By the time Scamp was fully awake, he’d forgotten the demon’s name. When did he ever forget anything? Never. His memory was renowned throughout Caer Scál’s settlement.

  Think, Scamp, think.

  Not that the name had been simple, but it hadn’t been complicated either. Not really. He’d memorised the tricky phrase in a strange language to call the demon, which had been a lot tougher.

  He saw Nechtan sitting on a log, chin resting on a fist, a spiked war hammer across his knee.

  Cac.

  “On yer feet, sweet cheeks,” the slaver said before walking over and hauling Scamp up by the scruff of his jerkin.

  Upthog was making noises, trying to speak through her gag. Scamp couldn’t tell if she was trying to encourage him or discourage Nechtan. He didn’t suppose it mattered because the slaver ignored her, dangling Scamp on his tiptoes, playing for approval from his cronies.

  “I’d wager yah’d not thought to see me again so soon?” he asked, giving Scamp a shake.

  “I knew you were coming.”

  “What’s this, now?”

  “Do you remember what I said to you on the ship?” Scamp asked, trying to give himself a chance. Fighting desperately to remember the name Marbh had said as he was waking. He wondered why he needed to call the demon—wondered why he needed to ask it for help. He’d not called it at the fords across the Big River when the bees swarmed in his defence.

  Or was that a different demon, or even a coincidence? No, not coincidence. As Upthog said then, the way the bees behaved had not been natural, dividing to attack different guards with equal ferocity. And then he remembered praying for help from Dhuosnos while sitting in the cramped space of the barrel. The giant must have ordered the demon to help him, which he supposed would be the same.

  “In the ship?” Nechtan asked, dragging Scamp back to his plight. “All I remember is yah squealing like a wee piggy. Afraid of a little darkness.”

  “Well, I’ll make you squeal this time. Only you’ll be squealing like a sow.”

  “There’s summat I’d pay to see,” Nechtan said into his ear, the same stink of rotting gums and Mead causing Scamp to gag.

  “You still haven’t washed, losán.”

  What did she call it?

  “So, what did yah tell me in the ship, dailtín? Got me curious, I must admit.”

  “I told you I’d call a demon.”

  The four standing in the glade shot each other glances at the words. Scamp thought there might be some nervousness in the slaver’s band of cutthroats.

  “Ah, yeah, now yah say it, I do recall. What are yah then, a summoner?” Nechtan asked, looking around at his men. “Youse think ee’s a summoner, lads?”

  The question caused chuckles around the glade. Scamp thought them a little forced, or hoped they were forced, perhaps. Nechtan was trying to lift the flagging spirits of those who served him.

  “Yes. I am the Last Summoner. Dhuosnos’s saviour, or disciple.” I’m the bringer of destruction. Your destruction, cnapán.

  Strangely, he almost liked the sound of that one. It had a particular chime, like the bell on the ship they’d used to ring the hour. Ding! Scamp, the bringer of destruction. Scamp The Destroyer. He chuckled.

  “Something funny, boy?”

  “No. I was just thinking of my role as The Destroyer.” Watching the others, he could see their nervous chuckling had given way to fidgeting.

  “Aye. I can see it. Ya’ve such an air of power to ya. Make me wanna shite me triús, so ya do.”

  Scamp felt his face flush at the gales of laughter around the clearing. Even the horses seemed to laugh as they whinnied at their riders’ mirth. He felt an edge of panic and a tear pricking the corner of his eye just as the name came to him.

  Bábdíbir. She called it Bábdíbir.

  He thought of Marbh’s words and said, “You think your master will succeed, Nechtan?”

  “My Master? What nonsense is this? I’m me own master, so I am.”

  Scamp couldn’t see the slaver’s face, but he could see the faces of the others. They had stopped laughing and returned to glancing at each other nervously. They seemed less confident than their leader wanted them to be. Perhaps they were superstitious, like sailors and warriors.

  I hope dreams are real.

  “I am warning you, Nechtan. Let me go.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Nechtan hesitated, letting Scamp back down onto his feet. He thought his words were getting through because the slaver had also stopped shaking him.

  Is he thinking?

  Finally, he said, “Nah, it’s just shite. Must be.”

  His Dah always said, “Don’t threaten unless you intend to make good on it.” It was usually before a beating when Scamp grabbed whatever was to hand to defend himself or his mother. As a lesson, it was one of the few that stuck, mostly because his defiance proved futile, and they both got the beating anyhow.

  “Bábdíbir, help me,” he said in a firm voice that spoke of his confidence. He hoped Nechtan couldn’t feel him shaking or smell his fear. He thought he might have because it wasn’t long before Nechtan started shaking him again, saying, “I’ll make yah pay for yah little joke, so I will.”

  “It wasn’t a joke.”

  “Aye, well, yah’ll pay anyway.”

  Scamp felt shame creep into the colour of his cheeks as a dawning realisation settled on Upthog’s face. Just as he’d failed to help his Mah, he’d now failed to help his only friend, who stood by him through most of his recent troubles. Ultimately, his dreams had meant nothing.

  Sorry, Upthog.

  Only the Tuatha knew what the slaver was planning, but Scamp knew it wouldn’t be any fun, at least not for them.

