“I think I know someone who can help you,” he said. “If you come with me to the castle, she might be able to undo what Agatha did to you.”
“And bad men not hurt Lissa?” She seemed skeptical.
“Not unless they want to pick a fight with me.”
At that, the crone’s pale lips pulled into a toothy grin. She lunged forward as if to hug him, but Berengar held her back. “Just one more thing. Did you put a curse on the king’s family?”
“Lissa would never do that!” she protested emphatically.
“What about the prince? How did he die?”
“Lissa remembers. The prince and his sister were good and kind. Lissa sorry she could not help them.”
Berengar frowned. “Help them? What do you mean by that?”
The crone opened her mouth to speak, but a sword burst through her chest.
Ronan loomed behind her, his blade covered with her blood.
Chapter Fourteen
The crone’s knees buckled, and she toppled to the ground. Berengar rushed forward to help her, but it was too late. She was already dead, sprawled in a pool of her own blood. Almost at once, the crone’s appearance began to change. The crooked nose and hunched back melted away, and her body became rather ordinary looking. Berengar’s gaze moved to Ronan, who stood with a vacant expression over the body.
He didn’t know. After surviving his fall, Ronan must have retrieved his sword and returned to help. It was likely he saw only the crone’s monstrous features and assumed she meant them harm. Or did he? The crone was on the brink of a revelation when Ronan’s blade cut her down. Perhaps she was about to share information he wanted kept secret. Then again, if the queen’s thane wanted to thwart the investigation, why defend him from the grim? Ronan seemed an honorable man, but he had also admitted he would do anything for Alannah. If the queen asked him to do something wrong, like murdering her husband and helping to cover it up, would he consent?
Berengar closed the crone’s eyes. There was nothing more he could do to help her, but he could at least do that. “I didn’t hear you enter the cave. How long were you standing there?”
The words seemed to shake Ronan from his trancelike state. He looked from his sword to the crone’s corpse, and his brow furrowed, as if he was unable to reconcile the two images. “Berengar?” His voice sounded unsure. From the way he glanced around the cave, it almost seemed like he was acclimating himself to new surroundings.
“Are you all right?” Berengar studied his reaction carefully.
Ronan winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think so. For a moment, I thought I heard…”
“What?”
“It’s nothing. I suppose I hit my head harder than I thought, but I feel better now. It must be the cool air.” Ronan sheathed his sword. “It appears I arrived at the right moment to help.”
Berengar remained unconvinced. Was there something Ronan wasn’t saying, or did he really not remember?
Ronan knelt down to inspect the corpse, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. “What a mess. She doesn’t look at all like the stories claim.”
Berengar hesitated. If Ronan had killed the crone in ignorance, telling him the truth would only be cruel. On the other hand, if Ronan did so to keep the secret she carried hidden, Berengar would be better served to let him believe he had accomplished his purpose. It was best to keep the tragic truth of the crone’s origin to himself for the time being. In the meantime, perhaps Morwen would know what to make of the crone’s cryptic final words. Like Agatha, Lissa too had referenced the work of a magical presence in Munster, though he was no closer to unraveling its nature.
“You did well. I am sure you will be richly rewarded for your service to the throne.”
“Avenging Prince Aiden’s death is the only reward I require. Here, help me with the body. We have to cut off her head and burn the remains.”
It was a gruesome fate. The crone deserved better—a proper burial, to start with—though Berengar couldn’t very well tell that to Ronan. The kingdom would continue to believe Lissa died a monster, and her family and friends would probably never know what happened to her.
The fog had all but lifted by the time they made their way down from the cave’s entrance. Whether it was the crone’s death or the grim’s that did the trick, Berengar wasn’t sure. The monster’s body rested where it had fallen on its back. Its body was broken, and there was silver blood smeared across its white fur. The full extent of its savagery was revealed in the fog’s absence. The mountain was a graveyard. There were more skeletal remains strung over the Devil’s Bit than he could hope to count.
A few members of their company survived the grim’s attack. Most were injured, some grievously so. Two men found an abandoned wagon that remained in good enough condition to use. It was a fortunate discovery, as their mounts proved more difficult to find. Most of the horses fled in terror when the grim appeared, while others were eviscerated by it. Still, they managed to round up enough horses to pull the wagon. The living worked together to help bury those whose remains they were able to recover. When they were finished, Ronan severed the crone’s head with his longsword and set her corpse ablaze. Berengar pointed out that some creatures associated with death could return from beyond the grave, and with no magician to provide guidance, they burned the grim’s corpse too, just for good measure.
They waited until the two were reduced to ash before making the descent from the mountain. The Devil’s Bit loomed behind them, still ominous and dark. Even with the grim gone, the mountain remained a place of death. Berengar suspected it would be many years before the living no longer feared to tread there. As the peak slowly shrank into the distance, the clouds lifted, and the sky returned to its natural blue color.
He watched Ronan carefully on the road home, searching for a hint of the strangeness that came over him in the cave, but the queen’s thane appeared quite himself. Despite the sun’s renewed warmth, the survivors’ spirits were low. More than one of the injured soldiers died of their injuries within the first hours. Most were shaken by the events that had transpired. It wasn’t every day the men of Munster encountered a monster.
