Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Peter spent the next day doodling, not really taking in the lectures.

   Deryn Corph Corpse Bird Cwn Annwn Black Dogs Ci Annwn Black Dog Cwn
Annwn Underworld Hounds Ci Annwn Underworld Hound Deryn Corph ?

   and variations on that list continued to fill his notepaper.  This whole
situation was uncomfortable; it was one without a simple resolution.  It
looked like Chris' supernatural roots were the same as the breeds, and if
that were the case, his duty forbade any interference.  On the other
hand... duty had been drilled into the breed until it overrode instinct. 
This much his father had told him.  Quite what that instinct had been was
never made clear, though the word 'underworld' alone strongly suggested
what it had involved.

   Ci Annwn Underworld Hound Deryn Corph Death Hawk

   Corpse Eagle

   Underworld Hawk

   Harpy (?female only, weren't they?  -> check)

   WHAT THE HELL IS THE SODDING THING????? *** Alex turned out to be right.
Kirk walked into the Wellspring club premises three days later, out of some
misguided sense of honour between enemies.  He looked decidedly unhappy to
be there, but continued nonetheless. The receptionist's hand hovered near
the alarm buzzer, then slid across and tripped another buzzer.  A few
moments later the door behind her opened and Alex emerged. "Mr Kirk, I'm
honoured," he said, smiling warmly.  "What brings you here?" "A challenge,"
Kirk replied, not daring to meet Alex's eyes.  He was looking studiously at
the floor.  Alex felt scorn mingle with a smug satisfaction.  But none of
that entered his reply. "Really?  Why challenge us?" "Because it's obvious
we can't beat you alone.  But you need to be beaten.  And I think I've
found a solution." "You really do seem to be in the horns of a dilemma,"
Alex said, amused.  "If I just tell you it won't work, will that help?"
"No," Kirk said.  "Because I can't afford to believe you." "Oh," Alex said,
feigning surprise in his usual expert manner.  "Oh well, your loss.  I take
it this is a challenge to some sort of showdown, in the vulgar fashion?"
*** Philip sat in his office watching the conversation on CCTV and
listening to it by virtue of the receptionist's phone, set on hands free
and dialled into his office.  His shoulders were shaking with amusement. 
'In the vulgar fashion'...  dear God, if Kirk didn't click that Alex was
pissing him about... *** "J-just be there," Kirk said, anger clashing with
the nerves that had finally broken through.  "Tomorrow.  Six o'clock. 
Bring your...  your..." "My breed," Alex filled in smoothly.  "But of a
certain, my good man." *** Taking a drink of the Bane, Philip heard this
last and snorted the contents all over the room. *** Kirk almost sprinted
out of the door, visibly shaking.  Alex waited until he was gone, smiled
like a cat with cream, and turned back toward the club proper, nodding
genially at the receptionist on the way. *** "You heard?" "I heard.  What
do you think he's playing at?" "Insufficient data, so far, anyway.  What
exactly is there at Llyn Llechwen?" "How should I know?  It's a lake, but
beyond that I haven't a clue.  The Smythes haven't paid any attention to
Wales for at least six hundred years." "Nor have we.  Too damn
superstitious." "Right.  It's their constant talk of sighting Arawn that
kept us..." "Quite.  I'll ask Stuart, I think.  If anyone knows, it'll be
him." "I don't think this has to do with the standard military." "You're
probably right, but it's the only thing I can come up with right now.  We
can widen the search if he confirms there's nothing there.  In any case,
I'm not going there unprepared." "You know, it's just occured to me that
the lecture rooms in Cambridge and Oxford are going to look a little empty
tomorrow if we call in everyone." "We'll have to bring at least a token
gathering of the young ones," Alex replied.  "He knows some of them to be
involved." "All of them," Philip said.  "The senior group will all be
involved; there is no way they could be prevented from fulfilling their
duty.  Should we face defeat - we do have to consider these possibilities -
a body count or a visual record of proceedings would alert Kirk to the
remaining offspring." "True," Alex said thoughtfully.  "And if he's got
enough influence it might be televised and transmitted to a news agency. 
That would collapse the entire facade we've built so carefully over the
last eight hundred years." "I don't think he's got that kind of influence
though...  You know, it's just occured to me that we can check, and find
out what this setup at Llechwen is at the same time very easily." "Oh,
yes?" "Yes.  Someone here influenced one of Kirk's followers." Alex caught
on, and as he chided himself for not having clicked earlier he allowed a
vicious grin to spread across his face.  "There's always a backup bonus,
isn't there?  I'll call Erin at once." *** There are a lot of legends told
about an ancient Briton war leader, or king, whose name was remarkably
similar to Arthur.  A lot of them, adjusting for anachronisms, are true,
including the legend that he and his knights will rise again when Britain
is truly threatened. The slight snag is that no one can agree on where the
places Arthur inhabited actually were. But there are other ancient heroes
throughout Europe who share many of the same legends.  One such band of
warriors who will rise again were led by Owen, or possibly Owain, Lawgoch,
known as the Red-Handed Owen.  His resting place is said to be a cave on
the side of the hill known as Mynydd Mawr, in Carmarthenshire.  At the
summit of this hill there is a lake.  Llyn Llechwen, or 'lake of the
Red-Handed Owen'. Legends say he will rise again in response to a trumpet
call and clash of arms nearby.  Legends Kirk had gone to a hell of a lot of
trouble to verify; apparently he had been woken once before but he and his
