The rocky outcrop playing host to the fortress of Breshlech appeared above the horizon an hour or so before midday. Bee thought the fortress looked like a bent digit sticking up from the knoll, like the index finger of the long dead. Or Finn reminding me to be ready, a thought that brought a fleeting smile. The gorge leading to the portcullis, probably still in need of some grease, was hidden from view because the tower was facing eastwards, towards the road that strode down the headland where the Bull’s Head hid the entrance to Tech Duinn.

  Where Archu possessed the mad druid. Why was Myrddin even under the rock, risking everything?

  In the company of Neit’s Maidens, Bee had often driven the horde into the gaping maw, but she’d never entered. There had never been a need because the demons were a defeated army by that time, and they returned willingly to their prison—well driven by flaming whips, anyway. It wasn’t a lack of necessity stopping Bee from going in with the Maidens. The rock and the plains had a brooding sense of a terrible doom, an oppression she found threatening. She didn’t understand why anyone would ignore the signs and enter. The druid might be mad and a fool, but she didn’t think those traits would cause anyone to ignore the danger.

  And this tower is similar.

  Drawing closer, Bee frowned at the rocky knoll. There was a pressure in the air, as though an epoch-defining storm was building in preparation for a strike. If it got any closer there would be a crackle in the clouds. She drew rein and ignored the two in front as they rode on, oblivious. Bee didn’t care. She felt the plains were reflecting her dream, which scared her witless. True, there were no roiling red, grey, and black clouds. That said, something was brooding; something causing her neck hairs to tingle. The grasses beside the road were swishing just as they had during the dream. Despite nothing to justify her dread, Bee felt the same icy-fingered grip at the base of her spine. She was sure the red eyes would appear, even though the sky was the crystal blue of a clear winter’s day.

  Whatever is out there, its power is immense.

  Bee had no inkling how she knew that as surely as she did. And with the thought, she understood her enemy was not Fis or Goibniu, Brenos or Dagda. They didn’t command anywhere near as much power as that making her head buzz while they crossed the plains before Breshlech Mor. It was suddenly evident that they were the same fidchell stones as Bee, waiting to be pushed around by the player, the real danger.

  Did Dagda wake me because there are primeval forces at play?

  The possibility did nothing to ease the icy grip on Bee’s spine. If it were true, it would mean that her Master sent her into a cauldron of forces with power far greater than hers, simply because he thought her capable, which was the dream of one without any concept of exactly what was involved. Even Danu’s Three were beyond her abilities. When Ruirech rescued them, Bee watched Fis charging after the fleeing Fomorii patrol, his bloodlust evident by the gore dripping from his sword and his manic laughter. She would not want to face the lesser God in a swordfight. How could she hope to counter such passion and violence? But of course, Dagda didn’t send her here to battle with Danu’s Three. She was here to counter the unknown evil with what her Master believed to be an eagle-sharp mind and Earth Power. She had to do what she could, but where to begin?

  He put me on Bren’s tail, so my brother must know something.

  She still didn’t believe her brother knew Lia Fáil’s hiding place, but he knew something that must be key to what was unfolding in the Kingdoms. Or at least Dagda believed he did.

  Before I can do anything, I need to lose Fis, she thought as they came into sight of the besieger’s camp.

  The orderly lines of tents enclosed by a wooden palisade were no surprise. Bee had been on campaign with the Maidens several times and knew their methods. They marched. They stopped. They built defences. Whitehead’s command tent was in the centre of the compound. As soon as they were admitted, Bee rode straight to it, swung down, and handed her reins to one of the Maidens lounging out front. She wasted no time, striding into the tent and demanding, “What’s going on, Whitehead?” The warrior raised her eyebrows in question, a cup of something halfway to her mouth.

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t play me, Bairr,” Bee interrupted. “Ye know something. Ye must.” Otherwise, I’m lost, she didn’t add.

  Whitehead regarded her for several moments before she put down her cup and said, “I know no more than you, Bee. Well, not much more. Dagda came through the portal and told me he thinks someone has created a summoner—”

  “Now it makes sense,” Bee interrupted.

  “What?”

  “The demon said I was to be his witch, but I didn’t understand where he could find a summoner. Not out of cycle. But created a summoner how? I thought summoners were born, like a force of nature, or something.”

  “Usually, that’s right. Usually, the summoner is born when Dhuosnos’s coven have replenished his Earth Power, but there’s nothing usual in this.”

  “No. Nothing,” Bee agreed, feeling her scar, and wishing her Master had chosen someone else.

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  Tilting her head, she asked, “Why me, Bairr? What have I got that made Dagda wake me?”

  “Aye. It’s a good question. Personally, I’d have left you sleeping.” Despite a smirk contradicting the words, Bee could see their truth shining from the hardness in the warrior’s eyes. “I assume it’s because of your brother being his usual bundún self. No one understands him like you do, so who else would Dagda send?”

  “Aye. That’s what he said. Truth is, no one understands Brenos, not even me. If Dagda was aware of the demon, why didn’t he order ye to attack?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

  “Whoever is behind this, it ain’t the demon. As Fis said, Danu sent Brenos to tempt them out of hiding. When Dagda learned the demon was here, he sent you to stop your brother from falling into its talons, but the thief is still out there somewhere. It’s my task—our task—to stop them.”

  “How do Danu’s Three fit?”

