Iain’s brow knotted in confusion. “Daughters, you say?”
Berengar frowned. “Aye. Keely and Oriana.” His words seemed to trouble the innkeeper. “What is it?”
“Keely is Varun’s only child. There’s no one from the village by the name of Oriana. Trust me, I’d know if there was.”
Berengar’s mind raced at the revelation. If Oriana isn’t Varun’s daughter, then who is she?
Then it hit him.
I’ve been a fool. There was no Oriana, and there never had been. She was Imogen.
Chapter Fourteen
Margolin’s niece was right under his nose the whole time.
All the pieces fit. After her mysterious disappearance from Castle Blackthorn, Imogen came to Alúine, and Varun, who owed her for saving his daughter’s life, took her in. She then assumed the identity of Oriana when Berengar came looking for her.
Avery was telling the truth. Imogen sought aid at the church after her arrival in the village, which meant Varun’s family wasn’t the only party involved in the deception.
“Godfrey,” he said under his breath. The corner of his mouth twitched in anger. Godfrey might have rescued him from the Dullahan, but it didn’t absolve the friar of lying to him. Still, now he finally knew where to find answers.
Berengar left a befuddled-looking Iain behind and set out from the Green Flagon. He wasted no time making his way to the church. A small number of parishioners lingered around the church. He guessed some had taken refuge on holy ground while the sluagh wandered the village.
The villagers glowered or looked away as he approached. Those inside appeared equally uncomfortable. Berengar was used to being the cause of such discomfort, but to his surprise, they almost seemed to ignore him. Something else had them on edge, though whatever it was, the people refused to speak of it in his presence.
“We need to talk,” he said when he found the friar.
The events of the previous night seemed to have had no effect on Godfrey’s cheerful disposition. “It’s good to see you’re still in one piece, Warden Berengar. I was planning to check on you, but as you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment—something you can help me with, perhaps.”
“Where is she?” Berengar asked, his meaning plain.
Godfrey glanced at those at prayer and lowered his voice. “Outside.”
“Fine.” Berengar waited until they were out of earshot before continuing. “You knew I was looking for Imogen, and you kept her from me.”
“You’re cleverer than you appear.” Godfrey sounded amused. “Aye—I lied to you.”
“Most men who do that come to regret it.”
Godfrey only smiled. For a man of the cloth, he wasn’t easily frightened. That, coupled with his wooden hand and readiness to fight, again hinted at an unusual past.
“We’re on the same side, my friend—or at least I think we are.”
“I’m not your friend,” Berengar snapped. “And you have exactly three seconds to tell me what’s going on before I lose my temper.”
“Although Varun agreed to give Lady Imogen shelter, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her. She came to me for help, and I arranged for Evander to spirit her away to someplace safe, far from here. Imogen made me pledge not to reveal her identity or intentions, and I kept my word.”
“A lot of good your word did her,” Berengar replied, still bitter at having so narrowly missed out on the woman he’d been searching for. “I would have protected her and kept her safe. Now she’s missing again.”
A rider approached the village from the north. The horse galloped into Alúine at full speed on its way to the church. Its rider, a golden-haired woman with a thoughtful face, jerked back on the reins and brought her mount to an abrupt stop just short of them.
“I received your message,” she told Godfrey. “I came as fast as I could.”
“You,” Berengar said. It was Saroise, the bard he’d encountered at Castle Blackthorn. “I should have known you were mixed up in this somehow.”
It was to Saroise that Godfrey had written about the Dullahan, and Oriana—or rather Imogen—had specifically asked Berengar about the bard, who had supposedly done her a great service.
Saroise eyed him warily, a sign her chilly attitude toward him had not warmed since their last encounter. “What are you doing here?”
“My job.” Under the circumstances, he was in no mood for another quarrel. “I’m here for the girl.”
“He knows the truth,” Godfrey told her. “Or enough of it, at any rate.”
Saroise took the news in stride as she dismounted. “Do you trust him?”
Godfrey regarded Berengar for a quick moment. “I believe he wants to find Imogen. More than that, I cannot say.”
Saroise sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I suppose that will have to be enough for now.” She looked around and spoke in a hushed tone, clearly mindful of observers. “We don’t have much time. Is she safe?”
Godfrey quickly recounted the events of the previous night.
“This bodes ill,” Saroise muttered. “The blood moon is tonight. We must find her first, unless the Dullahan has done so already.”
“Imogen fled the village with Keely, Varun’s daughter,” Berengar said. “They were headed for the forest.”
Saroise started toward her horse and looked back at them with one foot in the stirrup. “Well? What are you waiting for? We should leave at once.”
“I’m not going anywhere without answers,” Berengar said. “You still haven’t told me how you’re involved in all this, or what the Dullahan wants with Imogen.”
“Help us save Imogen, and I’ll tell you whatever you desire.”
She doesn’t trust me. Then again, he hadn’t exactly given her a reason to.
A scream rang out before he could press the matter further. Berengar tensed and reached for his sword but eased his hand off the blade when he noticed a young woman hurry into the village. “It’s Keely.” She must have come from the forest. She was alone. Where was Imogen?
