“How do ye know I’m a witch?”

  His eyes continued to dance as he took hold of his chin and looked her up and down like a horse he was keen to buy. Bee had been around long enough to know how best to deal with this man’s type, and she spat between his feet as she said, “Be difficult to conduct a campaign without eyes, so it would.”

  Instead of being abashed, the man she thought to be Ruirech shook his head and laughed. “I was checking your aura, to be honest.”

  “My aura?”

  “Yup. I’ve got a bit of the sight and know people by their aura.”

  “Oh, sorry. I mistook ye.” His grin at her words made Bee wonder if she was the butt of some joke. However, when he spoke again, he seemed sincere.

  “No worries. Come. We will get whatever is useful from these bodies and leave the rest to the crows.” Bee nodded and dismounted.

  As they walked through the handful of dead Ruirech’s rebels were looting, Bee was surprised to note the bodies looked human. In all her dealings in the Kingdoms, she’d never seen a Fomor warrior close by. When she began defending the Maidens during Scourges, the Lord of Darkness had already abandoned the Fomorii to their fate. According to legend, the siege of Breshlech was their last independent action before they became vassals of West Kingdom sovereigns. With her glances during the chase, Bee had thought them huge but could see they wore massive, decorative armour, which gave them bulk. As the rebels stripped it from them, they were remarkably, well, ordinary. Their heads were larger, their bodies more heavily muscled. Their arms were longer and their legs shorter, which gave them a monstrous aspect, she supposed. But apart from those minor differences, they looked like any other male warrior she’d ever seen.

  “They look almost human,” she said, running a finger along her scar.

  “Aye. And so they are, more or less, anyway,” Ruirech said. “They’re not the monsters of legend.”

  “But the army at Breshlech looked monstrous,” Bee mused.

  Before the rebel leader could respond, Fis rode into sight, his bloody sword nonchalantly over his shoulder, a grin splitting his face. “I do so love a good running battle,” he said as he swung down from his mount and sheathed his sword without cleaning it. Bee guessed it had some magical property that meant it didn’t need to be cleaned.

  “Why did you come?” she demanded.

  Having a God for company had been an inconvenience. Having a God who was a battle warrior and bloodthirsty with it was a worry.

  “I get a strong feeling that you do not want me here,” Fis said, still grinning.

  “No, I—”

  “Now is not the time,” Ruirech interrupted. “That troop was a scout group for a larger force, and they will be arriving soon. We should get out of here while we can.”

  “Aye, let’s go, so,” Bee agreed.

  “You will not object to blindfolds, I hope?” Ruirech asked before they set off. Fis shook his head, and Bee shrugged, suspecting that any blindfold this warrior used would be much more effective than those of the Fomorii who snatched her on the plains. When she was handed a black scarf, she tied it around her eyes without complaint.

  “My rebels will lead your horses by the reins. You can trust them. They haven’t killed anyone yet.”

  With the many twists and turns, Bee soon lost track of direction and gave up trying. The rebels were talking quietly among themselves, and she could hear nothing. She thought Fis was immediately behind her but could not be sure and so kept her peace.

  After some indeterminate length of time, Ruirech said from beside her, “About the shape of the Fomorii dead in Breshlech. They come into the forest sometimes, and we have destroyed them. They are remarkably easy to destroy, as long as you have the right weapons. Arrows and swords are useless, but hammers are very effective—”

  “I know,” Bee interrupted. “They just fall apart, as ye’d expect from a bag of bones.”

  Or explode into dust when the weapon is heavy enough, she remembered.

  “Anyway, stripping them, there’s all sorts of adjustments to their armour. I guess they’re a lot slimmer now, and so the armour’s not a good fit. The adjustments are clumsy, and they give the skeletons a lumpy aspect. I think, just personal musings, like, that the invaders called them monsters to ease their consciences. Must have been horrific finding all them half-eaten warriors.”

