“Eirigh suas!” Cathán chanted at an altar that stretched to the ceiling. A monstrous, wraithlike form moved along the cavern walls in the torchlight, joining its sinister voice to his. Something moved under the earth in response, sending stones falling from above into the dark chasm.
Goblin archers crawled along the cavern walls. Berengar braced himself, anticipating an attack, but instead the creatures scurried toward two figures making their descent to the dais.
Niall and Godfrey. The pair were nearly surrounded by sluagh, which Godfrey did his best to stave off with his crucifix.
Berengar started toward the nearest staircase. When a goblin took note and scurried toward him, Berengar sprinted at the goblin, severed his enemy’s bow arm, and kicked the creature from the ledge.
At that moment, Cathán’s gaze fell on Berengar. The thunder rune glowed with bright light, and magical lightning illuminated the atrium. Berengar hurled himself out of the way moments before the bolt struck the ledge. His eye moved to the bow the goblin had dropped. He rolled to the bow, nocked a fallen arrow, and emerged from cover to take aim and draw Cathán’s attention from Niall and Godfrey. The arrow knocked the ceremonial dagger from Cathán’s hands, and it careened into the gaping pit below.
Berengar took cover behind a pillar when Cathán retaliated with another lightning bolt. Cracks spread through the stone floor, part of which threatened to collapse. His sword loomed a short space away. As Cathán’s voice again filled the chamber, Berengar snatched the weapon from the ground and started for the nearest staircase.
An arrow caught him in the back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Covered in monster blood, Winslow stood at the ruin’s entrance. Two archers filed inside behind him. Winslow swung the axe at Berengar, who deflected the attack with his sword. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
They clashed at the ruins’ entrance as smoke and fire rose from the pit below. The duel took them along the ledge, where a fatal drop awaited any who strayed too far over the side. Their weapons locked, and they struggled inches from the edge. Already weakened from the arrow, it took all the force Berengar could muster to knock Winslow back. Before he could press his advantage, another arrow struck him in the thigh, and the battleaxe knocked the sword from his hands. Winslow delivered blow after blow with his steel gauntlet, and Berengar tasted blood.
“This is where you die, Warden Berengar. You needn’t worry. After I’m through with you, I’ll find your little friend and take good care of her.”
When Winslow raised the axe to deliver the killing blow, a scream came from one of the archers before Faolán silenced him. Using Winslow’s distraction to his advantage, Berengar dodged the axe, grabbed his sword, and drove it through his enemy’s chest in one fluid motion.
Winslow dropped to his knees, and Berengar pulled the battleaxe free from Winslow’s grip. “This belongs to me.” He put his boot against his enemy’s back so that Winslow’s neck was exposed. “This is for all the lives you’ve taken. All the people you’ve hurt.”
Winslow stared up at him with pure loathing. “You’re a killer, same as me. You always will be. People don’t change.”
Berengar severed Winslow’s head from his body with a single swing. The monster hunter’s corpse toppled to the ground, and his head rolled over the edge into the abyss. The remaining archer turned and fled out the entrance in a blind panic.
The floor, already unstable from Cathán’s use of the thunder rune, collapsed under Berengar’s feet, and he fell into an underground passage full of bones, webs, and dust. He clenched his teeth and pulled the arrow from his thigh. The pain was excruciating. The one in his back would have to wait.
It was all he could do to stand. Berengar limped forward, pressing a bloodied hand against the wall for support. Cathán’s voice grew louder as he made his way through the passage. He’s close. Torchlight loomed beyond the shadows. His head was spinning from pain and blood loss, but he forced himself to keep going. You can’t give up now.
He remembered the last time the city burned. He could still picture the dead in the streets. He couldn’t save them. He had put an end to the riots and paid blood for blood, and the people hated him for it. Now another force threatened Dún Aulin, and once more it fell to the High Queen’s Monster to fight for those who despised and spat at him. He didn’t care about them. Morwen was there. He’d made a promise to keep her safe, and he aimed to keep it, no matter the cost. He’d accepted long ago that he’d be fighting until his dying breath. It was the price he paid for walking the path of vengeance.
He emerged from the passage and made his way to the dais, where Cathán stood at the altar with his back to him. “It’s time to end this.”
“You dare contend with the will of Balor?” Cathán slowly turned to face him. “Look at you. You can hardly stand.”
“I beat you before.”
“I was only human then. Now I am something more.”
“You were always a monster. You told yourself it was for a greater cause, but power was what you really wanted.”
Smoke from the seal below rose between them, momentarily obscuring the druid’s figure. “There was a time when the kings of Leinster would lay down their arms at a druid’s command. The people have forgotten the old ways. The time has come to remind them.”
Berengar pointed his axe at Cathán. “You’re wrong. King Lucien pledged to end the persecution of nonhumans in the realm. Now they fight for him.”
Cathán stared at him from his place at the altar. “You’re lying.”
Berengar let out a hard, mocking laugh. “You were wrong about everything, just like you were all those years ago.”
“It matters not. The Fomorians will restore magic to its proper place in the world, and mankind will burn.”
“Not if I stop you first.”
