trotting out the open door. The undertaker lived on the outskirts of Dinasoedd city proper, but Apache and Haydn’s little store was only a few blocks from Mabon’s hut. The graveyard was only blocks beyond that.
Mabon was leaning on the fencepost, speaking with the fishmonger next door when Apache trotted up. “Afternoon, ‘Pache. I take it you found the Davies boy?”
Apache dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Bandits?”
Another nod. Apache woofed softly.
“Let me get my things, and I’ll be there soon.”
Apache barked in agreement and wheeled about, loping back down the block. He needed to change clothes.
When Mabon arrived, Apache had changed into loose cotton clothes, already stained with dirt and old blood. He always helped Mabon when Mabon worked for them and seldom wore anything but this outfit to do so.
Mabon nodded to Haydn and stepped back through to the back room. He hissed in pity to see the battered body of the sixteen year old boy. “Shame,” he said quietly and put the tools of his trade on the table.
By the time they were finished with the body and Mabon, the body on his cart, and the distressed parents were on their way, Apache was bone-deep tired and stank of blood and days-old rotting flesh.
“I’m told if I need someone found, you’re the people to come to,” a sharp-voiced man remarked from the doorway.
Apache looked around for Haydn, but did not see his partner. “Aye,” he said warily. “I’m Apache of Albion. My partner, Haydn ap Rhydderch, is around somewhere. Sorry about all this,” he said gesturing vaguely to encompass the mess from the end of a job, the mess on his own clothes, and the stink of death that pervaded every inch of the store.
“Just finished a job, then?” the man asked lightly. “I hear you’ve never failed.”
“Rarely,” Apache admitted. “Though often, the seekers don’t find the searched for in a condition they like.”
“I need to find my brother,” the man said flatly. “And I need to find him soon.”
Apache sighed. “Let me change clothes and I’ll be right with you.”
The man nodded, and watched with sharp eyes and Apache left the room.
When Apache entered the store again from his room above the shop, the man- who he noted had not mentioned his name- was prowling about the store, picking up books and putting them down, examining the art Haydn had hung on the walls, and generally pacing. “Sorry,” Apache said. “I stank.”
The man’s lips quirked. “I wasn’t going to mention it.”
Apache tilted his head in acknowledgment. “So tell me about your brother.”
“He’s been missing for six years. He ran away from home on account of our father, you see, and refused to come home. He wrote me for a while, so I know he’s not dead, or wasn’t six months ago, but recently our father died and Bran is the heir. I’ve no claim on father’s holdings, and so I need to find Bran. Father’d been trying to find Bran for years, Bran told me in a letter he’d nearly succeeded a few times.”
“It’s urgent, you said before.”
The man bit his lip. “Aye. Because I denied my right to them, if Bran does not claim the holdings, they go to Urien, who borders our lands.”
“Bran,” Apache said slowly. “Not Bran Bleddyn, Heddwyn’s son?”
The man nodded. “Aye. I’m Rhys Bleddyn. What do you know of my family?”
“I’d heard the old lord had died, of course, and that his older son was missing, and that his younger son- you- had denied his birthright years ago.”
“You know much.”
Apache tilted his head. “My brother is one of the king’s advisors. I’ll need everything you can get me about him, where he was last, contacts, known associates, everything.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “I can do that, but it is vitally important that no one know. I told Urien I would contact my brother, but if he discovers I do not know where Bran is, he will claim Bran dead and claim out holdings.”
“No one will hear of it from me.”
Rhys nodded, murmured, “I’ll bring the papers by this evening,” drew up his hood, and slipped out.
Apache was still staring after him when a dog burst into the shop at a run and erupted into Apache’s older brother. “Patch, I need a favour.”
“Dodger, is everything alright?”
“No,” Dodger said tightly. “I need someone found, and I need it as soon as can be managed.”
“Dodge, I’ve got a job.”
“Screw the job, Patch, if Bleddyn’s heir isn’t found, Urien will cause a civil war.”
Apache started laughing.
“It isn’t nearly funny, Patch.”
“My job is commissioned from Rhys Bleddyn, to find his brother as soon as can be managed.”
Dodger smiled wryly, acknowledging the irony. “Find him, little brother. Find him soon. I have papers and things for you, accounts from Idris’ spies who recognized him, from before the lord died. It’s a starting point at least.” He pulled a roll of parchment from the satchel he wore across his shoulders. It rested across his chest in human form, and settled at his flank when he was a dog.
“I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Not taking Haydn?”
“I figured I’d leave him to do the books and take this one on my own.” Apache shrugged. “Get going, Dodge. I know the king won’t want anyone to know you came.”
“Can’t I visit my brother?”
“If you ever had in the past,” Apache answered.
“I’m busy!”
“So am I,” Apache countered. “I know, Dodger. Now get out of here.”
Dodger clasped his brother’s shoulder warmly, transformed, and left the building.
Apache shook his head.
“Was that Dodger?” Haydn asked from the doorway.
“Aye. Has a job for me, from the king.”
“For you?” Haydn asked warily. This was not the first time Idris had commissioned a job specifically for Apache, but that did not mean Haydn liked being excluded from his own business.
Apache tilted his head. “Everyone involved would rather it’s kept as quiet as possible. And I know you keep your mouth shut, and I do need your help, but I think it’s better if I go alone. I need you here during the legwork, though.”
Haydn nodded. He was okay with that; the legwork was not his best part anyway, not since a watchdog ripped out his calf a few years ago. “What’s the deal?”
“Lord died recently and his heir is missing. His only other child is precluded from taking the holdings by an oath he swore years ago and if I can’t find Bran ap Heddwyn, Urien takes the holdings and has the sway to take a council seat, and we all know he’ll start a civil war, or at the very least try to get Idris off the throne.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Present,” Apache answered cheekily.
Haydn rolled his eyes. “What do we know about him?”
Apache plopped the folder Dodger had given him on the counter between them. “Only what this says. Rhys Bleddyn is coming by this evening with what he can get me. I actually got commissioned the job twice this afternoon, once from the younger son and once from the king.”
Haydn nodded, opening the roll. “Get some rest, Apache. You’re leaving early. I’ll go over this tonight, and what Bleddyn brings, and give you everything I’ve got in the morning.”
Apache yawned. “I could use a rest.”
“Go,” Haydn ordered.
Apache clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Night Patch.”
“Night Haydn.”
Apache woke with the sun and dressed in his hunting clothes. Loose black breeches disguised a knife at the small of his back and another in his boot and a comfortable brown shirt hid the throwing knives on his forearms. His black tunic and a shoulder bag of supplies completed the ensemble. He trotted down the stairs to find Haydn at the desk, hunched over a sheaf of paper, looking like he had not slept. “Did you sleep?” Apache asked.
Haydn shook his head. “Looks like Bran wrote Rhys six months ago, that he was in Eurfaen, but Dodgers’ spies put him Glynoedd at the time. The last record of him we have puts him in Eurfaen six weeks ago, under the name Rhydderch ap Alun.”
Apache nodded. “Get me something of yours.” Apache’s Talent, the power every Fae is born with, gave him a tie to people. It was what made him so good at finding people.
Haydn handed Apache the mandala he wore around his neck.
Apache raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“You need the luck more than I.”
Apache nodded and looped the leather thong around his neck. “What else do we need?”
“Here’s a sketch done by an artist two years ago that Rhys brought, and here’s a list of aliases he’s used over the past three years. There’s no pattern I can see. Nothing of his Rhys would have is recent enough for you to try your power on, and so that’ll have to wait till your closer. Dodger sent over some expenses money, it’s in your bag, along with your id and a writ from the king allowing you to do whatever you need, pretty much.”
Apache nodded and put the sketch and list in the satchel draped over his shoulder, adjusting it to fit him. “Is that everything?”
“Breakfast,” Haydn answered, bringing him a hot turnover, “From Ma Haf next door.” As Apache practically inhaled the food, Haydn continued, “A warning from your brother that if you get hurt, he’s coming to kill you himself, and an entreaty from the king not to get hurt, because he doesn’t want to have to execute his advisor for murder.”
Apache shook his head, mouth full.
“And a warning from Mabon, who somehow found out you were going on a job again, that if you bring another body home, he’ll undertake you.”