Keely stumbled and lost her footing, and a crowd quickly formed in response to her cries. Berengar went to investigate and pushed his way through the throng of villagers.
“They’ve taken Lady Imogen,” Keely said through her tears. “You have to help her.”
The revelation of Imogen’s presence in Alúine, coupled with her possible abduction, touched off a new round of speculation on the part of the villagers, only causing the girl further distress.
“Who’s taken her?” asked Saroise, who knelt beside Keely to comfort her.
Keely wiped her eyes and stifled a sob. “It was Avery. He led the brigands to us.”
That explains Avery’s interest in Imogen, Berengar thought. I should have known. The whole time he’d been searching for Imogen, Laird Margolin’s enemies were doing the same. The role of village tanner was the perfect way for Avery to remain informed of happenings in the area without drawing undesired attention. He’d probably been feeding information to the brigands for years. “Do you know where they took her?”
Keely gave a weak nod. “They have a fort hidden in the woods. I followed them there.”
“How many are there?”
“At least a dozen—maybe more.”
Given the pronounced effects of the curse, those odds put him at a distinct disadvantage, but he didn’t have much of a choice. “Can you show me the way?”
Her voice resonated with newfound resolve. “Aye. I can take you there.”
Saroise addressed the crowd. “People of Alúine. Your lord’s niece, Lady Imogen, has been taken prisoner by brigands. We aim to rescue her. Who here will stand with us?”
Most stared at their feet or averted their gaze.
Berengar spotted Tuck standing among the crowd. “You.” As the village’s sole remaining guard, recovering Imogen was his responsibility too. Besides, current events seemed to have sobered him, at least for the moment. “Time to earn your pay. You’re comi
ng with us.”
Tuck merely nodded without argument and trudged through the ranks of villagers to join them.
“Is there no one else?” Saroise asked.
“These people have no love for Margolin,” Godfrey said. “Some even support the rebels.”
“How many times has Lady Imogen interceded on your behalf to convince her uncle to show mercy?” Saroise demanded of the crowd. “Will you abandon her now in her hour of need?”
Silas stepped forward. Although his disabilities might put him at a disadvantage, his impressive size might give the brigands pause.
“What about the men who accompanied us last night?” Berengar asked Tuck.
“They won’t fight with you. Not after you stood against them to defend goblins.”
That left him with a one-handed friar, a bard, a drunk, and a cripple. As usual, he’d have to do the heavy lifting himself. Berengar trudged toward the barn to collect his horse, leaving the others to follow after.
The brigands’ fort was hidden deep in the forest, near the ruins of Laird Cairrigan’s castle. It was a difficult journey, even on horseback. Berengar’s stiffening muscles and seizing joints limited his mobility and made it difficult to remain in the saddle, though he took pains to conceal his discomfort from his companions.
He trailed behind the others, keeping an eye out for danger. Since Keely had escaped to carry word of Imogen’s capture, the outlaws would be on the lookout, and they wouldn’t let their prisoner go without a fight. Curse or not, with Imogen finally within his reach, Berengar wasn’t leaving without her. He would cut down every man himself if need be.
Saroise fell behind the others and rode beside him.
“Is something bothering you?” Berengar asked, aware of her gaze.
“I asked you before what you would do if you found Imogen.”
“My answer hasn’t changed. I’m taking her back to her uncle.”
“In return for Margolin’s efforts to conceal your deeds at Kildare.” There was a hard edge to her words. “Margolin is treacherous. He’ll never uphold his side of your bargain.” Her eyes lingered on his cursed skin. “Godfrey spoke of the curse the hag placed on you—that you’ll turn to stone unless you bring Imogen to her.”
Berengar returned his attention to the road. “What is it you want from me?”
“I know all the stories about you, Warden Berengar, and the man from those tales wouldn’t hesitate to hand that girl over to the hag to save himself.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m planning to rescue Imogen from the brigands just to give her over?”
“Sometimes stories are wrong. Those in our company give very different accounts about your time here. Did you really defend the goblins in these woods from the villagers?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m trying to decide what kind of man you are.”
“You might not like the answer to your question.” He tried riding ahead, but Saroise persisted.
“Imogen wasn’t abducted by the ogre,” she offered. “She was running away from Blackthorn.”
“How do you know?”
“I helped her escape. Margolin never cared about the ogre—he just wanted you to find his niece. That’s why you can’t bring her back to him.”
“What was she running from?”
Saroise changed the subject abruptly. “How did a man like you come to enter the High Queen’s service? I’ve never heard the tale.”
The question surprised him, though it seemed only fitting a famous bard would want to know the story. He hesitated, considering her request. He rarely broached the subject, and not in many years.
“I’ll tell you, but only if you swear never to speak of it to anyone—same goes for everything that’s happened since the moment I set foot in Castle Blackthorn.”
She raised her hand toward the heavens. “I swear by the elder gods, the Lord of Hosts, and any other powers there may be.”
“Our paths crossed during the war,” Berengar said. “I abducted Nora and rode north. My plan was to take her to Queen Scathach, who had placed a bounty on my head after the death of her son.”
“You were going to turn her over to the Ice Queen to save your own skin?” Her tone conveyed disapproval.