  “Get the woman in the cart. I’ll deal with her after. First, I’m taking this one into the woods.”

  “Are ye sure, Nechtan?” someone asked. Scamp thought he could hear pleading in the tone.

  “Do as I say.”

  “What about the Master’s—” the same man tried before Nechtan interrupted.

  “Didn’t ye hear? I’ve no master. Now, do as I say.”

  “Aye,” the same someone said, their pleading replaced with resignation.

  “Come on, sweet cheeks. It’s time, so it is.”

  Scamp struggled as Nechtan hauled him into the deeper shadows, but it was hopeless, just as it had been on the ship. The man had an iron grip, and nothing Scamp could do was apt to loosen it. The slaver carried him like a sack of feathers, laughing as he walked. The harder Scamp struggled, the louder Nechtan laughed.

  “Yah should relax. Try an’ enjoy yerself.”

  Scamp opened his mouth to tell Nechtan what he thought of that idea when a scream erupted from the clearing. He’d never heard such an anguished noise that sounded less than human. The growling roar that followed soon after sounded like something from Scamp’s worst nightmares—something demonic.

  “Wait here,” Nechtan said, dropping Scamp into the loam and running back towards the clearing.

  “Sure. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Although he was being sarcastic, Scamp would have loved to stay where he was and maybe go back to sleep for a while, but two things prevented him. He couldn’t leave Upthog to whatever was roaring and causing the screams in the clearing, and he was curious to see what exactly it might be. It sounded like a ferocious beast, and he wanted to watch it destroy the slaver. He wanted to see the man pay for what he’d done, or more accurately, threatened to do.

  When he got back to the clearing, it took some little time for Scamp to make sense of the scene. There were three or four bodies. Limited firelight meant it was difficult to tell precisely how many. He thought the slaver had brought four riders with him, so that would make sense. Nechtan was on the far side of the clearing, holding the monster at bay with a long lance. Standing the height of one and a half men, the beast seemed hairy and clawed, with spikes sticking out from its shoulders and chest. Scamp wondered how Nechtan managed to keep it at bay. It swiped at the lance with massive claws but couldn’t break the sturdy shaft. Eventually, tilting its head back, it roared in frustration. Scamp gasped because the beast was remarkably like a…

  “Bear. Come on, bear. Come get yah medicine from Nechtan,” the slaver goaded, jabbing the lance to keep the beast at bay.

  Watching the scene, Scamp realised the slaver was getting the upper hand. The bear, although massive, was tiring, probably because of blood loss. There were at least four arrows in it.

  They’re like Upthog’s. He could tell that Nechtan was going to beat the beast. The man has the lives of a cat.

  With the thought, he saw one of the man’s lunges strike the beast’s abdomen and blood gush. The slaver dropped his lance and drew his sword. It would only be a short time before the bear died, and Nechtan would return to whatever he had planned.

  Scamp began to run around the clearing, searching for the cart. He found it beside where the slavers had tethered their horses. Climbing up, he found Upthog on her back, staring into the night with wild eyes. Kneeling beside her, he tried to loosen her bonds, but they were too tight. She started making frantic noises through her gag, and he undid the knot, which was less tight than the ropes.

  “Get me knife,” she said. “Quick.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a strap hanging between me breasts.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hurry up, boy, there’s no time for coyness.”

  Pulling her jerkin forward, he fumbled between her breasts for the knife. “Why didn’t they take it?”

  “They were about to search me when yer demon arrived. What is it?”

  “Bear.”

  “A bear?” she asked disbelievingly. “Quick, cut the bonds.”

  As soon as she was free, Upthog told him to stay in the cart as she slipped over the side and vanished into the shadows. Shortly after she’d gone, the bear bellowed what could only be its death cry, and everything fell silent. The silence was quickly filled by grunting and snorting, sounds of someone straining.

  Eventually, those noises also ceased.

  Moments later, Nechtan appeared at the back of the cart. “Where’s the cailleach?”

  What was that noise? Is my demon dead?

  Despite his fear, Scamp felt the strength of something, like he was buzzing with the force of a lightning bolt. “You never learn, do you, Nechtan? Still, you come on, even though my demon has killed your men.”

  “That was no demon. It was a bear.”

  “Controlled by my demon.” Nechtan laughed as heartily as he had before a forest animal savaged his men.

  He’s as much an animal as the bear.

  “Just a forest bear defending territory, I reckon,” he said as he climbed into the cart. His sword was dripping blood. His grip on the hilt hinted at grim intentions. Walking forward, Nechtan raised the blade, grinning at him.

  “Your last chance is now,” Scamp said.

  “Is that so?” Nechtan asked, coming to stand before him.

  Scamp closed his eyes and waited for the strike. It never came. Instead, he heard a thump like someone had thrown a sack of supplies into the back of the cart.

  “Sorry I took so long. I had to find me bow. Someone used it against yer bear.”

  Opening his eyes, Scamp saw Nechtan lying beside him, face to the cart bed, an arrow sticking out from the base of his skull where it joined his neck.

  “They’re all dead,” he said.

  “Aye, but what about the flip side of the coin.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’ve no need to go into the port for supplies and horses.”