Apache smiled. “I’m bringing him business; you’d think he wouldn’t complain.”
“And one last thing.” Haydn drew Apache close in a one-armed hug. “Be careful,” he murmured into the Fae’s ear.
“I promise, Hayds.”
“Okay,” Haydn said roughly. “Now get out of here.”
Apache nodded, transformed, and loped out of the shop.
Apache’s pads throbbed by the time he reached Eurfaen just as the last fingers of light receded with the setting sun, but he had made the two-and-a-half day journey in one. Transforming at the edge of town and walking the rest of the way in, he flexed sore hands and shifted the satchel into a more comfortable place across his shoulders.
“Evenin’,” the woman behind the counter said, cleaning a glass.
“Can I get a room?” Apache asked, voice soft, scratchy from exertion.
“Course, lad. For one night or are you staying?”
“For three days, to start with, Ma’am,” Apache said, dipping his head respectfully.
“Very well. Follow Lowri and she’ll settle you in.”
“Thank you,” Apache said, following the girl upstairs. After she left, he took off his boots and stretched back on the bed. He wrapped his hand around the pendant at his throat, concentrating. Made Eurfaen
Holy Hells, Patch, you gave me a heart-attack! Haydn gasped in Apache’s mind. Apache’s Fae’s Talent, aside from helping him find people, also enabled something akin to telepathy.
Sorry. You did tell me to check in.
Yeah, but not scare me to death.
How am I supposed to warn you?
I don’t know, Haydn thought, a touch of mocking irritation in his mental voice. Knock?
On your brain? I’ll try that next time. Beat some sense into you maybe.
Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself I’m the one who needs sense. Made a quick journey. Okay?
I’ll be walking sore for a day or so, but I’m alright.
You sure?
Got a good blister on my palm. I’m fine Hayds. Really.
Okay, if you’re sure. Started looking around?
Was going to in the common room this evening, after I change out of my road clothes.
Good luck. Check in again tomorrow?
Always. Night Haydn. Apache broke the connection and released the pendant, brushing his thumb fondly over his friend’s good luck charm. Stretching, he fished his clean breeches and tunic out of his bag and changed, moving slowly. Changed, he checked the straps on his weapons and headed down the stairs.
“What can I get for you?” The woman behind the bar asked him casually as he dropped onto a stool.
“Wine’s good,” Apache answered. He was not a heavy drinker, particularly not on a job.
As she poured him a goblet, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Apache, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A Fae, then?”
He nodded, waiting for the reaction. There were still plenty of people- of humans- that hated the Fae and he would rather not start out with trouble.
He need not have worried. She just shrugged and asked, “What brings you to Eurfaen?”
“My work, Mistress-?”
“It’s just Aderyn, there’s no mistress in me.”
Apache ducked his head respectfully, but did not answer.
“What work?” She asked. “Not to pry, but we don’t get many strangers around here.”
“I’m a retrieval expert,” Apache explained. “I get commissioned by people to go find people or sometimes things, and bring them back. I base out of Dinasoedd, but I’ve worked all over the country.”
“And your work brought you here? What would you be looking for in Eurfaen?”
“A man, goes by the name Rhydderch?”
Aderyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Rhydderch ap Auln’s not been here for almost a week.”
Apache made a face. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Not to me, but we never got on well. You might ask a few of the fellows. He was close to Cefin ap Heilyn. Even my Lowri might know. He courted her a bit. Left her cross when he went so sudden. He in trouble?”
“His father recently passed away and I was commissioned to pass on the news.”
“Sorry to hear that. He was a sweet boy, all manners like you, tugging his forelock and helping out without expecting favours. Here’s Cefin now. Cefin! Cefin ap Heilyn! Come you right here!”
“What is it, mam?” Cefin asked.
“Not my son, of course,” Aderyn told Apache fondly, “But they all call me that round here.” To Cefin, she said, “This lad’s come about looking for Rhydderch.”
Apache caught the flash of alarm quickly covered in Cefin’s eyes and said hastily, “I’m to pass on the news that his father passed. Mistress Aderyn said he left about a week ago, any idea where he went?”
Cefin fidgeted, clearly uncertain.
“Sorry,” Apache said. “That was fair rude of me. I’m Apache, son of Desoto, most recently of Dinasoedd.”
Cefin nodded slowly. “Cefin ap Heilyn, but I guess you heard that. Rhydderch was a good friend. Sorry to hear about his father.”
“No you’re not,” Apache said shrewdly. “He said something to you once, or more than once, and you know as well as I that they didn’t get on, there at the last, before Rhydderch left home. However, a fair amount was left for Rhydderch in his father’s will, and if I can’t find him, it goes not to Rhydderch’s brother, who should get it, but to the nearest landowner.”
Cefin looked startled. “I don’t know where he went,” he admitted. “I’d help you if I could, but I’ve no idea.”
Apache looked at him, long and hard. He nodded after a moment. “Did he leave anything?”
“Sure, he just disappeared, barely swung by to say goodbye. More than I hear he did for Lowri, but that doesn’t surprise me much. He was never as interested in her as he let on.”
Apache stared at him for a moment. There was something off in what the human was saying, but he was not lying. Apache’s senses told him that much. “So what happened to his things?”
“Most of them are still in the guesthouse. He stayed in our guesthouse, at my parent’s farm, while he was here. None of it’s been messed with, since he told me he’d come back for it eventually. Why?”
“I’m Fae,” Apache answered flatly. “And I can sense people if I can handle something of theirs, something that hasn’t been handled by anyone else, and was used of held within a timeframe.”
“It’s been a week since he’s been gone,” Cefin said hesitantly.
“Shouldn’t be too long.”
Cefin shrugged. “We can go now, if you like.”
“That would be excellent.”
Apache followed Cefin into the guesthouse. Something was bothering him, but he still could not place the feeling. Standing in the doorway, it clicked. “You were lov-” Before he could finish, something heavy crashed into his skull and the world went dark.
“Did you kill him?” Cefin’s alarmed voice was the first thing he heard.
“Of course not,” another voice answered. “Why’d you bring him here, anyway? I heard him asking questions about me.”
“He said your da’s dead. He said your brother sent him.”
“Probably lying, Cef, you know I told you too many people were looking for me. Dangerous people.”
“I still don’t understand why Urien wants you dead.”
“It’s easier than dealing with me alive,” the man who could only be Bran Belddyn answered.
“He said he’s Fae. Urien would never employ a Fae.”
There was some surprise in Bran’s voice. “A Fae? How’d I brain him then? He must’ve been lying.”
“Not lying,” Apache slurred, dragging his eyes open. “I’m Fae. M’name’s Apache.”
Bran Bleddyn was tall and handsome, clean-shaven with a strong jaw and sturdy features, warm brown eyes and dark hair. He knelt beside Apache. “Why were you looking for me, then?”
Apache blinked, trying to clear the fog from his head. “Your brother hired me. Since your father died, Urien’s been trying to claim your land. Rhys can’t take the inheritance, and no one could find you. If you don’t go home, Urien will claim you’re dead and take the lands. With that he’ll have a majority in council.”
Bran’s eyebrow rose. “Our estates will let him finally challenge the king?”
Apache nodded. “Through machinations and treachery, he’s claimed most of the land around him. We need you to take the land.”
“We?”
“My brother is advisor to the king. He also asked me to take this job. If Urien challenges the king, the lives of the Fae will be very sorry indeed.”
Bran regarded him solemnly. “The lives of everyone will be sorry indeed. Urien is not a kind man even to his friends.” He sounded thoughtful, and a touch bemused.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Apache asked, curious. He had expected to have to work much harder than this to find Bran.
“Came back for my things. I had to leave in a hurry, and there are things I wouldn’t willingly abandon.”
“Dangerous,” Apache remarked. “They had to know you wouldn’t want to leave the stuff.”
“It was a risk I had to take. My mother’s wedding ring is here.”
Apache shook his head to clear it and flowed to his feet. He looked between Bran and Cefin a moment, tongue between his teeth in thought. “It’s not safe for you to stay the night here, and in the morning we must leave for Dinasoedd.”
“Where, then, should I stay?” Bran asked, choosing to ignore for the moment, the assumption that he was going to Dinasoedd.
