The Wrath of Lords

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Phineas nodded in approval of the plan. “Agreed. I’ll assemble a larger force to subdue them. I’m sure the huntsman will be up for it.” He held out his hand, which Berengar ignored.

  “There’s something else. I want the knife you found among Silas’ belongings.”

  “What for?” Puzzle showed on the guard’s face.

  “Leona’s killer.”

  “Fine. Speak in riddles if it suits you, as long as I can count on you against the rest of those vermin.” Phineas led him indoors, leaving Godfrey to follow.

  Inside the jail, Rose had almost finished tending to Silas’ injuries while Evander waited at her side. A pouch of coins hung from his belt—likely his reward for the ogre’s death.

  “How is he?” Godfrey asked when Phineas went to retrieve the knife.

  Rose glowered at Phineas behind his back. “He’s just lucky the guards didn’t bash his brains in.”

  Godfrey examined Silas’ bandaged ribs. “This is fine work. Are you a healer?”

  She lowered her gaze. “Not anymore.”

  “There are several villagers suffering from plague in need of care,” Godfrey said. “There is little I can do for them, but perhaps you…”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been away too long as it is. I must return home.”

  “You shouldn’t ride out in this weather,” Evander said. “What’s one more day?”

  “I implore you,” Godfrey said. “Even if you could only ease their passage.”

  Rose shook her head and let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, but you’ll have to gather the herbs and ingredients I require.” When she turned to Berengar, her expression softened. “Silas told me that you gave him the coins to buy a new horse for me. Thank you.”

  “I owed you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re square.”

  Phineas returned with the knife and handed it to Berengar. He took it and turned it over in his hand. The weapon, which was still stained with Leona’s blood, wasn’t some dagger made for killing. Instead, it had the look of an ordinary kitchen knife. He pocketed the knife and started toward the door.

  “And just where are you going?” Phineas called after him.

  “There’s something I need to see to. Alone. Wait for my return.”

  Berengar left the guards to their interrogation and set out on the path from the jail with only Faolán for company. He made his way to a home on the outskirts of Alúine, far removed from the huts packed near the village’s heart.

  Hirum answered when he knocked on the door. “You again. What’s this about?”

  “I’m just here to talk about your daughter.” Berengar glanced over his shoulder as a flash of lightning shot through the heavens. “Mind if I come inside? Storm could hit at any minute.”

  Hirum hesitated before allowing him entrance. “Very well. Just make it quick, and leave that hound outside.”

  Faint candlelight revealed an abundance of well-made furniture.

  Iain wasn’t lying when he spoke of Hirum’s wealth. “This is an impressive home, especially for a place like Alúine.”

  “Can I offer you bread and wine?” Hirum’s tone wasn’t particularly cordial, but whatever else he was, he was a man of Leinster, where tradition dictated showing hospitality to one’s guests.

  “Aye. I haven’t had time to eat since killing that ogre. I’ve been too busy tracking down leads.”

  Hirum led him to a spacious dining hall. “Have a seat.”

  Berengar took his place at the table, and his host disappeared into the next room before returning with a goblet, which he promptly filled with wine before setting a plate of bread before him.

  “Are you any closer to finding my daughter’s killer? Assuming the halfwit didn’t do it, that is.”

  “I believe I am. There were a few more questions I wanted to ask you first.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know,” Hirum said with barely restrained anger. “I tire of being made to relive my daughter’s death. Do you know what it’s like to lose your only child? Of course you don’t.”

  Berengar stared hard at him, stone-faced. “You said Leona went out alone the night she was killed. Do you have any idea where she went?”

  “No—as I said before.”

  “Was she acting strangely in the days before her death? Worried by something, perhaps?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “I understand Leona wished to wed Maddox, the blacksmith’s son,” Berengar said. “Was it possible that was who she was planning to meet?”

  “You don’t think that he killed her, do you? I wouldn’t put it past him. The lad has a greedy look about him.”

  “But you did put a stop to the union. Why?”

  Hirum slammed his fist down hard, rattling the table. “Do you think I would allow her to throw her future away on some lowly blacksmith’s boy? My girl? Leona was my daughter—mine.” The anger seemed to fade away as quickly as it had manifested, and he put his head in his hands. “Now I’ve lost her too.”

  “From all accounts, Leona was a good and kind girl. I can see why you cared for her so deeply.”

