“Come out and face us,” Berengar called out. “We know you’re holding Lady Imogen.”
Saroise shot him a dark look before returning her gaze to the fort. “We only want to talk. We are not your enemies.”
“Any friend to Laird Margolin is our enemy,” Avery shouted down from the watchtower. “Margolin, who murdered good Lord Cairrigan and his family? Who befouled our land with arcane rituals and the worship of pagan devils? Who seized our property and crushed our people with heavy taxes?” He shook his head. “We will not submit. We will fight for our families and neighbors in the name of Laird Cairrigan. We will spill our blood until the tyrant is dead and our lands are liberated from his cruelty.”
“Is that what this is about?” Godfrey asked, cutting short a cheer from the brigands. “Vengeance? Killing Lady Imogen won’t further your cause.”
Avery snarled. “We shall see. Laird Margolin must withdraw his forces from our towns and villages and end his oppressive taxation. If not, there are others who would pay a handsome price for her—coin enough to sustain ourselves and support our cause.”
An archer fired an arrow that landed a few feet short of Saroise’s horse.
“Begone,” Avery said. “This is your only warning.”
Enough of this, Berengar thought. Time to do things my way. “Can you draw their fire?” he whispered to Evander.
Evander nodded and deftly reached for one of the arrows in his quiver. Berengar took the reins in one hand and spurred his horse forward as Evander nocked and aimed an arrow, which he fired at the watchtower. Two enemy arrows streaked by, but Berengar lowered his head, gathering momentum as he charged the gate. The brigands scattered out of his way at the last moment, and the gate came crashing down.
Berengar was already on his feet, axe in hand, as the first cries of warden carried through the fort. He didn’t bother waiting for the others to come to his aid. Brigands rushed to meet him, and the battle began. The curse slowed his movements considerably, and he took far more than his usual share of hits, but Faolán kept his enemies from overwhelming him. Stripped of his speed, Berengar relied on his superior strength to fight his way through the enemy ranks. Shouts rang out behind, where Tuck and Silas joined the battle under cover of Evander’s arrows. Even Godfrey entered the fray, using his staff as a club while Saroise and Keely looked for Imogen.
A defender sprinted toward him, wildly swinging his sword. Rather than attempting to evade the blow, Berengar countered with his axe’s handle. The force knocked the sword loose and sent the brigand stumbling back, and Berengar battered him to the ground with a backhanded strike. He raised his axe to deliver the killing blow but hesitated, remembering the unarmed man he’d killed in front of Rose.
Most of the brigands were thin and hungry-looking, their clothes soiled and ragged. These men weren’t soldiers—just broken men fighting for a lost cause. It was something he understood better than most. Berengar stayed his hand and made his way to the camp’s center.
There, Avery held a knife to Imogen’s neck.
Chapter Fifteen
“That’s far enough,” Avery said. “Don’t come any closer.”
When Berengar started toward him, Avery pressed the blade against Imogen’s throat to warn him away.
“I mean it. Take one more step and I’ll slit her throat.”
Hushed silence fell over the fort as the fighting ceased. The others were too far away to intervene. Berengar looked to Faolán, who crouched nearby, waiting to strike. Their arrangement mirrored the positions they’d occupied when Berengar had confronted the scholar who wielded the thunder rune. Imogen was the only variable.
Tension mounted as both sides watched the standoff unfold. Berengar stared Avery down, weighing his options. The brigand leader was cornered with nowhere to run. One swing of his axe would do the job, but with the curse slowing him down, he wasn’t sure he could close the distance between them in time.
He couldn’t take the risk. Imogen would be dead before he reached her. Berengar pushed down his anger and lowered his axe. He’d have to find another way.
“It’s over, Avery. Let the girl go.”
Avery wore a venomous expression. “You’re a Warden of Fál! You should be fighting with us! Laird Margolin bleeds these lands dry. The people cry out for help, but no one hears. So much for the High Queen’s justice.”