“You can stay with me,” Cefin offered.
Apache tilted his head. “You could, if you trust Urien not to come after you in an innocent household. Or you can stay with me. If he’s willing to leave his family, and willing to depart at dawn, Cefin may accompany us.”
Bran frowned, looking at the other man. “I’ll stay with you, then, Apache. Cefin?”
“I can’t leave!”
Bran nodded slowly. “Alright.” Their eyes met for a moment, a touch of sadness passing between them. “Perhaps when things have settled at home, you can visit for a time.”
Cefin nodded. “Perhaps.”
Apache nodded, tilting his head. “Get what you want and we’ll go.”
“One bed?” Bran asked.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you. This was just a stopover, a hope I could get a clue.” Apache tossed the extra blanket he had begged off of Aderyn by the brazier. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I can’t put you out.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll sleep in my other form.”
Bran looked startled. “I forgot.”
Apache smirked. “So. You and Cefin?”
Bran blinked. “Pardon?”
“You and Cefin. I’m just… startled. I admit I wondered why your father would throw out his heir. And it does beg the question of who will take the holdings when you pass, but still. I never expected, I mean, goodness. It’s a retriever’s fondest wish to find the sought’s beloved.”
Bran’s cheeks flushed. “I- uhm, well?”
Apache grinned. “I’m not judging you. I think it’s sweet.”
Bran, still quite red, shook his head, hiding behind his bangs.
“I’m Fae,” Apache reminded him. “I understand downtrodden minority.”
A small smile touched Bran’s mouth. “I guess you do.” After a pause, he asked, “Do you really think Urien would have come after me at Cefin’s?”
“Don’t you?” Apache asked. “I’m not sure he won’t come after you here.”
Bran frowned. “No, nor I, but at least this way Cefin is safe.” He stripped casually out of his shirt and toed off his boots. He pulled a chain from around his neck and set it on the dresser.
Apache grinned at him and toed off his own boots, casually transforming and turning a few comfortable circles on the blanket.
Bran chuckled and blew out the lamp.
Noises in the dark woke Apache, and the soft click of the lock turning made him raise his head, ears perked and dark eyes cutting through the near-pitch dark. He tensed, settling into a crouch, waiting.
The door opened almost silently and two men crossed into the room.
Apache’s lip lifted in a silent snarl.
“Where’s t’other?” One whispered, voice so low that even Apache’s Fae hearing almost didn’t catch it.
The other shrugged. “‘Ats the one we need, ain’t it?”
Foreign, Apache’s mind supplied, not recognizing the very-obviously non-Carenydden accent. He waited, eyes narrowed in the gloom.
They crossed to the bedside, one on each side. Apache could not quite see what they were doing, but he heard sudden sounds of a struggle and muffled grunts from Bran.
When the two men had dragged a groggily struggling Bran upright, Apache lunged into the fray, coming out of his crouch with force, teeth sinking into the muscle of one thug’s arm.
The man yowled.
“Shurrup!” the other snarled. “Yew want ‘em to ‘ere?”
Apache hit the floor again and leapt again, aiming for the throat. He missed, but his weight threw the man off balance and he lost his hold on Bran.
Bran, coming more aware every moment, slammed his now-free arm into the second thug’s stomach. He reeled from the return blow.
A kick took Apache in the ribs, sending the Fae tumbling into the wall. Darkness shivered down over his vision as lights popped behind his eyes.
When Apache’s vision cleared, he was alone and the cold light of a false dawn was filtering weakly through the curtains. He transformed, groaning softly. He already knew he was alone.
Hastily, Apache dressed, packing his things. He hesitated, looking at the small bag Bran had packed. “Cefin,” he murmured, grabbing the bag. One glance through the room showed him a necklace on the table. Slowly, he walked over to it. It was a ring hanging on a chain. Apache smiled.
“Hi. Is Cefin here?” Apache asked the woman staring at him through the cracked door.
“Who are you?”
Apache smiled easily. “A friend of his. Bran and I go way back,” he lied easily. “Actually, are either of them around?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Bran hasn’t been around here in nearly a week.”
“Really?” Apache asked, feigning surprise. “When he wrote a few weeks ago, he said I could find him here. I couldn’t wait to meet Cefin, Bran’s told me so much about him.” He hoped he looked suitably earnest, and he must have, because the woman opened the door the rest of the way.
“Cefin didn’t come home last night. I don’t know where he is.”
Apache stilled. “Shit,” he whispered, and took off running for the guest house.
“Hey! Where’re you going?”
Apache ignored her. The guest house door was open and things were scattered everywhere. There was blood on the step. “Shit,” Apache snarled.
“Oh gods,” the woman whispered.
Apache clenched his fists. “Can I leave something here with you?”
“What?”
“Look, I haven’t got time to explain properly, but someone wants Bran, wants him bad. I’m here to help Bran, but they’ve taken him, and Cefin too, if I had to guess. I have some things that belong to Bran, and he’s going to want them if I can save him.” There was no if. There could not afford to be an if. “I need to leave them somewhere. Can I leave them with you?”
“Yes,” Cefin’s mother said weakly.
“Thank you,” Apache said, dropping the bag at her feet. “I have to go.” He transformed and took off running.
Hayds?
Shit, Patch, what’s going on?
It’s a long story. Ran into Bran, but Urien’s men have got him.
Shit!
I know. It was stupid. I was stupid.
Just get him back, Patch.
Thanks Hayds.
Be careful.
Always. Apache broke the connection and focused on the other necklace around his neck. This was what had made him so successful as a retriever. He could sense Bran when he focused on the pendant. He could contact the man, but since he had not explained his gift, he knew Bran would react badly.
He tracked them by sense, running until his pads were sore, but they held their lead on him. They had to have been on horseback. Horses would tire eventually, and then Apache would have them.
Midnight came and went. Bran had stopped moving hours ago, and Apache was almost there. His feet ached, but that was small price to have gained the ground lost while he was unconscious.
A wolf howled in the distance.
Unable to truly help himself and not overly concerned to try, Apache threw back his head and answered.
A second howl, closer, followed. Akeyla?
Apache, it is you!
The wolf fell in beside him, following his lead. Dodger sent a pigeon that you were in the area. I figured I’d look you up. Get a lead on Bleddyn?
Better. I found him. And worse, because Urien’s men have him. I’m after them. I lost some ground.
Are you okay?
My head’s not going to appreciate this later, but I’m okay for now.
How far?
Not far now. Apache lengthened his stride, feeling the wolf beside him. Soon, they were there. Apache slowed. He could see the fire through the trees. What do you see? The wolf’s night vision was far better than his own, though his was better than a normal dog’s.
Eight men, two bound and gagged just inside the circle of light. All with arms in easy reach. There’s a cart with a horse tethered to it. Two men on guard, the other four are sleeping. You’ve picked a good one, Patch.
Shut up, Apache grumbled. Well, they’ve run hard today, and they’ve farther to go tomorrow. They’ll be sloppy in the morning, if they’re tired. Is there a pack around here?
Might be, why?
Apache’s lips lifted in a canine laugh. Howl.
Akeyla, with a wolfish grin, threw back his head and howled, bone-chilling and eerie.
All six men leapt to their feet, fumbling for weapons they did not need.
Far away, a pack echoed Akeyla’s call.
Excellent.
If you’re as tired as they, what good does them being tired do?
Can you keep watch?
Of course. Are you going to sleep?
Yes. Just howl at them every half-hour or so.
Won’t I wake you?
I doubt it. Apache turned two neat circles and flopped out with a soft whuf.
Rest well, Akeyla thought, sitting back on his haunches.
A nose in his ear woke Apache. Hey! He yipped, coming fully awake in a moment.
Almost dawn, Akeyla yawned. Don’t think they slept more than the hours some of them got before we got here. The pack picked up my song and carried it almost all night without me.
Perfect. Is Bran conscious?
Hard to tell. He’s playing it pretty close, that one. Woke up once soon after you fell asleep. Think he might’ve seen me, actually, but they knocked him out again.
Concussion, you think?
Nope, Akeyla huffed, Drugs.
Shit.
Horses?
Can you ride?
Well no, but hasn’t Dodger taught you?
