Maga escorted him to the long hall deep within her thoughts. Volt also didn’t speak, not through nervousness but because of a wave of mounting anger. He had done his king’s bidding without complaint since Maga beat him in the shield wall. Some would say he should have fought until the end instead of yielding, but Volt disagreed. Was it bravery or stupidity to die for a cause already lost? For him, the answer was simple. However, not many shared his view. He didn’t lack courage. The warriors in his troop had seen him fight and knew him to be brave and strong. Even against Maga, he’d fought until his shield wall collapsed, and further defiance was pointless.

  Like the warriors of his troop, Maga understood.

  The walk from the lockup to the long hall seemed longer than usual, the climb steeper. Sideways glances at Maga gave Volt no idea what preoccupied her. She had a hand on her sword’s hilt as though expecting trouble from somewhere. Maga nodded to the guards when they arrived at the door and walked in without removing her sword.

  Since when has she carried a sword in the King’s presence?

  Only the King’s Champion could go into the King’s presence armed.

  “Congratulations,” he said, following her into the hall.

  “For what?”

  “King’s Champion.”

  Maga nodded and took his arm as if to guide him. “Just go along,” she whispered.

  He gave a barely perceptible nod even though he had no idea what he was agreeing to, his mind on the black gallows in the central square. Her words implied the drop was not imminent, and he felt his heart skip. But what was the catch? Going along suggested something he would find disagreeable.

  Nearing the dais, Volt saw Connavar sprawled on his throne, one leg over an ornately carved arm, his longsword resting against the other arm. Despite his posture, the King’s face was a picture of woe—the worries of running a kingdom, no doubt. His brown hair, greying at the temples, appeared to be unwashed. His eyes were bloodshot and wary. Volt could only surmise not all was well in the kingdom.

  “Volt, thank you for coming,” Connavar said as they approached the dais.

  Before answering, Volt gave those in the hall a look. The usual sycophants crowded the space to witness his humiliation, warriors with empty scabbards, their swords piled up outside the door. He could see no sign of Caer Scál’s witch, Kathvar.

  “You didn’t give me much choice, Connavar.”

  “Did I not? I fear that was Mac Da Tho and your man, Mesroeda, overstepping their authority.”

  “My man no longer. He’s now part of your King’s Guard. Where’s Kathvar?”

  “Kathvar is on King’s business, Champion. You would do well to remember your position here.”

  “My position? I am Chief’s Champion to Magon of Drombeg. I have a troop of—”

  “No longer,” Connavar interrupted.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have given your troop to Maga. She will continue the hunt for the killers in your stead.”

  So, that’s why she asked me to go along.

  Volt took a step forward. He could feel his anger on the verge of boiling over. Maga stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest. “Far enough, Champ.”

  “What do you mean, in my stead?”

  “Kathvar informed me of your false accusations. I am, quite frankly, appalled you took it upon yourself to question my judgement.”

  “Your judgement? I never questioned—”

  “Accusing my head Summoner of witchery is not questioning my judgement?” Connavar shouted, a dribble of spittle running from the corner of his mouth.

  The King is not himself. He was always in control.

  The shout set off a buzzing in the hall, the warriors and sycophants showing support by muttering. With her back to the King, Maga pleaded with him using her eyes. She was begging as hard as she could without opening her mouth. Her meaning came to him as he was about to continue arguing.

  If I don’t go along, he’ll have me executed. Maga might benefit, but she’s not wrong.

  Recognising the futility of his position, unarmed and surrounded by warriors, he said, “Your will, King Connavar. What do you require of me?”

  “You will return to Drombeg and await my pleasure.” Volt nodded. “Maga, give him back his sword and horse and see him safely on the road. Be thankful, warrior, your supporters have my ear.”

  “My King,” Maga said, bowing. Volt forced himself to nod before backing out of Connavar’s presence.

  Walking to the stables, he asked, “He wanted to have me hanged?”

  “Aye. I told Connavar your service to his crown deserved better. Even so, it took me threatening to leave before he agreed.”

  “You’re that valuable to him?”

  “Becoming more so. Over recent times, he’s…” She trailed off with a shrug.

  “Thank you for your support.”

  “Tell yer eineach to thank me. Ye look like a moon cycle’s worth of rain’s made camp over yer head.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “You have done well from it, Maga.”

  “Ye think I want to command a troop of horse warriors on a hunt, bodalán? I’m too old for it. Should be in front of a firepit listening to old songs with a flagon of mead in my hand and a pretty boy on my knee. Besides, with the King like this…” Again, Maga trailed off.

  “You’re right, sorry. What’s wrong with Connavar?”

  Maga looked at him for a while. Instead of answering, she said, “Listen, Volt, his mood swings’re constant. I’ll keep at him, and he’ll reinstate ye soon.”

  “So, where is Kathvar?”

  “Disappeared the day he arrived. If the King sent him away on business, he must’ve done it in the wee hours, cos I didn’t witness it.”

  ***

  The wagons stopped.

  Cúip climbed down and demanded they do the same. Scamp found himself aching and dizzy. Getting out of his barrel and down from the wagon was a real chore. He could tell Upthog also felt her aches as she clung to the wagon’s side and lowered herself gingerly. Waiting for her to clamber down, Scamp gazed about, sure someone, or possibly, something was watching him. The wagon drivers were checking their axles, wheels, or other parts. Not one of them had their eyes on him. Despite their lack of interest, he felt an unease—a feeling of something foreign.

  “Come,” Upthog said, walking towards Cúip.

  Scamp could feel anger washing off the smith in waves as they approached. “Yuh lied to me,” Cúip said, barely controlling himself.

  “Didn’t lie. Just didn’t tell ye everything,” Upthog said, staring off into the distance.