“We’re running out of time,” Saroise said. “Laird Margolin’s soldiers are on their way to Alúine. I barely escaped the castle to bring word.”
Her warning provoked a reaction from Imogen, who remained admirably calm despite the charged atmosphere. “Release me—I beg you. My uncle will raze the village to the ground to claim me.”
Avery trembled with palpable rage. “You think I’m afraid to die? My brother and his family fell at Laird Cairrigan’s castle, butchered by Laird Margolin’s soldiers. I found their bodies, broken and bloodied.”
Evander took aim with his bow, but Berengar shook his head to caution against the shot.
“Lady Imogen is not her uncle. His sins are not hers.”
Avery returned his attention to him. “I’ve heard the tales of the Bloody Red Bear. I know what you did to the Ice Queen’s son at the Fortress of Suffering. You terrorized the north in defiance of Scathach. How is this any different?”
“The tales are true,” Berengar said. “See how your men tremble before me. They’re right to be afraid. I could kill you all without breaking a sweat. Is this what you want people to see when they look at you? A monster?”
Friar Godfrey passed unharmed through the ranks of the brigands and came to stand beside him. “You’re right. Laird Margolin’s crimes have gone unanswered for far too long, but this is not the way.” The friar’s face showed sympathy and understanding. “You and your brother were Laird Cairrigan’s tanners, were you not? Do you think he would approve of what you have done in his name?”
Avery’s eyes darted from Godfrey to Berengar and back again, as if expecting some sort of ploy. “What do you know of it, friar?”
“Laird Cairrigan was my father,” Godfrey said. “So you see, I also lost my family when the castle fell.”
Imogen and Saroise alone appeared unsurprised by Godfrey’s revelation. No one was more taken aback than Tuck, who stared slack-jawed at the friar. Berengar remembered Tuck’s drunken confession in the ruins of Cairrigan’s castle, when the guard admitted to sparing Cairrigan’s youngest son all those years ago. That son was Godfrey. Berengar felt a grudging sense of respect for the friar. Despite everything Margolin had taken from him, Godfrey had returned to help others, not for revenge, and renounced his claim to power in favor of a life of service.
Although a number of the brigands bowed in recognition of Laird Cairrigan’s sole surviving heir, Avery refused to yield.
“Coward. We would have fought for you, but you abandoned us—left us to fight and die alone.”
Godfrey held his wooden hand out to Avery. “Like you, my heart was once poisoned by revenge, but I let go of my earthly titles and possessions to follow a better path. Put the blade down and help heal these lands. If you kill her, you’re no different from Margolin.”
Avery’s expression grew pained, and the knife wavered in his hand. No one spoke for a long moment, and at last he dropped the knife and released his hold on Imogen.
Instead of running to safety, Imogen turned to face her captor. “Thank you. I’m truly sorry for the pain my uncle has caused you.” She glanced around the fort at the other outlaws. “All of you. You’re not alone. This land has suffered under my uncle’s cruelty for far too long.”
“If you really mean that,” Avery said, “be better than him.”
“You have my word,” Imogen told him. “I will make amends.”
Saroise hurried to her side, and the two friends shared a brief embrace.
“You made it,” Imogen said. “I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
“Your uncle knows you’re here,” Saroise replied
. “His men are on their way.” She looked over her shoulder at the others. “We must get Lady Imogen to safety without delay.”
Berengar blocked their path to the gate. “Not so fast.” His gaze fell on Imogen. “I went through a lot of trouble on your account, and you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s really going on.”
Imogen nodded. “Very well, Warden Berengar. If you want the truth, you shall have it. I suppose I owe you that much. You must be aware of my uncle’s ruthlessness by now. The truth is far more terrible. He is a wicked man, willing to commit unspeakable evil to hold onto power. The church banished him from Dún Aulin for heretical worship of the elder gods, but he continued the practice in secret, delving further into the arcane arts. Some years ago, my uncle brought into his service a spiritist who claimed the power to commune with the Fomorian servants of old.”
“The man in the hood,” Berengar muttered.