When? Apache inquired dryly. Well, I’ll just have to take them all down.
We, Akeyla growled. I’m not letting you go in there alone. Besides, Delilah’s on her way. If we can keep them for not even half an hour more, she’ll be here. Akeyla was a farspeaker. His Talent let him speak with anyone over any distance, as long as he knew their name.
Sounds like a plan. Apache sat beside Akeyla, looking through the brush at the young man he was commissioned to bring home.
Bran lay on his stomach, hands bound behind his back. He had a bloody lump on his forehead. His eyes opened in slits briefly before closing again.
Concentrating on the ring around his neck, Apache sent, Don’t move.
What? Who’s there? Bran thought, but his body stayed still.
It’s Apache. I’m here to rescue you, just be still. Don’t let them know you’re awake.
Can you hear me?
Yes. Are you okay?
They’ve got Cefin.
I know. Are you hurt?
Headache, but- His mental voice wavered just as his real one might have. They’ve got Cefin.
I know. We’re taking care of it.
Gods, don’t let them hurt him.
I won’t, Apache promised, with more feeling than he had used to make a promise in a very long time. Gently, he cut the connection between them.
Akeyla nudged him gently with his nose. Okay? The other Fae asked, a soft whine of concern in the back of his throat.
I hope so, Apache answered. I hope so.
Delilah loped into the brush a few minutes later, blowing hard. Sorry it took me so long.
You’re sooner than I expected, Apache answered. Thanks for coming.
Delilah showed her teeth in a feline smile. I owe you.
Apache shook his head. Nope. Look, there are six hostiles and two captives. The captives have been drugged, so no help from that quarter.
It’s going to be messy, Delilah said.
I know, Apache answered. Worst part, we can’t kill them. They work for Urien and is they turn up dead, he’s going to know I was involved and he’ll kick up a fuss about the Fae being dangerous again.
How are we going to stop them if we can’t kill them? Akeyla demanded. Odds like they are, we can’t risk knocking one out and having him come to in the middle of the fight.
No choice, Apache answered. Just stay alert and do what you can to immobilize them without killing.
Alright, Akeyla agreed. This’ll be fun. I’ll circle around and try to get between them and that other boy.
Keep him safe, Apache said. If he dies, Bran will never help us.
Akeyla nodded and trotted through the trees.
I’ll go for Bleddyn, Delilah said.
Apache nodded.
Akeyla’s chilling howl rent the morning air, and the tired men jumped, looking warily around.
One walked over to Cefin and kicked him roughly. “Get up!”
Apache matched Akeyla’s howl and lunged into the clearing.
Akeyla hit the man kicking Cefin in the chest, sending him tumbling. The man’s head hit a rock and he was still.
Apache sank his teeth into the arm of the man going for his crossbow as Delilah tackled the two men shaking Bran into the leaves. The bolt fired and went high and wide and the man, cursing, arm bleeding, tried to shake the dog off him. Delilah’s battle cry was loud in the clearing.
“Hell!” One of the men still by the fire yelled.
Apache transformed and slammed his heel into the sternum of the man he had bitten. Apache’s palm connected solidly with his jaw and the man crumpled.
The two men by the fire had drawn swords.
“Son of a bitch,” Apache muttered, dropping into a more serious fighting stance. He ducked the first slash and dodged backwards away from the second. He was not quite fast enough for the third, and it left a shallow graze down the outside of his forearm. He lunged inwards after the fourth, slamming the knife-edge of his hand into the human’s wrist and kneeing him in the gut as the sword went spinning away.
The other man lunged with his blade, missing his comrade but also the young Fae.
Apache slammed his elbow into the chin of the man he was holding and lunged after the fallen sword, bringing it up in time to parry the slash aimed at his midsection. His opponent drew another line of fire across his cheekbone before he could slam the hilt of the sword into the man’s temple.
“Apache!” Delilah yelled.
Apache turned, jerking is sudden, pained surprise as a crossbow bolt took him through the shoulder. “Nngh,” he groaned, crumpling. He did not see Delilah crack a rock into the back of the human’s head, knocking him out and making him drop the crossbow.
Akeyla knelt beside him. “Come on, Patch,” he murmured feverishly. “You’re alright. Come on, you’re okay.” Carefully, he snapped off the fletching. “Sorry Patch, this is going to hurt.”
“Already hurts,” Apache slurred. “Can’t hurt worse.”
“Oh it can,” Akeyla insisted. “Hang on.” Gritting his own teeth against his friend’s pain, Akeyla pressed the shaft through the wound.
Apache fumbled for something to grip, crying out hoarsely in pain.
Delilah caught his flailing hand, pressing down, steadying him. “Easy, Apache. We’ve got you.”
Apache groaned. “Oh gods,” he whispered, voice raw. The shaft exited the back of his shoulder and he sagged.
Delilah leapt to her feet again, going through the bags until she found a clean under-tunic, which she tore in half, offering the pieces to Akeyla.
Akeyla pressed the pieces to either side of Apache’s shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Apache gasped.
“Delilah, something to bind this with?”
Delilah passed Akeyla a long strip of cloth.
“Where’d you find this?”
“First aid kit,” Delilah answered, a smirk clear in her voice.
“Who are you then?” Bran asked. He was sitting on one of the logs around the fire, Cefin slumped against him.
“Sorry,” Delilah said, looking at the two humans. “My name is Delilah. That’s Akeyla with Apache. We’re friends.”
Bran nodded. “Bran Bleddyn, and this is Cefin ap Heilyn. Appreciate the rescue.”
Delilah smiled at them, and went about with a hank of rope she found, binding the six men.
Apache used his grip on Akeyla to lever himself to a sitting position.
“Hey,” Akeyla protested. “Be easy; you’re hurt.” He finished tying the bandage around Apache’s shoulder, and then bound down the younger Fae’s arm so he would not strain the wound.
“I’ll be okay,” Apache protested weakly. “Help me up.”
Akeyla sighed, heaving his friend up and lowering him onto the log beside Bran. “No transforming for a while.”
“Course,” Apache murmured.
“Are you alright?” Cefin asked, watching Apache with some concern.
“Little dizzy,” Apache admitted. “I’ll be okay. How are the two of you?”
“Dizzy,” Cefin agreed.
“Drugs are still running through our systems.” Bran shrugged. “We’ll be okay in a couple of hours.”
“I suggest,” Akeyla said from across the clearing. “That you commandeer that cart and drive back to Dinasoedd.”
“I can stay with these fellows until you’re well away,” Delilah volunteered.
“No,” Akeyla disagreed. “We’ll take them to the local magistrate. Kidnapping’s a capital offense.”
Apache nodded slowly.
“He’s in no shape to drive,” Cefin protested. “None of us are.”
“I can drive,” Bran said, standing fluidly. “I’ve had the drugs out of my system longer than you, since I acted like I was unconscious still when they re-drugged you. I’m steady.” In proof, he walked, quite stable, over to the cart and offered the horse his palm.
Cefin stumbled shakily to his feet and attempted to totter to the cart.
Delilah caught him halfway there as he stumbled. She picked him up as if he weighed very little and set him in the back of the cart.
Akeyla peeled Apache off the log and ducked under his good arm, taking his weight with ease.
It took both Delilah and Akeyla to heave Apache into the back of the cart beside Cefin. Apache made a small noise of discomfort, and then settled.
“I’ll set the word out that you’re on your way,” Akeyla told Apache. “Tell them to keep an eye on you, since you’re in no shape to do it yourself.” He squeezed Apache’s shoulder briefly. “Might try to catch up with you once we’re rid of these,” -he gestured at the men- “But either way, I’ll be in touch.”
Apache smiled. “Thanks Key.”
Bran cheerily saluted the two complete strangers who had saved his life- second and third in a line of complete strangers saving him starting with Apache- and flicked the reins at the horse.
Part 2
Not everything that is lost can be found, but with a proper search, most missing people can be located. It’s the status of the located that so often ties the seekers in a knot.
“Dead!?” The woman wailed helplessly and the man clutched Apache’s shoulders much too tightly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Davies, Mrs. Davies, but Hywel was killed by thieves on the road outside Hebogau Cwym. We brought the body back, if you would like to see it, but I suggest you allow me to fetch an undertaker and have him prepared for burial now.”