  “Don’t be bandying words with me, girl. Yuh killed four White Cloaks?”

  “No. Two. The two who killed me brother. They were taking the boy…”

  Scamp stopped listening as they argued. Instead, he concentrated on his surroundings. They stood atop a rolling hill, another to their rear and another before them. He could see only hills. Rocks of all shapes and sizes covered them; what Scamp would call rugged country. Life here would be hard. There’d be plenty of stone to build roundhouses but nothing to eat except coarse grass.

  Almost nothing but grass, he amended. Rabbit pellets were dotted about where the wagons had stopped off the side of the road. As well as the rabbits, he thought a herd of goats or sheep might be able to live in such a place, but people couldn’t survive long on meat alone. They would need grain from the south.

  Our kingdom is either forest or rocks. And so war is coming.

  “Come, Scamp,” Upthog said, breaking into his thoughts. “Cúip thinks we’re not safe in the barrels, and I agree. Ye might’ve been seen.”

  I would wager I was.

  She handed him his leather backpack and slung hers beside her bow before stalking off without a backward glance. Scamp slung his bag onto his shoulder and ran after her into the hills, once again away from the road. When he reached the crest, he turned to watch the smith organise the wagons into a new train. Much like Upthog, Cúip kept his attention on his drivers, ignoring their departure. Scamp hated that they were parting with anger between them, and he was the cause.

  “Sorry, Upthog,” he said as he caught her.

  “For what?”

  “Causing trouble between you and Cúip.”

  “That wasn’t ye, boy. I should’ve told him our story when we got to the mine. It was unfair, making him risk his livelihood, his life even. Should’ve given him the chance to refuse.”

  “I s’pose.”

  “My biggest worry is the demon-controlled swarm. Having a demon watching over us makes me nervous.”

  Scamp couldn’t prevent her words from causing his eyes to water. He felt his heart once more block his windpipe, forcing him to suck breaths around it. The sobs came shortly after.

  “Hey, boy, don’t take on so,” she said, touching his shoulder. “We’ll get through.”

  It took him some time to force the sobs down to a level where he could speak. Eventually, he managed to get them sufficiently under control to tell Upthog about the dream when Marbh told him how to summon a demon and that he’d tried in the granary out of desperation.

  “Those women died because of me,” he said, heaving the words out between sobs. “And I called the bees asking Dhuosnos for help.”

  Upthog squeezed his shoulder beside his neck and gave it a slight shake. “It can’t have been ye, Scamp.”

  “Course it was. Who else?”

  “Think, boy. When I got back, the bodies were outside. The door was bolted from the outside. How did the demon get out?”

  “Forced its way out?”

  “I grant a demon would have the power, but the door hadn’t been forced, and nothing woke ye. The noise would have. Same as if it broke through one of the walls. Besides, we would have seen the damage.”

  “When I called, it must have arrived outside the granary.”

  “No. It’s what the pentagram’s for. The demon must appear in the star.”

  “Nothing appeared in the… oh,” he said, finally understanding.

  Upthog took off her pack, sat on it, crossed her wrists, and regarded him openly for the first time he could remember. With a small smile, she said, “I think ye’re right when guessing shape changer.”

  “You do?”

  “Aye, ye’re right about summat else, too. I don’t like talking about it. Not wanting to talk about shape-changing is a long story, and I won’t get into it now, but I can tell what I know about the beasts themselves if ye’d want?”

  “Sure,” Scamp said, nodding.

  “So, what d’ye want to know?”

  He took several deep breaths to calm himself before asking, “What sort of creature could do that?”

  “Any of the big uns. Lion, bear, wolf. Whatever it was, I disturbed it because it’d only just started feasting. That’s why there was so much mess.”

  “Oh, how so?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Wouldn’t have left much, otherwise. Would have lapped it all up like a good dog.” Scamp grimaced. He’d been right about not wanting to hear her reasoning.

  “Something I don’t understand is if someone could become a bear or a lion and keep the mind of a human, why not do it all the time?”

  “Two reasons: taking another shape stretches the human psyche to breaking point. Even short periods of change are wearing. Those who change too frequent or for too long risk insanity. And then there’s Dhuosnos: each change uses his power; small changes use less, but he feels them and knows where they happened. I think most shape changers would prefer he didn’t know their whereabouts.”

  “So, the Lord of Darkness is real?”

  “Aye, as are the Four. And a Scourge is coming. Ye heard Cúip about what’s going on in Middle Kingdom.”

  Scamp nodded and gazed back the way they’d come. He could see the smith cresting one of the rises he’d seen when they were arguing. The wagon train would soon be lost to sight, and they would be alone again. This time, though, he thought it less of a daunting idea.

  “How d’you know all this?”

  “I’d a good teacher.”

  “Cúip knows this cac?”

  “No, not Cúip. Someone else. Let’s get going. We’ve still a long trek ahead.”

  “With the fords guarded, surely the ships in Indber Colptha will be, too.”

  “Aye, I reckon. Just happens I know a cove up the coast. Friend of mine runs a ship from there.”

  “A smuggler,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “What of it?”

  Scamp laughed without answering. Upthog picked up her pack and started walking. “Come on. Time’s a-wasting.”

  As he fell in step beside her, he felt a tingling between his shoulders and stopped. He was sure the same someone or something was watching him.

  “What is it, boy?”

  “You agreed to call me Scamp,” he said, scanning his surroundings, shading his eyes with a hand. He was about to give up when a movement on a rock in the middle distance caught his eye. There was a great bird preening, a condor or an enormous eagle. It was black, so he decided it had to be a condor.

  “Have you been watching me all day?” he whispered.

  “What is it, Scamp?”

  “Nothing. Just a great dumb bird.”