“Come, then, and let us finish what we began in the purges.” Cathán’s voice reverberated off the cavern’s walls, and a powerful gust of wind nearly pulled the axe from Berengar’s grasp. Cathán hit him head-on with a jolt of energy from the thunder rune. He nearly screamed from the pain, and the force knocked him to the ground.
Cathán approached, the thunder rune glowing in his fist. Berengar picked himself up with a growl and lunged at his foe with everything he had. The impact drove the druid back, and they faced each other on the dais.
Cathán swung his scythe at Berengar, who parried the attack with his axe and returned it in kind. The druid moved with impossible speed, blocking each of Berengar’s strikes until the scythe grazed the warden’s the chest.
Cathán raised the bloody scythe, and amid the smoke rose the wraithlike presence, looming hungrily behind the druid. “This is the end, Warden Berengar. You will make a powerful host for Balor until Caorthannach brings about his rebirth in the flesh.”
Berengar stumbled backward, clutching the bleeding wound with his free hand and gasping for air. He hasn’t won yet. I have to give it everything I have. He rushed forward before Cathán could swing his scythe at Prince Tristan, feinting right with his axe. When Cathán countered with his scythe, Berengar slammed into him and struck his foe across the face. The blow shattered half the druid’s elk-skull mask to reveal the scarred flesh underneath. “You’re no god. Not yet.”
Cathán took a step back, his eyes burning with hate, and Berengar saw a hint of doubt for the first time. The cavern shook again, and fire shot from the depths as the two exchanged blows while Prince Tristan looked on. When Cathán unleashed the full power of the thunder rune, Berengar barely brought his axe up in time to shield himself. The silver rune of resistance emitted a high-pitched note, and the axe shook in his hand as it absorbed and deflected excess energy.
Berengar struggled against the force driving him back. It was nearly impossible to keep his grip on the axe, but if his hold faltered, the lightning would incinerate him alive. He roared with fury, relying on his rage to propel him forward. Finally, he drove Cathán back through brute s
trength and plunged the axe into his chest.
“It’s over.”
An inhuman rattle emanated from the druid’s throat. “There is much you fail to see, Berengar One-Eye. Do you think I am Balor’s only servant? His reach is further than you know. The kingdoms of Fál will fall, and your queen with them.”
Berengar pulled the axe from Cathán’s chest and hurled him over the dais, into the gaping pit below.
Chapter Eighteen
He gazed across Dún Aulin from the tower bridge. His bearskin cloak swayed in the cold wind. With the false king having fled, the warden’s belongings were back in his possession. Now that he had recovered his cloak, weapons, and armor, Berengar felt more like himself again. The air was cooler, a sign the seasons were changing. Winter was on its way. He stared at the City of Thieves in solitude, contemplating the past. The purges haunted him, and he supposed they always would.
Faolán’s ears perked up, and she eyed the tower door as Morwen emerged and came to stand beside him.
“I thought I might find you here.”
“I’ve been penned inside these walls long enough. It’s past time we moved on.” A creeping sense of restlessness had set in after his wounds healed, and he was ready to return to the road.
She grinned. “I thought you might say that too. I’m already packed.”
“Good.” Berengar turned away from the view. He could save Dún Aulin a thousand times, but he would always be the High Queen’s Monster.
“Can we bid farewell to the others first?”
Although he preferred to come and go without fanfare, she asked so earnestly he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. “The day’s still young. There’s plenty of time to get on the road.”
Bells tolled from the cathedral as the pair made their descent. The king had promised a major proclamation, and the city was abuzz with speculation. Berengar and Morwen moved past the guards and filed inside the throne room, where Lucien had summoned all Leinster’s prominent lords and nobles. With church and city officials also in attendance, the room was packed. Teelah stood with the goblins and other nonhumans off to one side.
As Berengar waited for Lucien to appear, he spotted Lady Imogen in attendance. She gave him a curt nod, which Berengar did not return. She too promised peace before she gained her uncle’s iron crown. It had not taken long for power to corrupt her. Despite Lucien’s bravery, he doubted the boy would be any different.
The bells ceased, and the king’s elite guard entered the room. The murmuring crowd fell silent as Lucien took the throne. Despite his small size, the king—clad once more in his silver crown and full regalia—nevertheless cut an impressive figure.
“Welcome, lords and ladies of Leinster, representatives of the church, and”—he smiled briefly when his eyes fell on Teelah—“honored guests. The stories are true. Bishop Valmont attempted to steal my throne. It is only with the help of my new friends and the heroism of my cousin, Prince Tristan—who nearly lost his life to the druid Cathán—that I stand before you now.
“In my exile, I have seen and learned much.” He faced the nobles gathered before the throne. “I always thought Leinster was a righteous kingdom. But I was wrong. You have neglected the needs of your subjects while fighting each other to increase your wealth and power, all in the knowledge the crown would turn a blind eye. No longer. Our church, which should be a source of charity and service to others, has perverted the Lord’s will. Thievery and corruption go unpunished while unjust laws target the weakest among us. No more.
“I once believed all nonhumans were monsters. I thought it was our duty to drive them from the land. I was wrong about that too. I have witnessed their capacity for courage, kindness, and selflessness.