  Bee remembered Dornalai’s faraway look when he told her about the siege of Breshlech. She’d seen horror mirrored in his eyes. But she’d also seen guilt as well as other emotions. Regret, possibly. Describing them as monsters to ease his conscience was not stretching Bee’s imagination to the point of snapping.

  “Are ye not at war because King Balor gave yer lands to the Fomorii?”

  “That’s part of it. I am also descended from Eterscel, so I have a right to the throne. However, Balor giving our land to his soldiers is not why we hate those soldiers, at least not directly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Their evictions of the rightful landowners tended towards the violent, and not just a little bit. Many farmers lost everything, including their loved ones, and there is a need for revenge. They came to me, here in the forest, in their thousands. It was a dribble when my father was Chief. As soon as I took over, and Balor decreed the land to his warriors, it became of flood.”

  So, Balor waited for the father to die before passing the decree.

  “Ye were already an outlaw?”

  “As was my father before me. We’ve been in the forest since Balor’s ancestor, and his horde took Dun Ailinne.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Aye, the ring fighter mentioned it.” If Bee had thought mention of Dornalai would elicit a response, she was disappointed. Rather than say anything, Ruirech started to whistle, and she was as surprised at his skill as she’d been when the ring fighter first started whistling. Ruirech’s tune was a haunting melody that spoke of many summers’ suffering, which touched Bee more deeply than she thought possible.

  Did Dornalai teach him to whistle?

  “I must see to my men,” he said as his melody drew to a close. “We will talk again later.”

  Bee spent the rest of the march thinking about what had happened since Dagda sent her through the portal. She knew she was missing something vital; some clue as to what was happening, and she could taste it on the tip of her tongue. No matter how hard she thought about it, the solution wouldn’t come to her. It was as elusive as her dreams normally were when she awoke.

  When Ruirech said, “Here we are,” and helped her off the horse, she felt relief at being able to rub some life back into her arse cheeks. No matter how many times she rode a horse, she could never get used to the discomfort it entailed. Someone told her once that her butt would harden and she would stop feeling it so much, but that was yet to happen, even after so many summers.

  When Ruirech took her blindfold off, she gazed around the camp with something close to awe. It was more of a massive hill fort than a camp. There were ramparts and palisades, roundhouses and a central square, guard towers every hundred paces or so. Indeed, it was a city hidden deep in the Great Forest. A settlement that Bee had never even suspected was there.

  How many know of its existence?

  “What do ye call this place?” she asked.

  “Hideaway. Do you like it?” Bee nodded but said nothing. “That squat longhouse is the hostel. We usually sit around the firepit telling tales and singing songs. You two can go there while I get your horses settled. Oh, we found your packhorse, by the way.”

  Nodding her thanks, Bee followed Fis into the warm and dark interior of the hostel. It was an area that she thought could tell many fascinating tales. The benches around the firepit were well-worn by hundreds of summers’ worth of arse cheeks. Shields and weapons adorned the walls. Surprisingly, there was no dais and a head table, and she couldn’t see any area that looked like the patrons were avoiding.

  They are equals in here, Bee realised.

  They found a space on a bench and sat, accepting cups of ale from a server, and watched the rebel men and women enjoying an evening of talking, drinking, and relaxing. It would be difficult to believe that Balor would order these same people hanged if the King’s guards caught them. She could hear children at play and thought there must be another room.

  “I apologise for the blindfolds,” Ruirech said as he sat next to Fis on the bench opposite Bee.

  “We understand the need,” Fis said, grinning.

  “So, tell me about this reading of auras,” Bee said. She couldn’t be sure in the dancing light, but Ruirech seemed to be blushing.

  He kept silent for several moments before holding up his hands and saying, “I confess, I lied. I’ve no such ability.”

  “Now there’s a revelation,” Bee said, with a laugh.

  “I’m glad you see the funny side.”

  I wouldn’t recommend repeating it, so I wouldn’t, she wanted to say, but instead asked, “So, how did ye know I’m a witch?”

  “Your brother told me to expect you?”

