Morwen pointed to the west. “There.”
Smoke rose from a village at the foot of a neighboring forest. They had reached the wilds. Berengar kicked his horse in the sides and started toward Tulach Mhór. Most of the villagers were hard at work tending to chores when Berengar and Morwen drew near. He expected the people to greet his arrival with the familiar looks of unease and mistrust that followed him wherever he went, but the men and women of Tulach Mhór seemed not to notice him. Instead, their attention had fixed on a wagon emerging from the woods.
Shouts broke out, drawing more still from their huts, and the church bell began to ring. Berengar’s gaze fell on the wagon, which bore two occupants. The first—the driver—gripped the reins in one hand. His other arm dangled uselessly to one side. Berengar noticed a deep gash across his neck.
The driver looked over his shoulder at the passenger, who lay flat on the back of the wagon, and called for help. When the wagon neared the well, it rattled to a final stop, and the man in the back uttered a low moan.
Berengar and Morwen approached for a better look as a crowd formed around the wagon.
“What happened?” a portly villager asked the driver. “Did you kill it?”
The driver ignored the question. Like his companion, he wore heavy armor and was well armed. Monster hunters. Judging from the bait in the back, they had probably just returned from a hunt.
The driver released his hold on the reins and stumbled to his friend’s side. “Hold on, Baldrick. I’m going to get you help.”
Baldrick’s mouth opened but produced only rasping, shallow breaths. A blow had caved in his chest plate.
Berengar glanced at Morwen. “Only something big could have done that.”
“We need a healer!” The driver searched the villagers’ faces in vain. “Are there none who will help us?”
Morwen stepped forward before Berengar could restrain her. “I’m a healer.” When Baldrick coughed up blood, her expression said it all—the monster hunter was a dead man. “I’ll do what I can for you both.”
“You can use my hut,” one of the crowd volunteered.
“Help him inside,” Morwen said to the others. “Be gentle.”
Berengar lowered his voice to a whisper. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Those are monster hunters, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Morwen put her hands on her hips. “They need my help all the same. I didn’t take an oath to heal only those who deserve it. It’s not like I’m planning on announcing that I’m a magician to the whole village. Besides, the villagers might be more willing to help if we prove useful.”
He scowled at her. “You have a good heart. It’ll get you killed one day if you’re not careful.”
“Duly noted. Why don’t you ask around and see what you can learn while I’m busy?” She hurried into the hut before he could reply.
“Come on, Faolán. Let’s go.” He approached the local constable, who lingered by the monster hunters’ wagon. “What’s going on here?”
The constable pointed out a bounty posted outside the church. “Something’s been prowling about the woods of late—snatching pigs and goats. When the priest went missing some weeks back, the village finally pooled enough money to hire a team of monster hunters.”
Berengar inspected the crude drawing, which depicted a large, brutish creature. “What’s this supposed to be?” It didn’t look like any monster he’d ever seen.
“An ogre, I think—or else a troll. It’s hard to say, really. Not that many have seen it. Most folk tend to keep away from the forest these days.”
“You’re the village constable. Shouldn’t you know what it is?”
“And you think I should track the beast to its lair and finish it myself? I’m a constable, not a monster hunter. I leave that sort of work to others.” He looked Berengar up and down. “I don’t suppose you’d be up to the task? You look like a man who knows how to use that axe.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Berengar said under his breath. “Is this the only monster that’s troubling you?”
The question drew a derisive laugh from the constable. “You’re in the wilds now. This creature is the least of our concerns.” He nodded at a string of abandoned huts along the forest’s edge. Most were in ruins. “Goblins did that, and not too long ago either. Between famine, plague, and all the attacks, it’s all most can do just to get by. I suspect it’s on account of our proximity to the Giant’s Foot. Most believe the ruin is haunted.”
“Haunted?”
“Aye. The earth shakes there sometimes. It’s said that inhuman whispers can be heard if one sets foot there in dark of night. But it’s been that way since anyone can remember. These monster attacks are new. We’ve sent emissaries to Dún Aulin to plead for help, but the crown ignores us. It’s almost enough to make one long for the days of mages and magicians.” He looked around, as if to make sure he hadn’t been overheard. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Berengar stared at the woods. Perhaps Godfrey’s suspicions were well-founded. “I’m looking for someone—a small woman with black hair I believe is in the area. She may have arrived recently.”
The constable stroked his beard. “I can’t say the description is familiar. We haven’t had any newcomers that I’m aware of, save for yourselves and the monster hunters. Are you quite sure you don’t want to lend a hand with the beast? People here don’t have much, but they would see to it you’re compensated for your troubles.”
“Sorry. I have other matters to see to at the moment.”
The constable made no effort to hide his disappointment. “In that case, I must take my leave. I have to convince Gretta Cruickshank her son Irvine isn’t under a spell.”
Berengar frowned. “What sort of spell?”
“The lad’s taken to sleepwalking to the old granary. His mother found him with a plate of food in his hands. When she woke him, Irvine claimed he was lured out of his bed by a beautiful song. Naturally, his mother thinks some magical creature has bewitched him.” The constable waved his hand, as if to dismiss the notion.