“These last few days, I have sought the Lord’s guidance on how to heal the realm.” Lucien waved a hand to his scribe. “It is written that ‘When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners.’ To that end, I decree that all peaceful nonhumans within our borders shall be made full citizens of Leinster. Goblins and others wishing to live in peace may come and go freely in our towns and cities. Anyone who harms them will be treated as if they did the same to a human.
“We banned the practice of magic and burned magicians at the stake, but in our hour of need, a magician and a fairy stepped forward to protect this city from certain doom. Therefore, I hereby lift the prohibition on the practice of magic and associated trades and repeal the edicts prohibiting worship of the elder gods. Although the worship of the Lord of Hosts will remain the official state religion, those who wish to worship the elder gods may do so freely.”
The decree was met by cries of protest, which Lucien quickly silenced.
“I have not forgotten you, noble lords. Many of the monsters gathered by the druid Cathán remain, scattered to the Elderwood. They are the true enemy. Each of you will contribute forces to protect the inhabitants of the Elderwood from those that would threaten them. Defy me, and your lands and wealth will be seized by the crown. Rebel, and I will show you that I am not as forgiving as my cousin.” He turned to the church’s representatives, who seemed equally displeased. “To reform the church, we shall need a new bishop—one untainted by politics. Friar Godfrey, are you up to the task?”
No one appeared more surprised by the news than Godfrey, who dropped to his knees, overcome with emotion. “I am not worthy, Your Majesty.”
Lucien bade him to rise. “That is why it must be you.”
“You honor me, Your Majesty. If it pleases you, I would ask that you outlaw the Acolytes of the Truth Faith.”
“An excellent idea.” He turned from Godfrey to the goblins. “A good king heeds wise counsel. I need advisers who care for the good of all my subjects. Teelah the Strong-Willed, I would name you my new chief adviser.”
A long look passed between the two, and Teelah flashed a proud smile. “I accept.”
At this, the goblins in the room gave a great cheer.
Berengar stared at the throne, unable to hide his surprise. Maybe the insolent whelp’s not so bad after all.
They waited for the king to finish speaking. Niall was also selected for honor. Berengar knew he would receive no such mention. It wasn’t his role to play the hero, and that suited him just fine. He didn’t like all the fuss anyway.
In the speech’s aftermath, Morwen went in search of Azura, who it seemed had taken her leave. “I would’ve liked to have seen her one last time before we set out.”
“You know fairies. They tend to come and go as they please.”
Niall greeted them outside the throne room. “I take it you’re leaving.”
Berengar nodded. “When you write to the High Queen, tell her it was I who cleaned up your mess.”
Niall laughed heartily. “That’s not how I remember it. Still, it seems I again find myself in your debt.” He reached into his cloak and handed Berengar a message bearing the sigil of a silver fox. “The queen recalls me to Tara. These are uncertain times, old friend. The death of King Mór, the theft of the cursed blade…I expect Nora will want a full report on all the happenings in the realm.”
Berengar thought again of Cathán’s last words. First Margolin, then Cathán. Just how far did the conspiracy’s roots extend? “What of the changeling?” Even with the corrupt guards and the thieves mostly dealt with, there were still a few loose ends remaining. Jareth had managed to escape in the confusion, leaving only the thief king mask behind. Still, with his wealth confiscated and his identity exposed, he would have to get used to a life on the run.
“The changeling was probably glad to be rid of Valmont,” Morwen answered for Niall. “I doubt we can expect further trouble from him.”
Berengar offered Niall his hand. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again soon. We’ll be wintering at Tara as well.”
Morwen, who longed to meet the High Queen, brightened at once.
“We will?”
“Aye, but first we must ride north and meet Warden Callahan. He plans to accompany us to the capital.”
“Safe travels, my friend.” The two clasped hands, and Niall nodded to Morwen. “Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”
“She’s the one you should be worried about,” Berengar insisted.
Morwen simply laughed.
The pair bid farewell to Niall and set out from the palace. The day was bright and warm—the kind of weather not likely to be seen again for quite some time.
“Do you mind if we stop by the Scholar’s District first?” Morwen asked as they made their way through the crowds. “There’s something I must do before we leave.”
“Suit yourself.” Berengar had waited weeks to leave Dún Aulin behind. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.
She glanced over at him from the saddle. “You look rather forlorn, if you don’t mind my saying so. We did save an entire kingdom recently. I thought you’d be happier.”
Berengar kept his gaze on the road, ignoring frightened stares from passersby. “Valmont lives, and with the cursed blade, no less.”
Morwen shrugged. “If he finds his way back, we’ll fight him and beat him again. Think of all we accomplished—all the people we helped. We rescued the true king and restored him to the throne. After decades of persecution, Leinster’s nonhumans are free to live in peace without fear for their lives. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason. You just remind me of Nora sometimes, that’s all.”
“I understand why you’re cynical. Sometimes evil wins. But that also means sometimes—every now and then—good wins too.”
Despite himself, Berengar couldn’t help but smile at Morwen’s unfailing optimism. Finally, they came to a stop outside the Institute. “What are we doing here?”
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