“You might know him as Thaddeus, my uncle’s chief adviser. Thaddeus knows of a ritual to wake Balor from his slumber—a ritual involving the sacrifice of souls at the Festival of the Blood Moon. Thaddeus bound the Dullahan to his will and sent him to collect enough souls to power the ritual, but a final blood sacrifice is needed—one of noble blood.”
Margolin plans to sacrifice her, Berengar realized. His own niece.
“That is why I helped Lady Imogen flee the castle,” Saroise said. “Laird Margolin’s dark arts have already unleashed pestilence across the land. If he succeeds, Balor will rise again, and Fál will fall into utter ruin.”
Berengar wasn’t sure if he believed her. Magic was real enough, but that didn’t mean the elder gods were real. The world was full of stories and tales that amounted to nothing more than superstition. Even if Balor was real, there was no guarantee the ritual would even work. Still, Margolin believed it, which meant Imogen’s life was in danger nonetheless.
At last the true reason for Margolin’s request stood revealed. The tale of the ogre was a ruse to trick him into delivering Imogen to her uncle, who was determined to recover her in time for the ritual. The hag probably thought she could harness Balor’s power for herself, which explained why she wanted Imogen.
“Now that you know the truth, what do you plan to do?” Imogen asked.
None of his options were good. If he sided with Imogen, Margolin would refuse to uphold his side of their bargain. Word of his deeds at Kildare would reach the High Queen’s ears. If he failed to bring Imogen to the hag, the curse would turn him to stone. He lost either way.
“We’ll ride north, to Meath. There you will be beyond your uncle’s reach.” Whatever else he was, he was a Warden of Fál, and he would not give an innocent girl over to be murdered. He’d deal with the consequences later. “Don’t think this means I’m getting involved in some struggle for the throne. I’ll take you to safety, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“Thank you,” she said.
They left the fort behind, and Berengar noticed Saroise regarding him with a curious expression as they made their way to the horses.
“What?”
“You let them live. You could have killed them, but you didn’t.”
Berengar shrugged. “They weren’t worth the waste of energy.”
The company mounted their horses and set off for Alúine. Once they reached the village, they’d only have a limited window to prepare for the journey to Meath before Margolin’s soldiers arrived. Evander, who agreed to accompany them as far as the village, intended to go in search of Rose afterward.
Imogen convinced Berengar to take Keely and her mother with them in case Margolin attempted to exact retribution on Varun’s family. Berengar acceded to her request, though he knew the company’s number might attract unwanted attention on the road. He kept a close eye on Tuck, who had gone quiet following their departure from the fort. The guard appeared uneasy, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. He probably had orders to bring Imogen back to Margolin, and the punishment for failing to deliver her would surely be severe. Whether he would let his fear or his conscience win out was an open question.
“How can we keep Lady Imogen safe from the Dullahan after reaching Meath?” Godfrey asked Saroise.
“As long as he remains enslaved to Margolin’s will, there is nowhere she can go that the Dullahan will not follow,” Saroise replied. “The head he carries is imbued with supernatural sight. Its eyes are always moving, searching for prey even in the blackest night.”
“There has to be some way to stop him,” Berengar said. “Even monsters have weaknesses.”
“The Dullahan is no ordinary monster. He travels the land in search of lost souls, to guide them to the afterlife—a purpose Thaddeus has perverted for his own ends.”
If that’s true, killing Thaddeus might free the Dullahan from his control, Berengar reasoned. It was a difficult proposition at best, given the number of Margolin’s soldiers and the spiritist’s power over both the Dullahan and the sluagh. At the moment, he was better served getting Imogen out of harm’s way before the Festival of the Blood Moon.
“Should we be so unfortunate as to find ourselves at his mercy, there is one thing that might work.” Saroise held up a single gold coin. “The Dullahan is said to fear the sight of gold. In the songs, he flees when golden objects are placed in his path.”
Berengar wasn’t keen to trust his fate to another old wives’ tale. If it came to it, he would rely on his axe. Although his previous encounter with the Dullahan hadn’t gone in his favor, this time he would be ready.