  Bee felt her mouth drop in shock. She tried to force several questions out at the same time, and it just materialised as an explosion of air. Ruirech sat watching her, his head tilted, and his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire.

  “But how? I mean, when?”

  “They were here last night and left this morning.”

  “Ye’ve a portal here?”

  “A portal? No, what gave you that idea?”

  “We heard them leave through the portal at Sliabh Culinn.”

  “Which brings me to my confession,” Fis said. Bee looked at him and shook her head. This night of revelations was making her head spin.

  “Well,” she prompted.

  “They did not leave by the portal. One of them… probably Dornalai… stepped in and out again, so the alarm would ring twice. It is a small flaw in the design, but I did it that way on purpose, so that we could keep our comings and goings somewhat hidden from Whitehead.”

  “Why?” Bee wondered.

  “She is an outstanding commander, leads the Maidens exceptionally well, but her loyalty to Dagda is unwavering. Danu warned us not to underestimate her. We fear she is reporting our progress back to Dagda. Do you know how loyal she is to your liege?” Bee nodded. “She is constantly sending Maidens to your Master with messages.”

  “That’s lame, so it is. Can’t ye do better?”

  Steepling his fingers under his fuzzy chin, Fis sat looking at her askance. “It is the truth, Bee,” he finally said.

  “So, ye think me disloyal?”

  “No. We believe you will help rather than hinder us.”

  “Why?”

  “You convinced Whitehead to muster the Maidens without Dagda’s permission. Dagda must not learn about the dagger and the compass. He believes we failed.”

  “Ye think he hasn’t already been told?” Bee asked.

  Fis took a pull from his ale before saying, “If he knew, he would have done something.”

  Aye, maybe, she thought. If he did know and hadn’t done anything, Bee needed to know why. Or maybe, sending her into the Kingdoms was Dagda doing something.

  “And what about the humans around us?” Bee asked, nodding at Ruirech, who winked at her, causing her to press her lips firmly together. She wanted to give him a tongue lashing but thought in the present company he was probably the closest thing to an ally.

  “Ruirech is our ally. He has been since the beginning. Can I trust you not to inform your Master?” Bee nodded.

  “I’m in no position to tell Dagda anything.”

  Fis hesitated, regarding her with his intense eyes. Finally, he said, “What you have no doubt heard about the relationship between Danu and Dagda is only part of the story. If your Master learns that Danu ordered us to destroy his tools, there would be a Civil War in the Realm. It is bad enough that we face a threat from outside, but to also face one from within is unconscionable. It would be the end of the Realm.”

  “Why didn’t ye destroy the other sets?” Bee asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  “Pride, I am afraid. Simple pride. Like all artists, we are proud of our best work.”

  In other circumstances, Bee might have believed Fis. Now, though, she was sure there was little in his words that was true, if anything. Something kept nagging at the back of her mind. Somewhere in all his intricate weaves, he’d made a mistake, but she was too tired to pinpoint exactly where. Looking at Ruirech, she could see that he was also not as trusting as he was trying to appear.

  “When did ye discover yer friend was in fact a God?” she asked.

  The rebel stared at her for several moments before saying, “Just after my father died.”

  “It came as a shock?”

  “Of course.”

  Aye, of course, and it is causing ye to feel a little maltreated by Danu’s Three. And not just the Gods, probably by all the Tuatha.

  Turning to Fis, she saw he was not happy about the direction the conversation had taken and decided to change the subject. The last thing she needed was for the God to realise where her suspicions were taking her.

  “I’ll be going to Breshlech,” she said.

  “What, now?” Ruirech asked, one eyebrow raised and his habitual smirk creasing the corners of his mouth.

  “Aye. I can’t see any point in waiting here.”

  “I will come too,” Fis said.

  “There’s no—”

  “Once again, witch, you mistake my words, thinking them to be a request. I am not asking for your permission. I, too, need to get to Breshlech.”

  “In that case, I can’t see any point in my sitting on my arse around here. I’ll come too,” Ruirech added, making Bee realise she should have waited for the night and snuck away quietly.