It was true. Even if the brigands agreed to the plan and he managed to open the gates of Blackthorn, the odds were against them. They were vastly outnumbered, and Margolin had the Dullahan fighting for him. Still, it was too late to turn back. He’d made his choice, and there was nothing left to do but see it through to the end.
Berengar tightened his hold on Imogen, who put on a convincing display at resisting the show of force. The soldiers hesitated at the sight of them approaching, but Thaddeus held up a hand, and the men lowered their swords to grant them safe passage.
“Here she is. As promised.” Berengar lowered Imogen to the ground and shoved her forward for good measure.
Thaddeus nodded to his men, who quickly took Imogen into their possession.
“I take it your master received the gift I sent him,” Berengar said. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. It’s time for Margolin to make good on his word.”
The spiritist’s lips pulled into a thin smile. “You’ve done well, Warden Berengar. Unfortunately, we can’t risk word of these affairs reaching the High Queen’s ears. Now that we have Lady Imogen, we no longer have need of you.” He motioned to his men. “Kill him.”
Berengar pulled back on the reins, but before he could turn his horse around, Margolin’s archers fired on him.
The first arrow hit him in the shoulder.
The second struck him just above the heart.
Chapter Sixteen
The reins slipped from his hands, and he slumped forward in the saddle. Berengar’s horse bolted for the forest under a volley of arrows as more archers loosed their shafts. When he grabbed at one of the arrows in an effort to break off the shaft, his hand came back empty and smeared with blood.
I’m not dying here, he thought, fighting to remain conscious. Not until I take a few of those bastards with me first.
One arrow passed him by, and then another. Just as the forest seemed within reach, the flurry of arrows found his mount. Spurred on by the pain, the horse picked up speed despite its mortal wounds, moving erratically. Berengar found himself thrown from the saddle, but his boot remained caught in the stirrup. The horse dragged him along behind it into the woods before finally collapsing on top of him just after he freed the silver dagger from his boot.
“Find him,” Thaddeus called to the foot soldiers. “If he lives, kill him. The rest of you, come with me. We have what we came for.”
Margolin’s forces were withdrawing from Alúine and leaving only a small contingent behind. At least he wouldn’t have to fight the whole army on his own.
Ordinarily, easing his way out from under the horse would have been a simple task, his injuries notwithstanding. The curse, however, had stripped him of most of his former strength. Faolán tried dragging him free, but it was no use.
Footsteps sounded nearby. He didn’t have long before Margolin’s men found him. With a tremulous hand, Berengar attempted to cut himself free of the stirrup but dropped the blade, which landed out of his reach. When he looked up, he saw an archer and a swordsman standing over him. Berengar clenched his teeth and waited, but before the archer could release the bowstring, Rose hit the man from behind with a stone. Faolán charged the swordsman and left him a whimpering mess before making short work of the archer.
Rose’s gaze lingered on the arrows extending from Berengar’s armor. “You’re hurt.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Hiding,” she answered. “From you, actually. Bad place to do so, from the look of things.” She dropped the stone and hesitated in front of the dagger. “If I help you, you aren’t going to turn around and attack me, are you?”
“No. You have my word.”
Rose picked up the dagger and cut him free from the stirrup. She helped him out from under the horse before rolling him onto his back and looking over his injuries.
“There’ll be more of them soon,” he told her as she worked to remove the arrows. “You should go.” It was too late for him. The arrow was too close to his heart.
“Your wounds aren’t fatal,” Rose said. “Look.”
Berengar looked again. The arrow should have pierced his heart. Instead, his hardened, rock-like skin had blunted its point. The curse that was slowly killing him had just saved his life.
Not yet strong enough to stand, Berengar allowed Rose to help him into a sitting position. “Why help me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying to prove to myself that I’m not a monster.” Rose lowered herself to the ground and sat down next to him. “I would have killed Evander last night if you hadn’t stopped me. You know what it’s like to be cursed—to be betrayed by your own body.”
Berengar grimaced at the sight of sinister black blood leaking from his chest and shoulder. “I do.”
“I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
“I know.”
“As much as I don’t want to admit it, maybe you’re right. I can’t control it—this darkness inside me. I’m so tired of trying. No matter what I do, everyone around me suffers, and now I have no one left.”
The knowledge that at some point he might have to kill her afforded him a rare opportunity for honesty. “I understand. More than you know. Maybe we’re both monsters, but unlike me, you didn’t choose to become one. And you’re wrong about one thing. You’re not alone. Evander still cares for you.”
“There was something in what you said before,” she said after a moment. “You lost someone?”
“My wife. She died in childbirth, before the war.” He let the cool breeze wash over him as his heartbeat grew fainter. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for another day with her. You still have that chance with Evander.”
“If I were to transform at the wrong time, I could kill him.”
“You could. It’s for you to decide if you want to take that risk.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What about you? I thought you wanted to kill me.”
Berengar shrugged. “I won’t get a say in the matter. Now that Margolin has Imogen, there’s nothing I can do to stave off the hag’s curse.” He held out his hand to her. “Now help me up. I only have a few hours left, and I’m not going to spend them waiting around to die.”