The sun’s warmth ebbed. Dark clouds rolled across the sky to cast looming shadows over the forest.
Blast it. Another storm was likely on its way. If the rains came, they’d lose precious time he didn’t have. Even with night hours away, Berengar’s time was short. Already the curse drained him of energy, sapping his strength. Saroise had praised him for sparing the outlaws, but he wasn’t sure he could have taken them all in his weakened state. It wouldn’t be long before the others took note.
As they neared the path’s end, Faolán paused at the forest’s border and glanced back at him, her eyes wide in alert. Berengar pulled back on the reins and signaled to the others, bringing the company to a halt.
“What is it?” Imogen asked.
Berengar didn’t answer. “Stay here. I’ll scout ahead.”
He dismounted and stalked toward Faolán. When he reached the trees, he crouched low and peered past the forest’s edge, and the source of Faolán’s alarm became readily apparent.
Margolin’s men had reached Alúine first.
Soldiers surrounded the villagers on three sides. Scouts rode past the village as the main force entered Alúine. Imogen’s earlier prediction proved prescient. Now that Margolin’s soldiers knew she was close, they’d tear the village apart to find her—by any means necessary.
“What is it?” Imogen whispered, approaching with Saroise on foot.
One of the scouts passed by, and Berengar held up a finger to warn her to keep quiet. Fortunately, they hadn’t been spotted. As long as they remained unseen, they could slip through the forest and elude Margolin’s forces.
A horn sounded behind them, causing the scout to turn around. Tuck raised the horn to his lips to sound the alarm a second time, and Godfrey used his walking stick to knock the guard from his horse.
Tuck scrambled to his feet and ran from the woods, shouting and waving his arms. “Over here!”
When the scout spotted Imogen at the forest’s border, he called out to his companions, and horsemen diverted from Alúine and rode in their direction.
Saroise tugged at Berengar’s arm. “We have to go.”
He shook his head. “It’s too late. We can’t outrun them now that they’ve seen her.”
“We have to do something,” Saroise protested. “We can’t just stand here.”
Berengar didn’t get the chance to respond. The approaching force stopped just short of the forest, where Tuck joined their ranks. Soldiers parted to cle
ar the way for two riders. Berengar recognized each in turn. The first was Thaddeus, whom he remembered from his brief stay at Blackthorn. Beside him sat Phineas, who must have brought word to the castle after his escape.
Thaddeus’ black robes rippled in the wind, giving him the appearance of a living shadow as he approached. He set his gaze on the forest. “Lady Imogen! There is nowhere left for you to hide. Come forth, or Alúine will burn.”
Evander nocked an arrow, but Berengar shook his head to dissuade him. Thaddeus was right. They were trapped. There were too many soldiers to escape unscathed. Even if Evander’s shot struck true, the remaining forces would kill everyone in their path.
Berengar seized Imogen’s arm and started toward the forest’s edge.
“I should have known,” Saroise said angrily. “After everything, you’re just going to hand her over.”
“We can’t fight them all. Not on our own. Listen to me—they can’t kill Imogen until the blood moon. If I make good on my pledge and deliver Imogen to Margolin’s men, I’ll be welcomed into the castle with open arms.”
“You mean to trick them,” Saroise said, quickly catching on.
“Aye. Take the others and return to the brigands’ fort. Tell them this is their chance to end Margolin’s rule for good. I’ll let everyone into the castle after dark, before Margolin can complete the ritual. We’ll stop them there.”
Thaddeus’ voice again reverberated through the trees, and the soldiers began advancing toward the woods.
“You should do as he says,” Imogen told Saroise. “Once Thaddeus has me, he won’t bother hunting the rest of you—and Alúine will be spared.”
While Saroise and the others retreated to wait at a safe distance until Margolin’s forces withdrew, Berengar helped Imogen onto his horse.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Warden Berengar,” she whispered as they emerged from the forest.
The Wrath of Lords Page 18