“Nora thought the same. In truth, I wanted the chance to kill Scathach. Presenting her with a rival was the only way I could get close enough to do the job.”
“A foolish plan. From what I’ve heard, you never would have left Dothrunvaggen alive.”
“I didn’t expect to. All I wanted was a chance to kill the queen.”
“So much that you would risk your life?”
“My life wasn’t worth much. Still isn’t. I had my reasons for wanting Scathach dead, and we’ll leave it at that.”
Saroise seemed confused. “Seeing as Nora is High Queen and you’re one of her wardens, it’s clear you never reached Dothrunvaggen.”
Berengar shook his head. “No. We never made it.”
Saroise waited for him to elaborate.
“It probably goes without saying that Nora despised me at the time, and not just because I kidnapped her in the middle of the war. She thought I was a heartless killer, and she was right. I didn’t care for her either. I hated the world. Not much has changed in that regard. I didn’t believe Nora’s talk of bringing peace to Fál. Why should she be any different from any other noble?
“But I underestimated her cunning. Nora escaped and took refuge in a small village. A band of mercenaries found her first. I already had something of a reputation in those days, and the mercenaries offered to cut me in on the reward if I threw in with them. I agreed.
“I still remember that night. It was winter, and snow filled the sky. Nora was bound, unable to help the villagers who had taken her in. She was far too valuable a prize for the mercenaries to harm, but they had no such reservations about the villagers.
“Sometime in the night, they dragged the village elder and his family into the square to make an example of them. The man had a granddaughter—eight, maybe nine years old. She carried a little doll. When they pried her away from her mother, the doll fell into the snow. The mercenaries were too busy reveling in their domination of the village to notice, but Nora did. She told me later I never took my eyes off the doll, like I recognized it from somewhere.
“I killed several mercenaries before the others knew what was happening, and then I cut down the rest. It wasn’t easy. They were experienced and well trained, and Faolán and I were outnumbered. I took a few arrows and cuts but didn’t stop until every last one was dead. Nora said it was like I was possessed by some dark power. She told me it was one of the only times she was truly afraid. When I started toward the village elder, sword in hand, Nora thought I was going to kill him. Instead, I reached into the snow, picked up the doll, and handed it to the girl.”
Saroise regarded him with a strange expression, as if despite the countless number of stories she’d heard as a bard, something about what he’d said nevertheless surprised her. “And you let Nora go?”
“I cut her free and resumed the journey to Dothrunvaggen. We were separated not long after. Nora saw something in me that night, and she’s never given up on me since. She’s the kind of person who believes in people and ideas. She thinks the world is worth fighting for.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then what do you fight for?”
Berengar shrugged. “You asked for the story. Now it’s your turn. Why did Imogen flee the castle?”
An arrow sailed past his head before Saroise could reply. Berengar tensed, expecting the brigands. Instead, Evander blocked their path forward.
“Where is she? Where’s Rose?”
“I don’t know where she is,” Berengar replied.
The huntsman pulled back on the bow’s drawstring. “Did you kill her?”
“No. Right now, we have other concerns. The brigands have taken Lady Imogen prisoner.”
“I
know.” Evander pointed out a set of tracks. “When I couldn’t find Rose, I went looking for Imogen. Her trail led me here.”
“Unless we stop them, they’ll kill her—or worse,” Godfrey added. “We need your help.”
Evander lowered his bow. “Very well. I will lend my aid, for Lady Imogen’s sake. Don’t think that means our business is finished, Warden Berengar.”
Berengar nodded. Their truce, however temporary, would have to hold until the matter with Imogen was resolved.
They continued on in silence, careful to avoid alerting possible scouts to their presence. Again the weather turned sour, and a gloom settled over the forest. The trail led to a place where multiple sets of footprints marred the bare earth. Berengar noticed freshly trampled grass along a well-trodden path. We’re close.
Faolán stared ahead, and her ears perked up in alert.
“This is the place,” Keely said.
It wasn’t long until the brigands’ fort came into view, though the hideaway was only a fort in the loosest sense of the word. Even the crumbling goblin fortress to which Berengar had tracked the Black Hand made for a better defensive stronghold. An unimposing fence surrounded the inner encampment. The weathered spruce posts were warped and blemished from rain and insect infestations. A single watchtower peeked over the short fence; the forest had reclaimed a second such tower over time.
At their approach, a horn reverberated from the watchtower, where a sentry and two archers kept watch. Moments later, the gate opened to allow five brigands outside before closing again to bar entrance to the fort.
“What are you doing?” Saroise demanded when Berengar reached for his axe.
“Handling things.”
“Is violence your only answer? Those men may be outlaws, but they aren’t hardened killers. Perhaps we can reason with them.”
“Sometimes there is no other way,” Berengar told her. “Sometimes men have to die.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Have it your way,” he muttered. “Just keep out of range of those arrows.”
Saroise led her mare to the head of the company, though she followed his advice and remained at a safe distance. The others fanned out to flank her on either side. The brigand foot soldiers seemed hardly equipped for battle. Most wore either threadbare or no armor, and their weapons were rusted and in need of repair.
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