All he might say about Balor’s Canyon was that it scared him half to death. It was a collection of jagged rocks of varying brown hues, deep, shadowed gorges, narrow paths of treacherous footing, and black openings leading to only the Tuatha knew what monstrous lairs of the fearsome Fomorii of legend. As well as the ruggedness of the mountains and the path’s difficulty, the canyon lacked all sound. Not even the sound of pebbles rolling down scree slopes broke the silence, which he’d come to expect when walking with Upthog in the foothills of the Impassable Mountains. Upthog had explained how shy animals dislodged the stones. He thought plenty of shy animals would be in the gorge, but it was as if all creatures, whether great or small, had forsaken Balor’s domain.

  What drove them away?

  They’d been tramping the narrow paths in near silence for several days, leading their horses because it was too risky to ride. In some ways, Scamp was happy to be walking. In others, he wished to see the back of The Western Wall as soon as possible.

  The scenery, the hardship, and the silence, were taking their toll on him.

  The only respite had been when they crossed the wide pass with a meandering road shortly after they entered the mountains. Mesroeda said the road led to West Kingdom’s wall, their defence against a Fomorii invasion or any other invasion.

  And now this.

  The chasm made Scamp wonder why Mesroeda had said it would be better to come this way than to risk the forest. It appeared to be deep. A thick fog in its base was tinged orangey-pink by whatever was flowing. Judging by the sulphurous stench and the heat he guessed it to be fire of some description. Scamp had heard of mountains that spewed burning rivers and thought this might be one of them.

  Further up the canyon, he could see a black bridge spanning the gap. It was narrow and without a parapet. Scamp felt nervous at the thought of crossing it. He thought only a fool wouldn’t.

  Risk of falling aside, a tall fortress stood on the opposite bank where the bridge crossing ended. From his vantage atop a jagged rock, Scamp could see the path they were following ran into a tunnel under the fort. Cliffs marked the path’s edges, and a portcullis barred it, but there was no way forward except under the castle.

  “The only way across is by the bridge,” he said. Mesroeda hawked and spat, saying nothing.

  The fortress appeared old as if it had stood for a thousand summers, and if not for the lights glowing from several turrets, Scamp would have thought it unoccupied. The central tower stuck into the roiling grey sky like a needle pointing to Tír na nóg.

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  “What’s the castle called?” he asked.

  Mesroeda shook his head and said, “I didn’t know about this chasm. Or the castle.”

  “What now, then?” Scamp asked.

  “Now?” Mesroeda said, his cheek dancing. “Now we carry on.”

  Now, we carry on? Across that? “Who’s in the castle?”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you to listen, boy?” Mesroeda asked before shrugging, grinning, and spitting again. “I don’t know anything about this castle.”

  Scamp wasn’t sure if the guard was telling the truth or just wouldn’t say. Either way, he didn’t feel satisfied with the answer. The more time Scamp spent with this man, the less he liked him. Something was wrong with the King’s Guard, constantly spitting, twitching, grinning, and treating Scamp like a child. The other one, Mac Da Tho, was a bit of a nonentity. He said little and brooded a lot. It was as if he didn’t want to be in their company or even in Middle Kingdom. Scamp often found himself wondering why the man had come.

  With the moon blessed and the brooder, he found the trek quite lonely. He hadn’t even spoken to Bábdíbir in several hours. Scamp thought he heard distant rumblings occasionally, like a storm not yet arrived, but couldn’t be sure it was the demon. Upthog told him all he needed to do was listen, and he would hear, but try as he did, he still only heard the rumblings of distant thunder.

  I should have stayed with her.

  Scamp knew the sentiment was foolish. He’d decided to leave her and now had to live by it. Rather than wishing the past hadn’t occurred, trying to discover a way to break the trap he found himself in would be a better use of his effort. He didn’t have any doubt it was a trap and Mesroeda had some scheme or other in his saddlebags. What it might be, he couldn’t decide. Truth be told, he missed Upthog’s guidance, but that was something else he needed to get over.

  “I don’t like the look of the bridge,” he said.

  “You afraid of a bridge?” Mesroeda asked with a disdainful expression.

  “I’m not afraid of the bridge but of falling into the chasm.”

  “We won’t cross the bridge, boy. Those in the fort would use us for target practice.”

  The only other way is down.

  Scamp stared down into the sulphurous gorge with a shudder. “You think I’m climbing into that, then you’re badly mistaken.”

  “We won’t be climbing down anywhere. Show yourself, demon.”

  Scamp watched as the air shimmered at the base of the rock, and Bábdíbir appeared. The demon had grown again since Mesroeda last called. Upthog said it would be massive by the time they reached Bull’s Head Rock, and, with its current growth rate, he was beginning to understand her fear. If it continued growing at the same rate, by the time they reached the prison of Dhuosnos’s disciples, Bábdíbir would be large enough to squash them under its metal boots.

  “There are said to be two passes,” Mesroeda said.

  “There are two passes, master.”

  Why is it calling Mesroeda master? I summoned it.

  “Do you know where the other pass is?”

  “I do.”

  “Take us there.”