band of men returned to their slumbers when they had determined the clash
to be a reenactment of Owen's own final defeat and retreat to the cave.  At
the beginning of his career, Kirk had worked hard to cover that up, but he
had been a little hazy on the details. He intended to rouse these ancient
warriors against the breed. This much was included in Erin's half-entranced
summary of what Kirk had told her. *** "Erin, I want you to kill Amos Kirk.
As soon as you can get to him.  Kill this Ethel woman, too." "Yes, master,"
Erin replied.  Not being in earshot of her colleagues, she had been able to
be utterly frank on the phone.  She removed the phone earpiece from her ear
and tucked it away, switching the mobile off, and pulled her Swiss Army
knife from her pocket.  She opened the main blade and ran a finger along it
to check it was still sharp. She would have to hit them in precisely the
right place, but if she could do so she would have carried out Alex's
wishes.  And all that would be left before she could accept his job offer
and become one of his servants would be the elimination of the remaining
members of the Bureau.  He had promised her an ex-policewoman as a useful
if mindless aide in doing that, too.  She would enjoy it. *** "Isn't that
rather dishonourable?" Philip asked, mildly. Alex took a sip of the Bane.
"Yes," he said.  "Of course, some would say that using our fellow
supernaturals against us is dishonourable.  I would be among them." "True.
One must only use forces previously declared.  But I fail to see how Erin
falls into this category." "Our...  influence...  was what we used to
declare combat.  Honour and style are satisfied, and we will have victory.
What more could we ask for?" The two Cwn Annwn smiled. "Nevertheless, we at
least should keep the appointment at Llyn Llechwen.  Someone else may have
been appointed by Kirk to unleash Owen, and I doubt Erin and Jane would be
able to trace them all in time." Philip's face fell. "You're right, of
course.  But I regret it." "I should alert the Deryn Corph.  Strictly
speaking, this constitutes a Hunt.  And if they choose to enter into it,
they have as much right to join a Hunt as we do." *** Three people turned
up. Three!  Williams was not impressed.  Two Mercedes made the trip from
nearby Llandelio to the lake, accompanied by what looked like a classic
Triumph motorcycle.  And both of the cars only had one occupant.  It looked
a lot like Kirk had overestimated the threat.  And then his phone played
the opening bars of Beethoven's Fifth in it's tinny little voice.  He swore
under his breath, set the trumpet down, and pressed the receive button.
"Yup?" Erin was sobbing into the phone.  He couldn't believe it.  If anyone
could keep their head together in the middle of an alien invasion running
concurrently with all-out nuclear war, it was Cokey.  And Ethel. But Ethel
was dead.  Cokey was most insistent about that.  Ethel and Kirk were dead.
Williams' face lost it's expression as the consequences began to sink in.
Someone had not quite reacted in the way Kirk had said they would, and Kirk
had said he was fucking certain they'd do what he expected.  Said their
prior behaviour confirmed it no matter what.  He continued to watch the
three people moving.  They'd opened the boot of one of the Mercs.  He
watched as the unmistakable silhouette of a shotgun emerged from the boot.
Must pose as hunters or farmers or something, he thought. The man with the
shotgun handed it to the one who'd driven the other Merc.  Something else
passed between him and the biker.  Then something even more worrying came
out of the trunk. Fucking sniper rifle. He got a sight of the object the
biker was carrying when the biker took it out of it's holster to look it
over.  A revolver. A revolver?  How did they explain that one away? When
the biker produced the other handgun, the automatic, Williams felt the dam
burst.  He pissed himself. The phone slipped out of his hands with the
shock, and he didn't pick it up.  He stared at the two men now making their
way purposefully up the hill while their friend with the sniper rifle
pulled one of those walking sticks with fold-open seats and a spike to keep
them steady out of the boot and made himself comfortable, rifle ready for
use, scanning the upper slopes of the hill. He thanked God he wasn't
immediately visible.  It'd delay death.  Maybe by as much as half an hour.
Oh, shit, they were heading straight for him.  Like they could smell his
panic, his piss soaking through his trousers.  A shotgun, an automatic
pistol, and what was beginning to look more and more like a Great War
service revolver the closer it got. He was going to be killed, and quite
possibly by an eighty-six-year-old illegal family heirloom. *** Debbie
grinned as she watched the guy slip slowly under the influence of these eye
pulses.  It was as enjoyable as she'd expected, and Peter understood.  He'd
made that pretty clear.  He'd also asked her to continue the Whyte family
line with him.  Not the most romantic of come-ons, but she still hadn't
quite got the hang of resisting his charisma.  After university, they might
well settle down together. *** Erin heard the clatter as Williams' phone
slipped to the rocky ground and giggled, now that he couldn't hear her. 
She hadn't been told to do this, but when she found out who was in charge
of the signal for Owen she decided to make sure he didn't call any more
backup by tying up his phone line.  She even had a legitimate reason for
doing so; and the act she'd put up wasn't too bad, she told herself
contentedly.  She went back to bawling in panic. Alex would...  a shiver
ran through her...  thank her for this.  Her master would thank her. She
lived for that.  And Steven Williams, like Amos and Ethel next to her, had
to die for that. THE END Comments?  Wanna tell me how badly I screwed the
ending up?  Feel free.  I don't bite.