  “When my wife died, she was all I had left.”

  Berengar reached for the bread. “A knife, if you will—to cut the bread.” He continued speaking after his host went into the next room to fetch the knife. “That’s why you prevented her marriage, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t catch your meaning.”

  “It’s why you were angered when anyone showed interest in her. You were afraid she would leave you, and you’d be alone. It’s why you killed her.”

  He heard Hirum stop moving, and silence fell over the room.

  “She tried to leave, but you wouldn’t let her. You probably didn’t mean to hurt her, but you lost your temper. She was dead before you realized you had stabbed her, again and again.”

  Hirum’s voice was quiet. “You’re mad.”

  “You thought you could take advantage of all the missing girls to cover your tracks. Hell, you probably didn’t need the guards in your pocket to convince them she was killed in a monster attack, when really it was just an old-fashioned murder.”

  “Get out of my home.”

  Berengar remained where he sat, with his back to Hirum, even as his host’s footsteps sounded behind him. “It was easy to pin the crime on Silas, although if I had to guess, I’d say someone spotted you entering or leaving the Green Flagon.”

  Hirum’s voice came from directly behind him. “You shouldn’t have poked your nose in my business.”

  Berengar’s hand shot up and seized Hirum’s forearm, pinning it like a vise. A knife like the one used to kill Leona fell from Hirum’s grip as Berengar’s chair crashed to the floorboards. He clamped a hand over Hirum’s mouth and slammed him against the wall.

  “I already killed an ogre today. Did you really think I’d be afraid of you?”

  Hirum broke down. “I didn’t mean to. It was the hag—she made me do it. She came to me in my dreams every night, telling me Leona was going to leave me. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Berengar frowned. “The hag?”

  “Aye.” Hirum started to sob. “I made a deal with her years ago. She promised to make me rich. I even sacrificed my wife to her in return, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.”

  Berengar stared at the wretched man across from him with contempt. The hag might have influenced him, but it was Hirum’s hand that held the knife. The anger took hold of him again, and he threw Hirum across the room.

  “You murdered your own daughter, you piece of filth.”

  Hirum pleaded with him with his eyes. “Do it. Kill me.”

  Berengar shook his head. “No. Killing you would be an act of mercy. I’m not feeling merciful at the moment. You killed your daughter. Now live with it.” Ignoring the throbbing pain in his left hand, Berengar reached into his pocket, withdrew the knife Hirum had used to commit the murder, and dropped the bloody knife on the floor at Hirum’s feet. “Or don’t. The cho
ice is yours.”

  Hirum slowly reached for the knife. Berengar left the man to his fate and went outside, where Friar Godfrey approached with Lucas, the boy he’d rescued from the Dullahan.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What happened in there?” Godfrey asked, unease written across his face.

  Before Berengar could answer, his fist and arm seized up with spasms so intense he thought his bones might break. He tried his best to hide his discomfort, but the pain spread across his chest, and his heartbeat slowed.

  Godfrey lowered his voice. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Berengar gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to subside as it had before. The attacks were becoming more frequent, which wasn’t a good sign. “Leona’s killer is dead.”

  Godfrey glanced past him to Hirum’s open door. “You mean to say…”

  “Aye.”

  A light rain began falling from above.

  “There’s nothing to see here,” Berengar told an observer. “Go back to your home.”

  The man refused to leave. “You killed him, didn’t you? Murderer.”

  “Go and fetch the guards then,” Berengar replied. “The murderer is the one they’ll find inside. You might tell them to release Silas while you’re at it.” Berengar returned to Godfrey. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

  They walked to the stables and took refuge from the elements.

  “What’s with the lad?” Berengar asked.

  “Lucas sought me out at the church,” Godfrey answered on behalf of the lad, who clung to his robes. “He said he wanted to help.”

  “No need to be afraid,” Berengar said to Lucas. “I helped you before, remember?” There was no sign of the lad’s protective mother, who had prevented them from talking with him the day before.

  “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  “Speak up, lad. Tell me about the headless rider. What did he want with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucas said shyly.

  Godfrey crouched low and smiled to reassure the boy. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? What were you doing at the bog?”

  Lucas looked away, refusing to meet either man’s gaze. “I ran away.”

  “There are better places than a cursed bog to run to,” Berengar said.