Rose helped him to his feet, and together they made their way through the forest. Berengar killed four more soldiers with Faolán’s assistance before returning to the place where he last saw the others. Although Saroise was gone, there was no sign of a struggle to indicate Margolin’s men had discovered her. The fallout from his failed gambit with Imogen had probably drawn the soldiers’ attention away long enough to allow her to escape. With any luck, Saroise was on her way to the brigands’ hideaway to get help. Still, gaining entrance to Castle Blackthorn would be difficult without someone on the inside.
Faolán’s tail straightened alertly, and Berengar turned around to find himself once again staring down Evander’s bow.
“Get away from her,” Evander said.
“Relax,” Berengar told him. “She’s not my problem—not while the sun’s out, at any rate.”
Evander looked skeptical, but before he could reply, Rose threw herself into his arms, and the two shared a passionate embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Evander. I could have killed you.”
Evander stroked her hair. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”
“I should have told you the truth, but I worried you would take it upon yourself to try to break the curse.”
“That’s exactly what I plan to do,” Evander said. “I’m going to kill the hag and set you free. When this is all over, we’ll leave Alúine together.”
“Saroise,” Berengar interrupted. He’d given the lovers their moment. “Where is she?”
“She and Godfrey left to convince the brigands to join our cause, as you suggested,” Evander answered. “They sent me to find you, if you lived. They plan to meet in the village, with or without the brigands.”
“Then there’s nothing left for us to do,” Berengar said. Ev
erything rested on the bard’s ability to convert the outlaws to their cause.
When they reached Alúine, the soldiers were gone, returned to Blackthorn with their prize.
“There she is!”
The whole population of Alúine looked on as a crowd marched toward Rose, shouting beast and monster. The men Berengar had encountered outside the Green Flagon had formed a frenzied mob armed with crude weapons.
Evander drew an arrow from his quiver. “Run, Rose!”
“Get out of here—both of you,” Berengar said. “Find horses in the stables and leave this place behind.” He stared long and hard at Rose. “Don’t come back.” He strode to meet the approaching mob before she could reply.
When Berengar took out his axe, his strength threatened to rebel against him, and it took nearly all his will to maintain his hold. The sight of him standing in their path was enough to frighten the mob into remaining a safe distance away.
“Let us through,” said their leader. “She’s the monster!”
“And what are you lot?” Berengar’s narrowing gaze moved past the mob to settle on the other villagers watching outside their homes. “I thought you were keeping something from me. This whole time, it was Margolin abducting those girls, and you knew about it, didn’t you? Maybe you even helped him, or at least kept quiet about it.”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Rose and Evander flee the village on horseback. They were headed west, toward Móin Alúin. They mean to slay the hag, Berengar realized. I must help them. Succeeding might lift both their curses.
“You don’t understand,” said Iain, standing among the other villagers. “We’ve lived under the threat of the hag’s curse for so long. Laird Margolin promised to free us from her torment if we helped him.”
Berengar didn’t bother disguising his disgust. It suddenly dawned on him that Phineas hadn’t escaped by accident. Iain had set him free. “So you allowed your friends and daughters to be taken and sacrificed to an ancient evil. Was it worth it?”
He lowered his axe and turned his back. These people weren’t worthy of his anger.
“Where are you going?” Iain called to him.
“To the bog,” Berengar replied. “I’m going to kill the hag, and then I’m putting an end to this—for good.”
He ventured alone into Móin Alúin, not expecting to return. There was no sign of Rose or Evander, which didn’t bode well for either. The sun faded behind him as he went deeper into the bog, until the light was no more than a distant echo. Crows watched from above as he staggered past the trees. Their eyes gleamed with malevolent intent in the torchlight.
Rain came down in torrents, but he could no longer feel it against his skin. His three days were nearly up. The hag’s curse extended to his entire body, turning him to stone. Once it spread to his heart, the transformation would be complete. Even if it was too late for him, he could try to take the hag with him.
He pushed forward through sheer force of will. Each step was harder than the last. His muscles were so rigid he could hardly move, and the simple act of breathing required tremendous effort.
A vast darkness seemed to swell around him as he advanced. Berengar laid a hand on one of the trees to steady himself and felt a viscous, sticky liquid. Blood oozed from the tree. He withdrew his hand and surveyed the full extent of the hag’s corruption under his torch’s weak glow. The trees swayed and tilted toward him when he passed underneath, and the falling rains scorched the earth like acid. Monstrous shadows—hinting at nameless horrors better left unseen—lurked beyond the firelight.
Berengar held out the torch to ward away the dark. “Show yourself, witch.”
A flash of lightning illuminated the hag’s wretched form. Buzzing flies hovered over her and nested in her rotting flesh.
“Where are they?” Berengar demanded. “What have you done with them?”
The hag ignored the question. “You came alone.” Her face twisted into something less than human, evidencing her displeasure, and her bulbous eyes simmered with malice. “A fool, even at the end. If the people of Alúine sent you here for me, they will pay dearly for their treachery.”