Berengar suppressed a smirk. Given her blue skin, pointed ears, and other features, it made sense Azura would want to hide herself from the villagers while she waited to meet with whoever hired her to steal the blade. Using her voice to enthrall Irvine to bring her food would allow her to remain out of sight by day.
He left the constable to his work and led his horse to the granary, another of the forsaken buildings along the village’s periphery. Shadows danced at the granary’s entrance, where one door had fallen off its hinges. No sound came from within. Berengar cautioned Faolán and approached slowly with his hand on the hilt of his blade.
Horses’ hooves shattered the calm, and Azura charged from the barn on horseback, headed for the woods. Berengar threw himself aside, swung himself onto his mount, and took off after her. He pulled within an arm’s length and nearly grabbed her cloak before having to veer from his path to avoid hitting a tree. When he looked up, Azura’s horse fled deeper into the woods without its rider.
Berengar jerked back on the reins and brought his horse to a standstill. Where did she go? He glanced from side to side, but Azura was nowhere among the falling leaves.
Laughter came from above, where Azura sat perched on a branch. A pair of translucent wings protruded from her back, and Berengar realized how it was Azura had disappeared into thin air after stealing the thunder rune.
“Did you really think you could sneak up on me?” Azura cocked her head to one side and playfully tapped one of her pointed ears. “These aren’t for show, you know.”
“Get down from there.”
Her smile widened but conveyed no ill will. “I thought you would have tired of chasing me by now, Warden Berengar. I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me be? I have somewhere to be very shortly.”
“I’m not leaving here without the blade. I’ll cut down the bloody tree if I have to.”
Azura sniffed at
the air, and her brow furrowed suddenly.
“What is it?”
Faolán began to growl. At that moment, an arrow whizzed by Berengar’s head. Azura flew from the branch and tackled him off his horse before a second arrow found its mark.
“Goblins.”
Berengar and Azura stood side-by-side as goblins emerged from the brush to surround them. He whistled to Faolán, who drew the archers’ fire while he sprinted toward them. He split the closest goblin from head to toe and brought his axe around to gut a second only to find himself facing down a goblin archer with his bowstring pulled back. One of Azura’s knives hit the creature’s hand, causing the shot to go awry. Berengar closed the distance between them and beheaded the archer before he nocked another arrow.
Azura bent down to retrieve the knife and cleaned goblin blood from the blade. “Disgusting creatures.” She clearly had no love for goblins.
Berengar turned over the corpse with his foot. It looked like one of the goblins who attacked them at the Institute. “These are only scouts.” Faolán, who remained uneasy at his side, continued growling. Berengar froze. It wasn’t him the goblins were looking for. “Morwen.”
A horn resounded somewhere deeper in the forest. Berengar hurried to his horse as more arrows streamed past them. A whistle from Azura brought her mount running back to her, and they galloped through the forest with the goblins on their trail.
“You must have led them here,” Azura called to him.
“How do you know it wasn’t you they followed?”
Azura glanced at him with a mix of amusement and pride. “As if a band of goblins could track a fairy.” She ducked, avoiding an arrow, and made a chirping sound with her voice. Sparrows flocked from the trees and swarmed the goblins behind Berengar. Tulach Mhór appeared ahead through gaps in the trees, and they emerged from the forest with more goblin horns blaring at their backs.
“Goblins!” someone shouted at the sight of the creatures.
The church bell rang out in warning, and villagers fled in all directions as a second group of goblins descended on Tulach Mhór. The blasted things are everywhere. There were more than he remembered from the Wrenwood and the attack on the Institute. Where did they all come from?
Amid the confusion, he spotted Morwen outside the hut where she had treated the injured monster hunters. She and the monster hunter with the broken arm were surrounded by three goblins on foot. Berengar took the reins in one hand, reached for his axe, and galloped toward her. A goblin with a spear blocked his path, but Berengar continued undeterred and trampled the creature beneath him. A pained roar from the horse let him know the goblin’s attack had been at least partially successful. The monster hunter took one of the goblins with him when he fell. Berengar cut through another with his axe and pulled Morwen up onto the saddle. The trees began to sway when he cast a look back at the forest. Something was headed their way. Something big.
“Azura’s escaping.” She was headed to the Giant’s Foot. Berengar spurred his injured horse forward.
Morwen gripped his shoulders. “What about these people? We can’t leave them!”
“It’s you they’re after. They want the thunder rune, remember?”
As Berengar promised, the goblins left Tulach Mhór in pursuit of them. He shifted his focus to Azura, who leapt off her horse and disappeared into the ruins. Their mount buckled under their weight, throwing them to the earth, and collapsed with a final shudder. Faolán barked to warn them as the goblins closed in on them. Berengar reached for his axe and helped Morwen to her feet. They scrambled up the broken stair after Azura and higher ground. Thorns and vines grew across the walls remaining atop the summit, where tall grasses poked through overturned stones.
Azura muttered to herself at the pile of rubble obscuring the entrance to the ruins. “Something’s wrong. The client should have been here by now…”
Berengar shifted the axe in his hands. “There’ll be time for that later. Those goblins are almost upon us.”