“Is it that bad?” Mr. Davies asked, face pale.
Apache inclined his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Mr. Davies stumbled away from him, sinking to his knees.
“Get the undertaker, Patch,” Apache’s partner, Haydn, suggested gently as he moved to comfort the man.
Apache nodded and transformed, trotting out the open door. The undertaker lived on the outskirts of Dinasoedd city proper, but Apache and Haydn’s little store was only a few blocks from Mabon’s hut. The graveyard was only blocks beyond that.
Mabon was leaning on the fencepost, speaking with the fishmonger next door when Apache trotted up. “Afternoon, ‘Pache. I take it you found the Davies boy?”
Apache dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Bandits?”
Another nod. Apache woofed softly.
“Let me get my things, and I’ll be there soon.”
Apache barked in agreement and wheeled about, loping back down the block. He needed to change clothes.
When Mabon arrived, Apache had changed into loose cotton clothes, already stained with dirt and old blood. He always helped Mabon when Mabon worked for them and seldom wore anything but this outfit to do so.
Mabon nodded to Haydn and stepped back through to the back room. He hissed in pity to see the battered body of the sixteen year old boy. “Shame,” he said quietly and put the tools of his trade on the table.
By the time they were finished with the body and Mabon, the body on his cart, and the distressed parents were on their way, Apache was bone-deep tired and stank of blood and days-old rotting flesh.
“I’m told if I need someone found, you’re the people to come to,” a sharp-voiced man remarked from the doorway.
Apache looked around for Haydn, but did not see his partner. “Aye,” he said warily. “I’m Apache of Albion. My partner, Haydn ap Rhydderch, is around somewhere. Sorry about all this,” he said gesturing vaguely to encompass the mess from the end of a job, the mess on his own clothes, and the stink of death that pervaded every inch of the store.
“Just finished a job, then?” the man asked lightly. “I hear you’ve never failed.”
“Rarely,” Apache admitted. “Though often, the seekers don’t find the searched for in a condition they like.”
“I need to find my brother,” the man said flatly. “And I need to find him soon.”
Apache sighed. “Let me change clothes and I’ll be right with you.”
The man nodded, and watched with sharp eyes and Apache left the room.
When Apache entered the store again from his room above the shop, the man- who he noted had not mentioned his name- was prowling about the store, picking up books and putting them down, examining the art Haydn had hung on the walls, and generally pacing. “Sorry,” Apache said. “I stank.”
The man’s lips quirked. “I wasn’t going to mention it.”
Apache tilted his head in acknowledgment. “So tell me about your brother.”
“He’s been missing for six years. He ran away from home on account of our father, you see, and refused to come home. He wrote me for a while, so I know he’s not dead, or wasn’t six months ago, but recently our father died and Bran is the heir. I’ve no claim on father’s holdings, and so I need to find Bran. Father’d been trying to find Bran for years, Bran told me in a letter he’d nearly succeeded a few times.”
“It’s urgent, you said before.”
The man bit his lip. “Aye. Because I denied my right to them, if Bran does not claim the holdings, they go to Urien, who borders our lands.”
“Bran,” Apache said slowly. “Not Bran Bleddyn, Heddwyn’s son?”
The man nodded. “Aye. I’m Rhys Bleddyn. What do you know of my family?”
“I’d heard the old lord had died, of course, and that his older son was missing, and that his younger son- you- had denied his birthright years ago.”
“You know much.”
Apache tilted his head. “My brother is one of the king’s advisors. I’ll need everything you can get me about him, where he was last, contacts, known associates, everything.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “I can do that, but it is vitally important that no one know. I told Urien I would contact my brother, but if he discovers I do not know where Bran is, he will claim Bran dead and claim out holdings.”
“No one will hear of it from me.”
Rhys nodded, murmured, “I’ll bring the papers by this evening,” drew up his hood, and slipped out.
Apache was still staring after him when a dog burst into the shop at a run and erupted into Apache’s older brother. “Patch, I need a favour.”
“Dodger, is everything alright?”
“No,” Dodger said tightly. “I need someone found, and I need it as soon as can be managed.”
“Dodge, I’ve got a job.”
“Screw the job, Patch, if Bleddyn’s heir isn’t found, Urien will cause a civil war.”
Apache started laughing.
“It isn’t nearly funny, Patch.”
“My job is commissioned from Rhys Bleddyn, to find his brother as soon as can be managed.”
Dodger smiled wryly, acknowledging the irony. “Find him, little brother. Find him soon. I have papers and things for you, accounts from Idris’ spies who recognized him, from before the lord died. It’s a starting point at least.” He pulled a roll of parchment from the satchel he wore across his shoulders. It rested across his chest in human form, and settled at his flank when he was a dog.
“I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Not taking Haydn?”
“I figured I’d leave him to do the books and take this one on my own.” Apache shrugged. “Get going, Dodge. I know the king won’t want anyone to know you came.”
“Can’t I visit my brother?”
“If you ever had in the past,” Apache answered.
“I’m busy!”
“So am I,” Apache countered. “I know, Dodger. Now get out of here.”
Dodger clasped his brother’s shoulder warmly, transformed, and left the building.
Apache shook his head.
“Was that Dodger?” Haydn asked from the doorway.
“Aye. Has a job for me, from the king.”
“For you?” Haydn asked warily. This was not the first time Idris had commissioned a job specifically for Apache, but that did not mean Haydn liked being excluded from his own business.
Apache tilted his head. “Everyone involved would rather it’s kept as quiet as possible. And I know you keep your mouth shut, and I do need your help, but I think it’s better if I go alone. I need you here during the legwork, though.”
Haydn nodded. He was okay with that; the legwork was not his best part anyway, not since a watchdog ripped out his calf a few years ago. “What’s the deal?”
“Lord died recently and his heir is missing. His only other child is precluded from taking the holdings by an oath he swore years ago and if I can’t find Bran ap Heddwyn, Urien takes the holdings and has the sway to take a council seat, and we all know he’ll start a civil war, or at the very least try to get Idris off the throne.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Present,” Apache answered cheekily.
Haydn rolled his eyes. “What do we know about him?”
Apache plopped the folder Dodger had given him on the counter between them. “Only what this says. Rhys Bleddyn is coming by this evening with what he can get me. I actually got commissioned the job twice this afternoon, once from the younger son and once from the king.”
Haydn nodded, opening the roll. “Get some rest, Apache. You’re leaving early. I’ll go over this tonight, and what Bleddyn brings, and give you everything I’ve got in the morning.”
Apache yawned. “I could use a rest.”
“Go,” Haydn ordered.
Apache clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Night Patch.”
“Night Haydn.”
Apache woke with the sun and dressed in his hunting clothes. Loose black breeches disguised a knife at the small of his back and another in his boot and a comfortable brown shirt hid the throwing knives on his forearms. His black tunic and a shoulder bag of supplies completed the ensemble. He trotted down the stairs to find Haydn at the desk, hunched over a sheaf of paper, looking like he had not slept. “Did you sleep?” Apache asked.
Haydn shook his head. “Looks like Bran wrote Rhys six months ago, that he was in Eurfaen, but Dodgers’ spies put him Glynoedd at the time. The last record of him we have puts him in Eurfaen six weeks ago, under the name Rhydderch ap Alun.”
Apache nodded. “Get me something of yours.” Apache’s Talent, the power every Fae is born with, gave him a tie to people. It was what made him so good at finding people.
Haydn handed Apache the mandala he wore around his neck.
Apache raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“You need the luck more than I.”
Apache nodded and looped the leather thong around his neck. “What else do we need?”
“Here’s a sketch done by an artist two years ago that Rhys brought, and here’s a list of aliases he’s used over the past three years. There’s no pattern I can see. Nothing of his Rhys would have is recent enough for you to try your power on, and so that’ll have to wait till your closer. Dodger sent over some expenses money, it’s in your bag, along with your id and a writ from the king allowing you to do whatever you need, pretty much.”
Apache nodded and put the sketch and list in the satchel draped over his shoulder, adjusting it to fit him. “Is that everything?”