It had taken them a little over half a day to reach the Devil’s Bit. The return journey was much longer. The terrain, coupled with the loss of their horses, slowed their progress considerably. Night descended over the land, and the company stopped to make camp off the road. After digging fresh graves for those who succumbed to their injuries, they settled in for the night. Berengar and Ronan alternated taking watch until sunrise.
It was just before noon when the wagon rolled into the city. Of those who set out from Cashel, only five men remained. The sentries at the gate greeted their return and furnished fresh horses for the journey to the castle. The city streets were full of life in a way Berengar hadn’t seen since he first arrived in Munster. The whole of Cashel buzzed with excitement on the eve of the queen’s coronation. He wondered if the killer lurked somewhere among them, hiding in plain sight.
There was considerable disorder inside the castle at their return.
“What’s going on?” Ronan demanded of a guard when no one appeared to meet them outside the castle.
The guard quickly stopped what he was doing and stood at attention. Berengar recognized him as the young man who attempted to deny him entrance to the castle when he first answered Mór’s summons.
“Apologies, my thane. It seems Captain Corrin has gone missing. His lieutenant has had to assume responsibility for preparations for the queen’s coronation until such time as he is found.”
“Missing?” Berengar asked. The timing was suspect—the captain of the guard having vanished just before the ceremony.
“Aye, Warden Berengar. No one has seen him since yesterday.”
“This is troubling news,” Ronan muttered, taking note of the disarray. “I must have words with Corrin’s replacement.”
The somber mood that hung over the castle since Mór’s death seemed to have a
bated somewhat at the prospect of Alannah’s ascension, as if the kingdom was finally ready to turn the page from the unpleasant chapter. The various members of court all appeared in good spirits when Berengar entered the throne room with Ronan. He noticed Ravenna and Desmond standing apart from the others, conversing and smiling. He heard a rare laugh from the princess as he passed, stirring up unexpected and unpleasant feelings in him.
“You mentioned that Laird Tierney was present at Tuathal’s Keep during the war. What of his son?” he asked Ronan, indicating Desmond, who was probably closer to Berengar’s age than Ravenna’s.
“I remember him well. He was little more than a boy at the time. His father kept him out of the fighting. It was too dangerous to risk losing a potential heir to the throne, had the king fallen to Azeroth’s armies.”
Ronan’s words took him by surprise. “Desmond is in line to the throne?”
“Aye. Laird Tierney also shares the bloodline of Brian Boru and Munster’s High Kings of old. After Alannah and Ravenna, the crown would pass first to Laird Tierney, and then to his eldest son.” He watched Ravenna and Desmond with fondness. “They would make a good match, would they not?”
Berengar didn’t answer. Ronan’s words instantly changed his perception of events surrounding Mór’s initial summons. The attempt on Morwen’s life came at Innisfallen, on Laird Tierney’s lands. The déisi passed through Cill Airne. Then there was the mysterious letter King Mór received on the day of his death, also sent from Cill Airne. With Laird Tierney at death’s door, it wouldn’t be long before Desmond inherited his father’s lands and title. If the assassin’s plot succeeded and Alannah and Ravenna were killed, Desmond would become king of Munster. Given his wealth and influence, Desmond certainly possessed the means to arrange the assassination, and with his presence in the capital for the coronation, he was perfectly poised to see it carried out. Then again, that still wouldn’t explain Gorr Stormsson’s role, or his conspirator inside the castle.
The warden reluctantly tore his gaze away from Desmond and Ravenna and approached the throne with Ronan. The chattering died away as they neared the dais. He expected the nobles and counselors were eager to hear what occurred at the Devil’s Bit. A few remarked on Ronan’s torn and bloodstained clothes, out of keeping with the thane’s usually well-kept appearance.
Berengar scanned the room but failed to see Morwen among the room’s occupants. I told her to stay close to the queen, he thought, irritated. Where’s she gotten off to now?
“My queen.” Ronan knelt before Alannah and bowed low, his hand to his chest in a sign of deference.
Berengar, who remained standing beside him, noted Alannah’s relief at Ronan’s arrival.
“Rise, my friend. It is good to see you have returned to us. Was your mission successful?”
“It was. With the help of the warden, we slew the crone and her pet and avenged the prince’s death.”
Alannah addressed them both. “Thank you. I shall see to it you both receive the rewards merited by such heroism.”
“Munster owes you a debt of gratitude,” Laird O’Reilly said. “You have done the realm a great service this day.”
Though O’Reilly praised Ronan to his face, Berengar hadn’t forgotten the inferences and accusations he alleged in private. In sowing doubts about Ronan, he had done the same about the queen herself, or was that his intention?
Alannah bade them come closer to recount the details, and the background noise resumed as the pair joined her on the dais. “Did you find the answers you sought?”
“I don’t believe the crone was behind the king’s murder,” Berengar said. “Nor do I think she placed a curse on your family, though Morwen assures me such a curse would be broken upon her death, in any event.”
