He’d welcomed the sun at first, but the longer they walked through the foothills, the more Scamp resented it. He realised walking in the heat was almost as hard as walking in the sheeting rain. The biggest difference was that they didn’t risk falling off a cliff. No, the danger now was being visible for miles.

  Upthog didn’t care. She obviously thought speed would keep them safe, no doubt forgetting Volt’s men were mounted.

  Not that this is good horse country, he thought and then laughed.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Not cracking up, I hope. Are ye sure, boy, ye’re able for the pace?”

  Cac on you.

  In truth, he was surprised he could laugh and not sure he could keep up the pace. They’d only been walking for a couple of hours, and his legs felt leaden. Upthog was dragging the poor donkey along like she thought a sudden flood would wash away the fords at the iron mine.

  He was on his way to the fords and not to the gallows in Murias, so he should be grateful for that. However, Upthog had been lost inside her head since leaving the cave; her question was the most words she’d spoken to him since they’d set off. The heat from the early morning sun made him sweat, and her lack of talk made him surly—but not only surly. After much thought, he’d returned to the idea that Upthog had killed the Guards and was again sure her moodiness stemmed from the brutal way she freed him from the granary.

  Grateful I’m not at the end of a rope? Cac on gratitude.

  He remembered his words in the fugue of early wakefulness: it’s all cac. Then seeing the bodies… no, not bodies… seeing the mess, his conviction that none of it was real had taken a beating because he couldn’t bear the alternative. He needed answers, and there was only one place to get them.

  “How far is it?” he asked, more to start a conversation than through a need to know.

  “Thirty leagues as the eagle flies. Should take five, maybe six days. If we don’t dally.”

  Dallying, he thought, was unlikely. Upthog said he’d bought them some time, accusing Kathvar of witchery. Still, he was unsure. Not of the accusation causing trouble but of Volt. In the short time he’d known the stubbly blond, he didn’t think the Chief’s Champion would be one easily diverted from a chosen course. The White Cloak put him in mind of a wolfhound with the shinbone of a stag.

  Not unlike this woman, he realised.

  With the realisation, Scamp watched the bow banging against Upthog’s back and wondered where she learnt to use it. He thought learning to draw such a weapon would take many summers. The strength alone would not develop quickly. She’d killed two men at distance with speed and accuracy, not something everyone could do.

  Something few could do, he amended. Before realising, he was trying to distract himself from the fear that everything his Mah used to frighten him was true. Were the monsters all real? If they were, it meant his dreams were not dreams but messages. Upthog had said as much. She also said she’d been watching him, which frightened Scamp. Frightened and intrigued him. What was she after that convinced her to give up her revenge? He didn’t doubt she intended to use him. The only question was how.

  That’s why she saved me from hanging. Double-cac on gratitude.

  She saved him from hanging but was loath to admit the part she’d played. It didn’t make any sense to him. It seemed to contradict what he knew about her. Upthog wasn’t someone who appeared timid about her achievements. If anything, freeing him from the granary broke the mould. Unless, of course, it was true, and it hadn’t been her. The only way for him to discover the truth would be to delve—to ask her. He wanted to ask so much but didn’t know where to begin. Perhaps the best approach would be to work the conversation around to a reason to ask the question he wanted answered.

  What conversation? he thought and grinned. He couldn’t dig if she didn’t talk.

  “I heard working the mine’s a killer,” he tried.

  “Wouldn’t know. Never worked a mine.”

  “They say miners spend all day crouched over.”

  “So what.”

  “Where are you from, you know, before?”

  “Born in a steading south of Lúr Cinn Trá, on the slopes of Mount Solitude.”

  At last, a complete sentence.

  “That’s where you saw them trackers coming? The day your brother died?”

  “Aye. Now, can we change the subject? Thinking about it makes me wanna puke.”

  Scamp frowned and wondered how he could broach what he wanted to talk about when she was so reticent. He decided the next place to try was probably at the beginning.

  “You seem to know a deal about the Four,” he said. Upthog gave a just perceptible nod. “When was the last Scourge? After the floods, I know, but when?” Kathvar had tried to teach him, but he’d had no interest. He still had no interest but could think of no other way to get her talking.

  Upthog gazed back at him. She had a contemplative expression, which made him feel self-conscious. Eventually, she said, “Over a thousand summers. About three hundred summers before the rebel Ruirech took back his throne. Some would say the next one’s long overdue.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Scamp had a vague recollection of Kathvar telling him about the war between a rebel and King Balor. Something about a wall and a gorge and a merciless end to the fighting. He couldn’t recall any details.

  “Overdue?” he asked.

  “Aye. Long overdue.”

  She sounds like she would welcome one.

  Her tone sounded regretful. Scamp wondered how anyone might crave the release of Dhuosnos and the Four before catching himself. It was as though he’d accepted the legends were true.

  There’s another story behind it. There must be.

  But if a human had created the mess outside the granary, then maybe it was time for a scourge. He wasn’t one to show too much interest. That said, he did listen to the visiting filí talking about conquest, wars and famine—talking about how teidhmwas rife on the mainland. Conquest. War. Pestilence. Death. The Four. Dhuosnos’s disciples.

  “You believe in… well, all that stuff. What d’you think killed the White Cloaks?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. Whatever I come up with ain’t good.”