“Breakfast,” Haydn answered, bringing him a hot turnover, “From Ma Haf next door.” As Apache practically inhaled the food, Haydn continued, “A warning from your brother that if you get hurt, he’s coming to kill you himself, and an entreaty from the king not to get hurt, because he doesn’t want to have to execute his advisor for murder.”
Apache shook his head, mouth full.
“And a warning from Mabon, who somehow found out you were going on a job again, that if you bring another body home, he’ll undertake you.”
Apache smiled. “I’m bringing him business; you’d think he wouldn’t complain.”
“And one last thing.” Haydn drew Apache close in a one-armed hug. “Be careful,” he murmured into the Fae’s ear.
“I promise, Hayds.”
“Okay,” Haydn said roughly. “Now get out of here.”
Apache nodded, transformed, and loped out of the shop.
Apache’s pads throbbed by the time he reached Eurfaen just as the last fingers of light receded with the setting sun, but he had made the two-and-a-half day journey in one. Transforming at the edge of town and walking the rest of the way in, he flexed sore hands and shifted the satchel into a more comfortable place across his shoulders.
“Evenin’,” the woman behind the counter said, cleaning a glass.
“Can I get a room?” Apache asked, voice soft, scratchy from exertion.
“Course, lad. For one night or are you staying?”
“For three days, to start with, Ma’am,” Apache said, dipping his head respectfully.
“Very well. Follow Lowri and she’ll settle you in.”
“Thank you,” Apache said, following the girl upstairs. After she left, he took off his boots and stretched back on the bed. He wrapped his hand around the pendant at his throat, concentrating. Made Eurfaen
Holy Hells, Patch, you gave me a heart-attack! Haydn gasped in Apache’s mind. Apache’s Fae’s Talent, aside from helping him find people, also enabled something akin to telepathy.
Sorry. You did tell me to check in.
Yeah, but not scare me to death.
How am I supposed to warn you?
I don’t know, Haydn thought, a touch of mocking irritation in his mental voice. Knock?
On your brain? I’ll try that next time. Beat some sense into you maybe.
Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself I’m the one who needs sense. Made a quick journey. Okay?
I’ll be walking sore for a day or so, but I’m alright.
You sure?
Got a good blister on my palm. I’m fine Hayds. Really.
Okay, if you’re sure. Started looking around?
Was going to in the common room this evening, after I change out of my road clothes.
Good luck. Check in again tomorrow?
Always. Night Haydn. Apache broke the connection and released the pendant, brushing his thumb fondly over his friend’s good luck charm. Stretching, he fished his clean breeches and tunic out of his bag and changed, moving slowly. Changed, he checked the straps on his weapons and headed down the stairs.
“What can I get for you?” The woman behind the bar asked him casually as he dropped onto a stool.
“Wine’s good,” Apache answered. He was not a heavy drinker, particularly not on a job.
As she poured him a goblet, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Apache, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A Fae, then?”
He nodded, waiting for the reaction. There were still plenty of people- of humans- that hated the Fae and he would rather not start out with trouble.
He need not have worried. She just shrugged and asked, “What brings you to Eurfaen?”
“My work, Mistress-?”
“It’s just Aderyn, there’s no mistress in me.”
Apache ducked his head respectfully, but did not answer.
“What work?” She asked. “Not to pry, but we don’t get many strangers around here.”
“I’m a retrieval expert,” Apache explained. “I get commissioned by people to go find people or sometimes things, and bring them back. I base out of Dinasoedd, but I’ve worked all over the country.”
“And your work brought you here? What would you be looking for in Eurfaen?”
“A man, goes by the name Rhydderch?”
Aderyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Rhydderch ap Auln’s not been here for almost a week.”
Apache made a face. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Not to me, but we never got on well. You might ask a few of the fellows. He was close to Cefin ap Heilyn. Even my Lowri might know. He courted her a bit. Left her cross when he went so sudden. He in trouble?”
“His father recently passed away and I was commissioned to pass on the news.”
“Sorry to hear that. He was a sweet boy, all manners like you, tugging his forelock and helping out without expecting favours. Here’s Cefin now. Cefin! Cefin ap Heilyn! Come you right here!”
“What is it, mam?” Cefin asked.
“Not my son, of course,” Aderyn told Apache fondly, “But they all call me that round here.” To Cefin, she said, “This lad’s come about looking for Rhydderch.”
Apache caught the flash of alarm quickly covered in Cefin’s eyes and said hastily, “I’m to pass on the news that his father passed. Mistress Aderyn said he left about a week ago, any idea where he went?”
Cefin fidgeted, clearly uncertain.
“Sorry,” Apache said. “That was fair rude of me. I’m Apache, son of Desoto, most recently of Dinasoedd.”
Cefin nodded slowly. “Cefin ap Heilyn, but I guess you heard that. Rhydderch was a good friend. Sorry to hear about his father.”
“No you’re not,” Apache said shrewdly. “He said something to you once, or more than once, and you know as well as I that they didn’t get on, there at the last, before Rhydderch left home. However, a fair amount was left for Rhydderch in his father’s will, and if I can’t find him, it goes not to Rhydderch’s brother, who should get it, but to the nearest landowner.”
Cefin looked startled. “I don’t know where he went,” he admitted. “I’d help you if I could, but I’ve no idea.”
Apache looked at him, long and hard. He nodded after a moment. “Did he leave anything?”
“Sure, he just disappeared, barely swung by to say goodbye. More than I hear he did for Lowri, but that doesn’t surprise me much. He was never as interested in her as he let on.”
Apache stared at him for a moment. There was something off in what the human was saying, but he was not lying. Apache’s senses told him that much. “So what happened to his things?”
“Most of them are still in the guesthouse. He stayed in our guesthouse, at my parent’s farm, while he was here. None of it’s been messed with, since he told me he’d come back for it eventually. Why?”
“I’m Fae,” Apache answered flatly. “And I can sense people if I can handle something of theirs, something that hasn’t been handled by anyone else, and was used of held within a timeframe.”
“It’s been a week since he’s been gone,” Cefin said hesitantly.
“Shouldn’t be too long.”
Cefin shrugged. “We can go now, if you like.”
“That would be excellent.”
Apache followed Cefin into the guesthouse. Something was bothering him, but he still could not place the feeling. Standing in the doorway, it clicked. “You were lov-” Before he could finish, something heavy crashed into his skull and the world went dark.
“Did you kill him?” Cefin’s alarmed voice was the first thing he heard.
“Of course not,” another voice answered. “Why’d you bring him here, anyway? I heard him asking questions about me.”
“He said your da’s dead. He said your brother sent him.”
“Probably lying, Cef, you know I told you too many people were looking for me. Dangerous people.”
“I still don’t understand why Urien wants you dead.”
“It’s easier than dealing with me alive,” the man who could only be Bran Belddyn answered.
“He said he’s Fae. Urien would never employ a Fae.”
There was some surprise in Bran’s voice. “A Fae? How’d I brain him then? He must’ve been lying.”
“Not lying,” Apache slurred, dragging his eyes open. “I’m Fae. M’name’s Apache.”
Bran Bleddyn was tall and handsome, clean-shaven with a strong jaw and sturdy features, warm brown eyes and dark hair. He knelt beside Apache. “Why were you looking for me, then?”
Apache blinked, trying to clear the fog from his head. “Your brother hired me. Since your father died, Urien’s been trying to claim your land. Rhys can’t take the inheritance, and no one could find you. If you don’t go home, Urien will claim you’re dead and take the lands. With that he’ll have a majority in council.”
Bran’s eyebrow rose. “Our estates will let him finally challenge the king?”
Apache nodded. “Through machinations and treachery, he’s claimed most of the land around him. We need you to take the land.”
“We?”
“My brother is advisor to the king. He also asked me to take this job. If Urien challenges the king, the lives of the Fae will be very sorry indeed.”
Bran regarded him solemnly. “The lives of everyone will be sorry indeed. Urien is not a kind man even to his friends.” He sounded thoughtful, and a touch bemused.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Apache asked, curious. He had expected to have to work much harder than this to find Bran.
“Came back for my things. I had to leave in a hurry, and there are things I wouldn’t willingly abandon.”
“Dangerous,” Apache remarked. “They had to know you wouldn’t want to leave the stuff.”