Alannah appeared satisfied by his response. When they were finished speaking, Berengar asked for leave to find Morwen. Laird O’Reilly stopped him before he could get far. Berengar expected him to launch into another veiled accusation against a member of the royal court, but the old man managed to surprise him.
“I thought you should know I’ve informed the queen I intend to step aside after the coronation, though she has convinced me to remain in my position until the matter of her husband’s death is settled.”
With the murder still unsolved, coupled with all the challenges faced by the realm, it seemed a peculiar time for the royal adviser to announce his retirement. O’Reilly was by all accounts a man fond of power and influence, so why would he choose to give it up?
It sounds a lot like he’s running from something, Berengar thought. “Why now?”
“I have served the crown since I can remember,” O’Reilly said. “I have not been a young man for a long time now. I wish to live out my remaining years in peace at my estate in Cóbh. I’ve even thought of writing an account of my life. I daresay it would be worthy of a place in the annals of Innisfallen.”
“But you’re staying until after the king’s assassin has been apprehended?”
O’Reilly offered a rare smile. “We both know it is unlikely King Mór’s killer will ever be brought to justice.” The implication was plain: Berengar had failed thus far to catch the culprit, and with every passing day it grew less likely the killer would ever be found.
He bristled at the remark. “I know nothing of the sort. In fact, I think we’re closer than ever to the truth.”
“I suppose we shall have to see.” O’Reilly’s expression was doubtful. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to preparations for the coronation.”
He found Morwen coming out of a tavern in one of the city’s less reputable districts. The magician’s blue robes had been set aside in favor of the hooded disguise she used to avoid drawing unwanted attention when among the public.
“I’m not one to judge, but isn’t it a little early in the day?” he asked, his arms crossed.
“Another joke? Were I not a magician, I might begin to worry you’d been replaced by a changeling.”
“Don’t changelings only take the place of children?” He tried to remember the stories he’d heard as a child.
“Not always. Dark fairies most often used changelings to appear in place of the children they abducted, but in truth, the creatures can take almost any form they desire.”
Berengar almost regretted his choice to leave her behind on the hunt for the crone, injuries or not. Her knowledge of magic and magical creatures vastly exceeded his, which was based mostly on lore or experience and often proved unreliable at best. The loss of lives to the grim could have been avoided, and if Morwen proved able to lift the crone’s curse, he might have learned the secret she was about to reveal before her death.
“What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to keep close to the queen while I was gone.” He loomed over her and added a hard edge to his voice for good measure.
Despite his best efforts, Morwen didn’t appear intimidated in the least. “I wasn’t going to sit on my hands inside the castle while you took all the risks. I did what I thought you would do and started looking into Corrin’s disappearance.”
“What have you discovered?”
Morwen glanced back at the tavern, where a drunken patron had just emerged, and waited until he passed before replying. “Corrin went into the city to search for the peddler who found the witches’ bodies and never returned.”
“Did he ever find the peddler?”
“I don’t know. No one seems to have seen her since she set foot in Cashel.” She looked up at him like she was prepared for an argument. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I’ve been wasting my time.”
Berengar shook his head. “I know you’re only trying to help, but the safety of the queen and her daughter comes before everything else. I went to the Devil’s Bit because if I fell there, you remained to protect Queen Alannah. Yours was the greater responsibility. I’m expendable. You’re not.”
Her defiant expression faltered. “I…didn’t think about it that way.”
; “For what it’s worth, I think you’re on the right track with Corrin. This close to the coronation, there’s probably something sinister behind his disappearance. Now unless there’s anything else, I suggest we return to the castle.”
Morwen bit her lip. “Well, there was one other small matter I wanted to see to while we’re here. It won’t take long, I promise.”
Faolán sniffed curiously at the walking stick she carried. Morwen caught Berengar’s gaze and tapped the stick against the ground twice. There was a gleam of purple light, and he found himself looking at the magician’s staff, the illusory rune once more fixed in place. Morwen tapped the staff against the ground again, and the image of an ordinary walking stick took its place.
“Nice trick.”
“I picked it up during my convalescence,” she said with a smile. “Now, shall we be off?”
Berengar sighed. “Very well. Lead the way.”
“By the way,” Morwen said as they started down the path, “I didn’t realize you cared so much about me.”
The warden narrowed his eyes in her direction. “What? I never said that.”
“You might as well have. You said I was indispensable. Just admit it—we’re friends now.”
Berengar clenched his teeth. She was teasing him again. “I take it you’re feeling better.” He noted she now walked without a limp.
“I probably won’t be running for a while, but at least I won’t have to take any more of that awful potion. So, how did the axe handle?”
As they walked together through the city, Berengar filled her in on the details of his journey to the Devil’s Bit. Morwen was visibly upset to learn the truth about the crone and of her death at Ronan’s hands. She listened with rapt attention when he revealed the crone confirmed Agatha’s claims of an unseen magical presence at work in Munster.
“Whatever it is, it must be powerful indeed to keep its true nature hidden not just from my sight, but that of Agatha and the crone as well.” She looked over at him suddenly, as if drawn out of her inner thoughts. “There’s something else that troubles you, isn’t there? I sense there’s something more you’re not telling me.”
The Blood of Kings Page 24