Azura clutched her twin knives and spun around. “Let them come.”
Morwen opened her satchel to retrieve the thunder rune, which pulsed with bright light.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” Berengar had seen before the damage the stone could do, and Morwen’s staff still wasn’t finished.
Morwen, clearly uncomfortable at the prospect of using the stone, clenched her teeth. “We don’t have a choice.”
The three stood back-to-back, each facing an empty archway surrounding the hilltop in a circle. Hisses sounded nearby, and goblins crawled down pillars and until they were encircled.
The ground shook again, and loosened stones fell as a fearsome troll crashed through an archway on its way up the hill. The troll stood three times as tall as a man, and its hulking frame cast a shadow over the earth. It roared with fury and demolished the remnants of the archway with its club. Two ogres—great orange brutes with protruding, flabby bellies—appeared on either side of the troll, also wielding clubs.
Berengar stood his ground. Trolls and ogres were usually solitary creatures. What were they doing working with goblins? Judging from Morwen’s expression, she was thinking the same thing.
The troll and ogres stopped short at the command of Teelah, who no longer wore her helmet. Her eyes narrowed with contempt when they fell on Azura. “Fairy.”
Azura’s brow knotted in anger. “Goblin.”
Teelah ignored Azura and held out her hand to Morwen. “Give us the rune.”
Berengar brandished his axe. “Come and get it.”
He expected the goblins to attack, but instead, many scurried back up the pillars. The sky darkened, and thunder reverberated across the heavens as black clouds gathered above. Sweeping winds bent the scattered trees that grew along the hillside and loosed their leaves.
Morwen clutched her staff and held a hand in front of her face as if to shield herself from an invisible threat.
“What do you feel?” Berengar asked her. “More monsters?”
“Something worse.”
A hush fell over the ruins as the ogres parted to reveal a figure in dark green robes who loomed under an archway.
The robed figure stepped from the shadows. Leaves, vines, and moss grew along bark-like skin. He carried a scythe in one hand, and a sinister dagger hung from his belt unsheathed. His face, hidden behind an antlered elk skull mask, was blackened and burned.
The man with the face of a monster.
“It’s him,” Morwen said. “The man from my vision.”
“Warden Berengar,” a monstrous voice said from within the skull. “It’s been a long time.”
Something about the voice was familiar. Berengar narrowed his gaze at the figure. “Who are you?” The hate-filled eyes looking back at him hardly seemed human.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten me after all this time.” The figure slowly removed his mask, revealing the scarred flesh underneath. “After all, it was you who gave me this face.”
Berengar stared at him with growing realization. “Cathán.”
Chapter Ten
Morwen looked from Berengar to Cathán and back again. “The druid responsible for the purges?”
Berengar’s gaze remained fixed on Cathán’s inhuman visage. “This must be some kind of trick. He’s dead.”
“You of all people should know better than that, Warden Berengar. Do you remember how I pleaded for death after you crushed my hands and held my face to the flames? But you wouldn’t grant me even that small mercy, would you? You left me to live with the pain of my loss.” Cathán returned the skull to its proper place over his face. “You should have finished the job.”
“How did you survive?” If the crowds didn’t kill Cathán, his wounds should have.
“Even without the use of my hands, I had strength enough to escape the city. I fled west, deep into the Elderwood, to die. Then I heard it. The voice of something other.”
“What did you say?” A shiver ran down his spine. He ha
d heard those words before.
“You know of what I speak. A giant with one terrible red eye.”
Berengar’s blood ran cold. “Balor.”
“The King of the Fomorians spoke to me at the point of death. He offered me new life in return for my service. I drank the blood of the Wither Tree and was reborn in this form, more powerful than any druid before me.”
Azura’s eyes widened in alarm. “The Wither Tree is evil. Its cursed blood comes at the price of your soul.”
“I surrendered it willingly.” The druid’s attention lingered on her. “One of the fair folk. How unexpected. You were hidden from my sight in Dún Aulin.” He turned his attention to Morwen. “You, I saw. You have some skill for one so young. There is power in your blood.”
Morwen brandished her staff as a defensive weapon. “It’s not my blood you should concern yourself with.”
Teelah shot Morwen a look clearly meant to dissuade her from antagonizing Cathán any further. “The magician is not like the others. She should not be harmed.”
“Of course. We needn’t be enemies, girl. Magical blood is much too valuable to shed idly. Give me the rune, and I will teach you long-forgotten knowledge and raise you to power hitherto undreamed of.”
“Sorry. I make it a point not to trust anyone who hides his face behind a skull—or anyone who uses the word ‘hitherto’ in a sentence. I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”
Cathán’s voice became a hiss, frightening even some of the goblins. “We are more than human. This world is ours, not theirs, and yet the two of you stand with him? He who butchered goblins by the hundreds and slaughtered my companions at Dún Aulin. The others only wanted to protect magic and nonhumans, and he murdered them for it.”
Berengar pointed his axe at Cathán. “I was there. I saw the alchemists crucified outside the gates. The herbalists hung from the walls. The magicians stoned in the streets. The very people you claimed you wanted to protect. How many innocents died because of you and your friends?”
The City of Thieves Page 17