“It was a risk I had to take. My mother’s wedding ring is here.”
Apache shook his head to clear it and flowed to his feet. He looked between Bran and Cefin a moment, tongue between his teeth in thought. “It’s not safe for you to stay the night here, and in the morning we must leave for Dinasoedd.”
“Where, then, should I stay?” Bran asked, choosing to ignore for the moment, the assumption that he was going to Dinasoedd.
“You can stay with me,” Cefin offered.
Apache tilted his head. “You could, if you trust Urien not to come after you in an innocent household. Or you can stay with me. If he’s willing to leave his family, and willing to depart at dawn, Cefin may accompany us.”
Bran frowned, looking at the other man. “I’ll stay with you, then, Apache. Cefin?”
“I can’t leave!”
Bran nodded slowly. “Alright.” Their eyes met for a moment, a touch of sadness passing between them. “Perhaps when things have settled at home, you can visit for a time.”
Cefin nodded. “Perhaps.”
Apache nodded, tilting his head. “Get what you want and we’ll go.”
“One bed?” Bran asked.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you. This was just a stopover, a hope I could get a clue.” Apache tossed the extra blanket he had begged off of Aderyn by the brazier. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I can’t put you out.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll sleep in my other form.”
Bran looked startled. “I forgot.”
Apache smirked. “So. You and Cefin?”
Bran blinked. “Pardon?”
“You and Cefin. I’m just… startled. I admit I wondered why your father would throw out his heir. And it does beg the question of who will take the holdings when you pass, but still. I never expected, I mean, goodness. It’s a retriever’s fondest wish to find the sought’s beloved.”
Bran’s cheeks flushed. “I- uhm, well?”
Apache grinned. “I’m not judging you. I think it’s sweet.”
Bran, still quite red, shook his head, hiding behind his bangs.
“I’m Fae,” Apache reminded him. “I understand downtrodden minority.”
A small smile touched Bran’s mouth. “I guess you do.” After a pause, he asked, “Do you really think Urien would have come after me at Cefin’s?”
“Don’t you?” Apache asked. “I’m not sure he won’t come after you here.”
Bran frowned. “No, nor I, but at least this way Cefin is safe.” He stripped casually out of his shirt and toed off his boots. He pulled a chain from around his neck and set it on the dresser.
Apache grinned at him and toed off his own boots, casually transforming and turning a few comfortable circles on the blanket.
Bran chuckled and blew out the lamp.
Noises in the dark woke Apache, and the soft click of the lock turning made him raise his head, ears perked and dark eyes cutting through the near-pitch dark. He tensed, settling into a crouch, waiting.
The door opened almost silently and two men crossed into the room.
Apache’s lip lifted in a silent snarl.
“Where’s t’other?” One whispered, voice so low that even Apache’s Fae hearing almost didn’t catch it.
The other shrugged. “‘Ats the one we need, ain’t it?”
Foreign, Apache’s mind supplied, not recognizing the very-obviously non-Carenydden accent. He waited, eyes narrowed in the gloom.
They crossed to the bedside, one on each side. Apache could not quite see what they were doing, but he heard sudden sounds of a struggle and muffled grunts from Bran.
When the two men had dragged a groggily struggling Bran upright, Apache lunged into the fray, coming out of his crouch with force, teeth sinking into the muscle of one thug’s arm.
The man yowled.
“Shurrup!” the other snarled. “Yew want ‘em to ‘ere?”
Apache hit the floor again and leapt again, aiming for the throat. He missed, but his weight threw the man off balance and he lost his hold on Bran.
Bran, coming more aware every moment, slammed his now-free arm into the second thug’s stomach. He reeled from the return blow.
A kick took Apache in the ribs, sending the Fae tumbling into the wall. Darkness shivered down over his vision as lights popped behind his eyes.
When Apache’s vision cleared, he was alone and the cold light of a false dawn was filtering weakly through the curtains. He transformed, groaning softly. He already knew he was alone.
Hastily, Apache dressed, packing his things. He hesitated, looking at the small bag Bran had packed. “Cefin,” he murmured, grabbing the bag. One glance through the room showed him a necklace on the table. Slowly, he walked over to it. It was a ring hanging on a chain. Apache smiled.
“Hi. Is Cefin here?” Apache asked the woman staring at him through the cracked door.
“Who are you?”
Apache smiled easily. “A friend of his. Bran and I go way back,” he lied easily. “Actually, are either of them around?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Bran hasn’t been around here in nearly a week.”
“Really?” Apache asked, feigning surprise. “When he wrote a few weeks ago, he said I could find him here. I couldn’t wait to meet Cefin, Bran’s told me so much about him.” He hoped he looked suitably earnest, and he must have, because the woman opened the door the rest of the way.
“Cefin didn’t come home last night. I don’t know where he is.”
Apache stilled. “Shit,” he whispered, and took off running for the guest house.
“Hey! Where’re you going?”
Apache ignored her. The guest house door was open and things were scattered everywhere. There was blood on the step. “Shit,” Apache snarled.
“Oh gods,” the woman whispered.
Apache clenched his fists. “Can I leave something here with you?”
“What?”
“Look, I haven’t got time to explain properly, but someone wants Bran, wants him bad. I’m here to help Bran, but they’ve taken him, and Cefin too, if I had to guess. I have some things that belong to Bran, and he’s going to want them if I can save him.” There was no if. There could not afford to be an if. “I need to leave them somewhere. Can I leave them with you?”
“Yes,” Cefin’s mother said weakly.
“Thank you,” Apache said, dropping the bag at her feet. “I have to go.” He transformed and took off running.
Hayds?
Shit, Patch, what’s going on?
It’s a long story. Ran into Bran, but Urien’s men have got him.
Shit!
I know. It was stupid. I was stupid.
Just get him back, Patch.
Thanks Hayds.
Be careful.
Always. Apache broke the connection and focused on the other necklace around his neck. This was what had made him so successful as a retriever. He could sense Bran when he focused on the pendant. He could contact the man, but since he had not explained his gift, he knew Bran would react badly.
He tracked them by sense, running until his pads were sore, but they held their lead on him. They had to have been on horseback. Horses would tire eventually, and then Apache would have them.
Midnight came and went. Bran had stopped moving hours ago, and Apache was almost there. His feet ached, but that was small price to have gained the ground lost while he was unconscious.
A wolf howled in the distance.
Unable to truly help himself and not overly concerned to try, Apache threw back his head and answered.
A second howl, closer, followed. Akeyla?
Apache, it is you!
The wolf fell in beside him, following his lead. Dodger sent a pigeon that you were in the area. I figured I’d look you up. Get a lead on Bleddyn?
Better. I found him. And worse, because Urien’s men have him. I’m after them. I lost some ground.
Are you okay?
My head’s not going to appreciate this later, but I’m okay for now.
How far?
Not far now. Apache lengthened his stride, feeling the wolf beside him. Soon, they were there. Apache slowed. He could see the fire through the trees. What do you see? The wolf’s night vision was far better than his own, though his was better than a normal dog’s.
Eight men, two bound and gagged just inside the circle of light. All with arms in easy reach. There’s a cart with a horse tethered to it. Two men on guard, the other four are sleeping. You’ve picked a good one, Patch.
Shut up, Apache grumbled. Well, they’ve run hard today, and they’ve farther to go tomorrow. They’ll be sloppy in the morning, if they’re tired. Is there a pack around here?
Might be, why?
Apache’s lips lifted in a canine laugh. Howl.
Akeyla, with a wolfish grin, threw back his head and howled, bone-chilling and eerie.
All six men leapt to their feet, fumbling for weapons they did not need.
Far away, a pack echoed Akeyla’s call.
Excellent.
If you’re as tired as they, what good does them being tired do?
Can you keep watch?
Of course. Are you going to sleep?
Yes. Just howl at them every half-hour or so.
Won’t I wake you?
I doubt it. Apache turned two neat circles and flopped out with a soft whuf.
Rest well, Akeyla thought, sitting back on his haunches.
A nose in his ear woke Apache. Hey! He yipped, coming fully awake in a moment.
Almost dawn, Akeyla yawned. Don’t think they slept more than the hours some of them got before we got here. The pack picked up my song and carried it almost all night without me.