  “The Silversmith already told you,” Danu hissed. “Don’t try to trick me, witch. I have better things to spend my time doing.”

  What Credne told me was just lies, Bee wanted to say. She would have said it, except she wasn’t sure where Whitehead’s loyalties were.

  “I meant no disrespect,” Bee said and nodded, holding her anger in.

  Turning to leave, the shock of Whitehead’s final words stopped her. “Whatever happens, Bee, be ready.”

  Is that a coincidence, or a message? Unsure what she could say, Bee strode from the tent without looking at the warrior.

  She walked out of the camp and up the gorge, her mind in turmoil. The gorge was a like a burial site of dead trees, twisting and misshapen like the lone one out the front of the Cave of Cats. Only these trees weren’t trying to break free of their roots but were writhing in agony, screaming silently. Walking through them sent Bee’s neck hairs into motion.

  When she heard someone fall into step beside her, she didn’t want to look. Her fears were realised when Fis asked if she was well. She said nothing, walking around a curve in the gorge and stopping with a whistle. The Maidens had a palisade thrown up across the narrow space, preventing any escape from Breshlech. The skeletal army and demon-possessed druid were trapped, unless they attacked. The demon would be hard to stop, but aware of the Fomorii weakness, the Maidens would crush them with ease. They would rain heavy objects down on them from atop their palisade.

  Those engines behind will do damage, too. Bee looked over her shoulder at the four massive catapults well back from the palisade. If the horde left the fortress, the monstrous weapons would release fire and boulders on them for the length of the gorge.

  The fortress was so quiet that it was eerie, adding to her sense of impending doom. There was no sign of life or death, but she felt the same brooding menace. The same presence of something doom-laden. She watched until the wooden palisade blocked it from view. As she started climbing the palisade steps, a weariness assailed her; the same exhaustion as when Dagda woke her.

  Is it in me mind?

  Bee thought it might be. She was starting to see enemies under every stone and in every crack. If she went on in the same way, she would drive herself into Rhiannon’s arms, howling at the moon. She felt like screaming even now. It made her angry as never before, and with the anger came a surge of power. It started in the pit of her gut and spread so quickly she had to stop and grab the rail beside the steps to stop from falling.

  “Are you well, Bee?” Fis asked again, grabbing her elbow in support, before dropping it as if he’d been stung.

  Bee shook her head and felt her roiling gut start to calm. What was that? Taking several deep breaths, she finished climbing the stairs. Reaching the top, she went to stand and gaze at the gate to the fortress. She couldn’t see the portcullis because it was hidden in the gatehouse shadows. The pointed finger seemed exaggerated from the palisade. And as Bee watched, she heard a squeal that she’d heard before and knew what it meant. She couldn’t believe it, not until she saw the skeletal horde issuing into the gorge. There were thousands of them. In the throne room, when she’d stood before Archu, there had been a great number of skeletons in armour, but nothing compared to what she saw crowding into the narrow space.

  Someone blew a horn and in moments warriors were swarming up the palisade steps. They were armoured in breastplates and white cloaks covered them. Their helmets were ornate and bore wings on their sides. These were an elite army of Tuatha warriors, Neit’s Maidens.

  The warriors who lash enemies with burning whips.

  The swish and thump of four engines—slight delays between each—presaged the flight of burning missiles, which cut swathes through the dead attackers. On and on, the straw-packed metal spherical crates came, spitting flames and burning embers. Despite the constant bombardment, the oncoming mass seemed to grow rather than shrink. Bee couldn’t help but be fascinated by the total lack of anything from them. She wanted to say that they accepted their death without a fight, but of course, they’d been dead for millennia.

  “What drives them?” she asked as the first skeletons arrived at the palisade and began scrambling over each other in their haste to climb.

  “I have no idea,” Fis said. “But nor do I care.”

  “Why did they attack?” Bee asked. Fis shrugged and pulled his sword. “Yer not going to…”

  Nodding, the God screamed in delight as he leaped down from the palisade. Roaring, he began swinging his Goibniu-made sword in wide arcs. Ruirech had said that swords were not much use against the skeletal army, but Bee suspected he had not seen this God using his against the dead. Each Fomor he struck was either decapitated or its legs were separated from its torso. Just like the strike of a hammer, Fis’s strokes made the bone bags collapse into enveloping clouds of bone dust.

  Bee watched fascinated for several moments before Finn’s message came to her. Be ready. A message that Bairrfind reinforced. Fis was so engrossed in the slaughter of those already dead, he’d forgotten everything else. She didn’t need a second invitation. Whether the dream was just a dream no longer mattered. It could have been a coincidence, but if so, why did the Fomorii mount such a useless assault?

  It took no time for her to reach the corral where her mount and the packhorse were hobbled. She found the packs piled beside the beast and her saddle in close proximity, as if someone knew she would need them. Saddling her mount took no time, and she was about to swing up when Ruirech grabbed her arm, spun her around, and demanded where she was going. For a few moments, Bee considered using draíocht to force him to release her, before thinking better of it. She needed an ally, and this Ruirech might be the one. Despite their easy fellowship on the ride, she’d seen dissatisfaction in the rebel’s face. He wanted answers as much as Bee did.

  “With The Silversmith shadowing me, I won’t get answers. I’m getting away from him; going in search of me brother.”

  “I’m coming,” Ruirech said, his eyes warning her against refusing.

  “Good, I could use a friend, so I could.”