  “Must have been something monstrous.” She shrugged again. “D’you think shape changers exist?”

  The question caused Upthog to stop and level an expression on him he would have found curious in other circumstances. Now, though, it made his heartbeat pick up. He felt sure she was about to tell him something. Instead, she asked him to give his tongue a rest and continued walking.

  He was about to ask her why she was afraid to talk about it when he caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned, but whatever it was had gone.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Save yer energy for walking, boy. It’s a long road, and ye’ll need it.”

  “But—”

  “What is it about that mouth? Shut yer eineach and walk.”

  Cac on walking.

  ***

  As an eagle, he sat on a branch and watched the two leading a donkey along a deer track. They were heading south, which was good in a way. However, he couldn’t allow them to get to The Point too quickly. The longer they took, the weaker the giant would become. He could do nothing himself. The Lord of Darkness would notice the changes required for any intervention. Dhuosnos had already noticed his use of Earth Power. He picked up on anything more than little splashes of magic, which was unfortunate. Eventually, he would face Darkness openly, but he was not ready. Not yet. Even though weakened, Dhuosnos was still too strong.

  Sitting on his perch, he recognised he’d been a fool. Still, when he cut the White Cloaks’ throats outside the granary, intending to open the door and let the boy out, he couldn’t resist the urge to feast as a wolf. He’d always wondered what it would be like—the sense of power and nobility. The sense of pack, although he was a lone wolf. He preferred to rely on his abilities rather than others. That aside, his little act, falling to the pull of curiosity, tipped his hand.

  Stupidity.

  His figaries cost him the surprise he had been relying on. It wasn’t even worth it because the woman arrived, interrupting his feast. He could have attacked her instead of running, but he knew the noise would alert the settlement. Besides, he also suspected she would guide the boy south. That would make his task so much easier. To succeed, he needed the boy in the dungeon with the witch. Getting him away from North Kingdom would be a good start. After killing the trackers, the woman had to run and was sure to take the boy across the Narrow Sea. Still, it wasn’t just that. He sensed something in her. What could he call it other than something? Maybe a force of will that he’d seldom come across. His own had served him for years, which he’d not noticed in others. In some ways, he found it refreshing to realise he was not completely alone.

  Can I recruit her? he wondered, knowing his goal would be made easier with allies.

  But then, he realised he wouldn’t have time. He needed all the time available to build the strength required. With Volt out of the way and the woman guiding the boy, he could relax his vigil and concentrate on siphoning the Earth Power he would need it to have even the remotest chance of success. But he would also need to delay their progress.

  But how to delay them?

  He thought he knew one way to hold them back. Maybe a good way, as long as his servant didn’t get out of control. He had a tendency to lose his way.

  It’s a risk I must take.

  Shaking his head, he ruffled his black and gold feathers and flew southeast towards Murias.

  ***

  “Spit it out, boy,” she said, staring at him across the fire. They were in yet another of her seemingly countless hideaways.

  “You agreed to call me Scamp.”

  “Aye, I did. But that was when ye weren’t being a pain in me polltóna.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Ye ain’t stopped chinning since we left the cave.”

  Scamp stared at her with his mouth open. They’d been walking all day without speaking. Even when they stopped to eat, they didn’t say more than a handful of words to each other. They’d not spoken since he’d been sure she was about to open up and talk to him when he’d seen a flash of colour behind a rock, which had caused her to lose her temper. She’d spoken more to the donkey than she had to him.

  “That ain’t fair.”

  “Here’s news, boy, nought in this life is fair. Life’s a great pile of shite.”

  He opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a snap before realising he agreed. Since he’d been old enough to know the difference, his life had been trying to evade Kathvar or his Dah or listening to his Mah weep after a beating—not a life he would recommend to others. His only release had been lighting fires and watching the flames, which made Kathvar go after him even harder. And now she said it proved he was one with Darkness, ironically, hunted by the Four and now by Volt’s trackers, too. His destiny was to release the Scourge on humankind. A scourge she told him had not happened for thousands of summers.

  She’s right—life’s shite.

  “Ye gonna spit it out, no?” she repeated.

  “Why won’t you talk about shape changers?” he asked, sick of trying to work around to it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “When I ask, you change the subject or get angry.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Was it a shape changer killed them two guards?”

  “How do I know? Ye know as much as me, boy.”

  Now, that, I don’t believe.

  “Was it you?”

  When she stood and walked to the back of the cave to tend to Rosie instead of answering, he thought he was right; it had been Upthog who brutally killed the two women. When they’d first run, he decided to leave while she slept. Watching her tend to the donkey, he was even more determined. He would sneak out after the witching hour. He should be able to live in the forest, evade capture, make a roundhouse in some forgotten glade. He should be able to forget any of this had happened.

  Finally, she came and sat. Scamp couldn’t look at her; sure he would reveal his fear and disgust and his plan to depart. He had admired her strength, but no longer. He couldn’t admire anyone who was so bloodthirsty.

  “Look at me, Scamp.” She spoke the words quietly, but like in her roundhouse, what seemed so long ago, he was unable to resist the command. “I did not kill those guards. They were dead when I got back.”

  While she spoke, he kept eye contact. If he hadn’t known her inner strength, he would have believed every word. However, he knew her better than she thought.

  “Right.”

  Cac on you, Upthog.