Perfect. Is Bran conscious?
Hard to tell. He’s playing it pretty close, that one. Woke up once soon after you fell asleep. Think he might’ve seen me, actually, but they knocked him out again.
Concussion, you think?
Nope, Akeyla huffed, Drugs.
Shit.
Horses?
Can you ride?
Well no, but hasn’t Dodger taught you?
When? Apache inquired dryly. Well, I’ll just have to take them all down.
We, Akeyla growled. I’m not letting you go in there alone. Besides, Delilah’s on her way. If we can keep them for not even half an hour more, she’ll be here. Akeyla was a farspeaker. His Talent let him speak with anyone over any distance, as long as he knew their name.
Sounds like a plan. Apache sat beside Akeyla, looking through the brush at the young man he was commissioned to bring home.
Bran lay on his stomach, hands bound behind his back. He had a bloody lump on his forehead. His eyes opened in slits briefly before closing again.
Concentrating on the ring around his neck, Apache sent, Don’t move.
What? Who’s there? Bran thought, but his body stayed still.
It’s Apache. I’m here to rescue you, just be still. Don’t let them know you’re awake.
Can you hear me?
Yes. Are you okay?
They’ve got Cefin.
I know. Are you hurt?
Headache, but- His mental voice wavered just as his real one might have. They’ve got Cefin.
I know. We’re taking care of it.
Gods, don’t let them hurt him.
I won’t, Apache promised, with more feeling than he had used to make a promise in a very long time. Gently, he cut the connection between them.
Akeyla nudged him gently with his nose. Okay? The other Fae asked, a soft whine of concern in the back of his throat.
I hope so, Apache answered. I hope so.
Delilah loped into the brush a few minutes later, blowing hard. Sorry it took me so long.
You’re sooner than I expected, Apache answered. Thanks for coming.
Delilah showed her teeth in a feline smile. I owe you.
Apache shook his head. Nope. Look, there are six hostiles and two captives. The captives have been drugged, so no help from that quarter.
It’s going to be messy, Delilah said.
I know, Apache answered. Worst part, we can’t kill them. They work for Urien and is they turn up dead, he’s going to know I was involved and he’ll kick up a fuss about the Fae being dangerous again.
How are we going to stop them if we can’t kill them? Akeyla demanded. Odds like they are, we can’t risk knocking one out and having him come to in the middle of the fight.
No choice, Apache answered. Just stay alert and do what you can to immobilize them without killing.
Alright, Akeyla agreed. This’ll be fun. I’ll circle around and try to get between them and that other boy.
Keep him safe, Apache said. If he dies, Bran will never help us.
Akeyla nodded and trotted through the trees.
I’ll go for Bleddyn, Delilah said.
Apache nodded.
Akeyla’s chilling howl rent the morning air, and the tired men jumped, looking warily around.
One walked over to Cefin and kicked him roughly. “Get up!”
Apache matched Akeyla’s howl and lunged into the clearing.
Akeyla hit the man kicking Cefin in the chest, sending him tumbling. The man’s head hit a rock and he was still.
Apache sank his teeth into the arm of the man going for his crossbow as Delilah tackled the two men shaking Bran into the leaves. The bolt fired and went high and wide and the man, cursing, arm bleeding, tried to shake the dog off him. Delilah’s battle cry was loud in the clearing.
“Hell!” One of the men still by the fire yelled.
Apache transformed and slammed his heel into the sternum of the man he had bitten. Apache’s palm connected solidly with his jaw and the man crumpled.
The two men by the fire had drawn swords.
“Son of a bitch,” Apache muttered, dropping into a more serious fighting stance. He ducked the first slash and dodged backwards away from the second. He was not quite fast enough for the third, and it left a shallow graze down the outside of his forearm. He lunged inwards after the fourth, slamming the knife-edge of his hand into the human’s wrist and kneeing him in the gut as the sword went spinning away.
The other man lunged with his blade, missing his comrade but also the young Fae.
Apache slammed his elbow into the chin of the man he was holding and lunged after the fallen sword, bringing it up in time to parry the slash aimed at his midsection. His opponent drew another line of fire across his cheekbone before he could slam the hilt of the sword into the man’s temple.
“Apache!” Delilah yelled.
Apache turned, jerking is sudden, pained surprise as a crossbow bolt took him through the shoulder. “Nngh,” he groaned, crumpling. He did not see Delilah crack a rock into the back of the human’s head, knocking him out and making him drop the crossbow.
Akeyla knelt beside him. “Come on, Patch,” he murmured feverishly. “You’re alright. Come on, you’re okay.” Carefully, he snapped off the fletching. “Sorry Patch, this is going to hurt.”
“Already hurts,” Apache slurred. “Can’t hurt worse.”
“Oh it can,” Akeyla insisted. “Hang on.” Gritting his own teeth against his friend’s pain, Akeyla pressed the shaft through the wound.
Apache fumbled for something to grip, crying out hoarsely in pain.
Delilah caught his flailing hand, pressing down, steadying him. “Easy, Apache. We’ve got you.”
Apache groaned. “Oh gods,” he whispered, voice raw. The shaft exited the back of his shoulder and he sagged.
Delilah leapt to her feet again, going through the bags until she found a clean under-tunic, which she tore in half, offering the pieces to Akeyla.
Akeyla pressed the pieces to either side of Apache’s shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Apache gasped.
“Delilah, something to bind this with?”
Delilah passed Akeyla a long strip of cloth.
“Where’d you find this?”
“First aid kit,” Delilah answered, a smirk clear in her voice.
“Who are you then?” Bran asked. He was sitting on one of the logs around the fire, Cefin slumped against him.
“Sorry,” Delilah said, looking at the two humans. “My name is Delilah. That’s Akeyla with Apache. We’re friends.”
Bran nodded. “Bran Bleddyn, and this is Cefin ap Heilyn. Appreciate the rescue.”
Delilah smiled at them, and went about with a hank of rope she found, binding the six men.
Apache used his grip on Akeyla to lever himself to a sitting position.
“Hey,” Akeyla protested. “Be easy; you’re hurt.” He finished tying the bandage around Apache’s shoulder, and then bound down the younger Fae’s arm so he would not strain the wound.
“I’ll be okay,” Apache protested weakly. “Help me up.”
Akeyla sighed, heaving his friend up and lowering him onto the log beside Bran. “No transforming for a while.”
“Course,” Apache murmured.
“Are you alright?” Cefin asked, watching Apache with some concern.
“Little dizzy,” Apache admitted. “I’ll be okay. How are the two of you?”
“Dizzy,” Cefin agreed.
“Drugs are still running through our systems.” Bran shrugged. “We’ll be okay in a couple of hours.”
“I suggest,” Akeyla said from across the clearing. “That you commandeer that cart and drive back to Dinasoedd.”
“I can stay with these fellows until you’re well away,” Delilah volunteered.
“No,” Akeyla disagreed. “We’ll take them to the local magistrate. Kidnapping’s a capital offense.”
Apache nodded slowly.
“He’s in no shape to drive,” Cefin protested. “None of us are.”
“I can drive,” Bran said, standing fluidly. “I’ve had the drugs out of my system longer than you, since I acted like I was unconscious still when they re-drugged you. I’m steady.” In proof, he walked, quite stable, over to the cart and offered the horse his palm.
Cefin stumbled shakily to his feet and attempted to totter to the cart.
Delilah caught him halfway there as he stumbled. She picked him up as if he weighed very little and set him in the back of the cart.
Akeyla peeled Apache off the log and ducked under his good arm, taking his weight with ease.
It took both Delilah and Akeyla to heave Apache into the back of the cart beside Cefin. Apache made a small noise of discomfort, and then settled.
“I’ll set the word out that you’re on your way,” Akeyla told Apache. “Tell them to keep an eye on you, since you’re in no shape to do it yourself.” He squeezed Apache’s shoulder briefly. “Might try to catch up with you once we’re rid of these,” -he gestured at the men- “But either way, I’ll be in touch.”
Apache smiled. “Thanks Key.”
Bran cheerily saluted the two complete strangers who had saved his life- second and third in a line of complete strangers saving him starting with Apache- and flicked the reins at the horse.
Part 2