“I think we need to talk in private,” Volt said.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Maga replied, while Fachta nodded, acting like the gaimbín he’d always been.

  “I have a room. It’s comfortable enough. I’ll ask the hostel keeper to bring food and mead.”

  Fachta stared at him with a vacant expression and Maga crossed her arms without saying anything, which Volt considered tacit agreement. He gave her the key and told her where the room was before heading to the keeper to order the food.

  The proprietor grumbled a little at the change of order but complied easily enough when Volt took out his purse and jingled it.

  “As quick as you can,” he said as he retreated for the stairs.

  Arriving in the room, he found Maga and Fachta sitting at the table in their jerkins. Their armour and cloaks were lying on the cot as if thrown in a fit of temper. He saw that the cloaks were the dirty white of the old White Cloaks, which he’d overlooked when they were talking to the hostel keeper.

  What does that mean? Are the new King’s Guard no more?

  Maga saw what held his attention and started to say, “There’s much to—”

  Volt stopped her by holding up a hand and saying, “Let’s wait until we’re sure there will be no interruptions. Rather, tell me how you found me.”

  “Wasn’t difficult. As soon as we heard Magón banished you, there were only two ways you could’ve gone, one being the road we were on, and you didn’t pass us, so we headed for Lúr Cinn Trá.”

  “I might have gone into the forest.” Volt frowned when Maga chuckled and shook her head.

  “You? Not likely, Volt. No, Caer Usk or here. We called in at Usk, and you weren’t there. So, here we are. It’s not like there’s more ‘n one hostel, either. Big enough to service most of North Kingdom, this one is.”

  A knock on the door stopped Volt from replying. He opened it to find a couple of servers with trays of food and drink.

  “Put them on the table, please.”

  As soon as the servers had left, he poured three cups of ale. Maga and Fachta ignored the cups, grabbing the food as if they hadn’t eaten since the previous Imbolc, so Volt let them finish before saying, “What’s happening? What’s this about Connavar?”

  “He was a shape changer,” Fachta said, spraying half-eaten bread over the table, starting the story in the middle. His mother also spoke, but Volt’s incredulity caused him to miss what she said.

  He felt a hint of anger at the assertion.

  What nonsense is this? “Maga, from the beginning, please.”

  “Shortly after he sent you on your way, the man we thought was Conn started acting up. Even more erratic than previously. Jabbering to his self. Drooling. Finally, he collapsed, maybe two days after you’d gone. When we got him back to his roundhouse, he seemed to be melting, skin hanging off, eyes all bloodshot and drooping.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Drooping?” Volt asked, unsure what she meant.

  “Like his eyes was hanging out their sockets. We called for healers, but by the time they arrived, he’d changed into someone different. No one knew him. All we knew is he wasn’t our king but some shape changer.”

  “So, they are real,” Volt said, just above a whisper feeling the anger wash away with Maga’s words. He could believe the boy to be brash and gullible, swallowing stories told to keep children abed, but not his mother.

  “Aye. Real as you and me. Discussing it in council, we thought Conn started acting strange the very day your man Kathvar disappeared. Kathvar must have taken Conn, leaving the shape changer in his place.”

  Volt wasn’t sure how much of the statement he believed. He was sure Maga believed it, which didn’t make it true.

  “Did you put him to the question?”

  “We tried. Mind’s gone. The elders think he was far too long under the change. The legends tell us living as someone or something else drives the changer mad over time.”

  “Do we know how long it takes? That might tell us when the King was taken.”

  Maga shrugged. “We’re chinning about things from bedtime tales come to life, Volt. We’ve no idea.”

  He nodded and started to play with a crust of bread. Maybe the events of the last few days were beginning to make more sense. Some of them, at least.

  “I thought shape changers had to be witches,” he said, voicing a sudden thought.

  Maga shrugged again. “Who’s to say he weren’t a witch? Besides, we know only legend; could all be so much graiseamal.”

  Volt frowned at his crust. She wasn’t being overly helpful, but then it was like she’d said. They were dealing with children’s stories coming to life. The only real surprise was that some things were making sense, but they were. Little things coming together, like Kathvar’s disappearance in Caer Droma. And the brutal savagery done to the White Cloaks outside the granary.

  A shape changer.

  “So, how many witches survived the hunts?” he wondered aloud.

  “As many as Kathvar needed, I reckon,” Fachta said. Volt nodded. He could believe the witch had only hunted those who opposed him.

  “Why would someone take the King?” Volt asked, thinking aloud.

  “All we can think is Eochaid. Maybe he’ll ransom Conn to stop us invading Middle Kingdom again.”

  “Possible, but unlikely. Eochaid’s as arrogant as the other kings. He’ll believe his army unbeatable and won’t see the need for plots and subterfuge.”

  “Rumour tells us Middle Kingdom’s riddled with pestilence. Maybe his warriors were struck down.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. I am still not sure what you want with me, Maga.”

  “I’m a simple soldier, Volt. To find Conn, we’ll need to scour Middle Kingdom, maybe even further abroad. You’ve done it all before chasing witches. And you know Kathvar.”

  Volt agreed. He knew the sadist and had done it all before but was unsure if he wanted to do it again. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to avoid any further dealings with the witch. He wasn’t sure the man had taken the King, but that aside, something about Kathvar was pure evil. He would never forget the glee on the man’s face each time he pulled the lever on the gallows—that and the King clapping at each snap.

  Cha chunk.

  Maybe I am using him as an excuse. No one forced me to hunt witches.

  “Why the white cloaks?” he asked.

  “The black and gold cloak isn’t known. We thought the white would be more familiar.”

  “You don’t really think Eochaid has taken Conn, do you?”

  “Not really. Shape changers. Witches. All adds up to one thing in my mind.”

  “Which is what, Maga? What’s your gut feeling on it?”

  “I think it means a scourge is imminent. I think the Fáithe want us to prevent it.”

  Despite her seeming sincerity, Volt wondered how much he actually believed. Could there be such a thing? Even after admitting that shape changers were real, he was finding the final gap a little too wide to cross in comfort.

  “And what exactly is it you want me to do?”

  “Lead a troop into Middle Kingdom to rescue the King.”

  “I wouldn’t bring more than a Leathdhosaen,” he said.

  “That’s good because we only brought a Leathdhosaen with us. Thought a ship into Beal Feirste would save time.”