“This is between us. Leave the villagers out of it.” Berengar grappled with his sword, but his arm was nearly frozen stiff. “Since you’re so fond of deals, I’ve got one for you. Lift Rose’s curse and take me in her place.”
She fixed a narrowing gaze upon him. “Your life is already mine, Berengar One-Eye, and you have nothing else worth taking.”
The hag receded into the darkness before Berengar managed to wrench the sword loose.
“Find her,” he said to Faolán. “We don’t have long.”
Faolán took up the hag’s scent, and they stalked off in the swamp’s direction. Whispers followed him along the path to the hag’s lair. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear words spoken in a black tongue. The hag was casting spells to keep him from reaching her before he succumbed to the curse.
“Boy,” an inhuman voice called from the shadows, where a towering figure rose among the trees.
When the corpselike figure stepped into the torchlight, Berengar stopped dead in his tracks. His father loomed larger in death than he ever had in life.
“I killed you,” Berengar said. “You’re not real. This is a trick.”
The figure’s chest heaved with rasping laughter. Blood gushed from his throat where the dagger had opened it up. “You can’t kill me, son. I’m a part of you. We’re one and the same.”
Berengar’s face contorted in rage, and he rushed to meet the specter. They collided, and the torch slipped from his grasp. Berengar found himself alone, holding his sword in the dark. His father was gone.
He held onto Faolán and struggled to his feet, relying on the wolfhound to lead the way in the torch’s absence. His limbs weighed him down like bricks, but he pressed on, dragging one leg behind the other.
“We’re close,” he said, as much for his benefit as Faolán’s. “We just have to keep going.”
A weak glow emanated ahead, visible through reeds along the swamp’s edge. The light grew brighter as he approached. A woman’s scream sounded in the dark, and the hair on his arms stood on end. Berengar followed the sound to its source and pushed back the tall reeds.
His wife lay on the birthing table, her sheets drenched in blood.
“You let us die,” she moaned. “Why couldn’t you save us?”
Berengar started toward her, but she vanished just before he could touch her. A hand from the swamp wrapped itself around his ankle. He managed to pull himself free as more corpses rose to the water’s surface. Their decaying faces bore a strong resemblance to people he’d killed. The dead surrounded him, forcing him to the swamp’s center.
“What are you waiting for?” Berengar shouted, his sword held at the ready.
“Murderer,” their voices hissed. “Monster.”
Berengar lashed out, but all the strength had drained from him. They closed in around him, ensnaring him in a rapidly tightening wall of bodies.
“I’ll kill you,” he muttered, hacking away with his sword. “I’ll kill you all again.”
The whispers stopped suddenly, and the dead were gone—all but one. The sword protruded from the chest of a small child.
Berengar uttered a tormented wail and released the sword, which disappeared into the swamp, along with the girl. He sank to his knees in mud and tried desperately to pull the black nail from his palm as the rains washed over him. It was no use.
Firelight beckoned him from a distance. The hag’s lair was nearly within reach. He tried to find his footing, but it was too late. His legs had turned to stone. He grasped at the air, and the fingers of his left hand slowly stopped moving as Faolán barked and whimpered.
I’m sorry, Nora, he thought, but they’re right. I am a monster.
He felt the curse creeping up his neck, slowly paralyzing him, and there was nothing he could do to fight it.
I wanted to be the man you saw
in me, but I lost myself somewhere along the way. A long time ago he started down the road of vengeance and never turned from it. He chose to harden his heart—to love nothing—leaving no room for weakness or compassion. Now he was paying the price.
He felt his heart stop. No matter. The best parts of him died years before. In truth, he was a ghost already.
“You’re wrong,” a voice called to him. “You’re not a monster.”
A small figure stood in front of him, her features hidden by shadow. There was something strangely familiar about her, but he was too disoriented to remember how he knew her. With his head bowed, it was impossible to get a good look at her face. He wasn’t sure if she was really there at all, or just in his head. She seemed a mirage, like the others but altogether different.
“You welcome death because you’re afraid to live. You hide your pain behind your rage to hide from the world—and from yourself—but no matter how you try to deny it, your humanity is a part of you. Your heart is mangled, but it is not stone.”
He could barely understand her words, but her presence radiated an overwhelming sense of warmth, even in the bitter cold of the swamp. Berengar longed to reach out to her, but he remained immobile.
The girl, who stood a hair’s breadth away, bent down beside him. “You saved the hobgoblins when you could have let them die.”
The black nail quivered in his palm.
“You took time from your quest to help an innocent man.”
The nail shook violently and loosened bit by bit.
“You spared the brigands when you could have killed them. Even now, at the end, you’re willing to die so that others may live.”
The nail fell away and vanished under the swamp’s surface.
Berengar’s heart restarted with a sudden kick, and air flooded into his lungs. His skin returned to its normal color as the curse lifted. His old strength returned, and energy surged through his veins.
With his mind cleared, his thoughts turned to the girl. He looked for her, but she was gone.
“Eileen?” he whispered.
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