  “I went to the hill first,” Lucas explained. “I thought I could hide there. That was when I saw them.”

  Berengar exchanged a glance with Godfrey. “Saw who?”

  Thunder bellowed louder than before, and Lucas shuddered, frightened. “The girl the bad man hurt.”

  “What bad man?” Berengar asked. “What did he look like?”

  “I didn’t see his face. It was covered by a hood.”

  Godfrey laid a comforting hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “I know you’re afraid, but do you think you can show us where you saw this man? It’s very important. Besides, the warden won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Lucas trained his gaze on Berengar, as if unsure whether or not to trust him. “Promise?”

  “Aye. I give you my word.” Whatever other oaths he had made, that one at least he planned to keep.

  The pledge was enough for Lucas. After saddling his horse, Berengar borrowed Evander’s mare, which occupied the next stall, for the friar’s use. They emerged from the stables on horseback, with Lucas riding with Godfrey. The rains intensified as they set out from Alúine, but the horses remained steady despite the raging storm. To the west loomed the great hill, illuminated by flashes of lightning. At Lucas’ direction, they steered their horses uphill, past the place where Hirum had concealed Leona’s body.

  Once the horses reached the peak, the riders dismounted to explore the area on foot. Crows watched from their perches as Berengar and the others pushed their way through the brush. There was something unsettling about the hill. He felt it in his bones. He sensed that the answers to his questions about the events that transpired the night he came to Móin Alúin were close.

  Lucas kept to Berengar’s shadow, unwilling to stray beyond their sight. Whatever the lad encountered previously had spooked him, and it wasn’t just the headless rider.

  “What was that back there?” Godfrey asked him. “With your arm?”

  “I told you before. It’s nothing.”

  “And I suppose those veins on your neck are nothing too.”

  Berengar peeled back his armor to discover the gray and black discoloration had spread across his torso and now crept up his neck. He swore under his breath and showed Godfrey the nail lodged in his left hand. “It’s a curse—the hag’s doing.” He tried again to pry the nail free, but the hag’s magic anchored it in place.

  “What sort of curse? I’ve heard a great deal from the villagers about the hag and her curses. Perhaps yours can be lifted.”

  Berengar briefly recounted the symptoms he’d been experiencing and relayed everything he remembered about his encounter with the hag. He could almost hear the hag’s distorted voice in his ear.

  Your heart is stone, and stone you will become.

  “She wants a sacrifice of some sort. If I don’t find it before tomorrow night, the curse will claim my life.”

  Godfrey took a moment to consider his words. “Have you tried finding a magician to break the curse?”

  “There are no magicians left in Leinster. The purges saw to that.”

  “There’s one in Munster, to the south. King Mór’s court magician is said to be young, but the kingdom boasts one of the most impressive libraries in Fál. Cashel is far from here, but you might make it in time.”

  Berengar had no intention of running. “I have unfinished business here.”

  “You could also attempt to bring the hag what she’s asked for, though there’s nothing to say she’ll live up to her end of the bargain. The way I see it, your only other recourse is to kill her, and I’d wager she’s not so easily killed.” Godfrey hesitated, as if a new idea occurred to him. “The hag said you are ruled by rage and hate. It might be that giving in to either brings on these attacks. The next time you’re faced with such a choice, why not prove her wrong? Maybe it would forestall the spread of the curse.”

  Berengar chose his path a long time ago and had walked it ever since. “I hurt people. It’s what I do.” He felt no shame in it. Fál needed men like him, who weren’t afraid to make the hard choices and dirty their hands so others could live in peace. Besides, anger was all he had. If he let it go, there would be nothing but hollowness in its place.

  Lucas pointed out a grove ahead. “There.”

  “Stay behind me.” Berengar advanced with his sword drawn, just in case.

  The trees bore the brunt of the storm, shielding them from the worst of the wind and rain. Branches waved at them in the weak light, inviting their entrance. They were alone, at least as far as Berengar could tell. Ash and soot licked his boots, carried by a stream of rainwater. He followed the stream to where a stack of kindling lay beside the remains of a fire. Someone was here.

  He noticed a series of strange markings etched into the trees. “You recognize these?”

  Godfrey traced the carving with his hand. “They look like pagan symbols to me.”

  Berengar spotted a stone pillar through the rain, just past the trees. Beneath the pillar rested a weathered slab with markings similar to those carved on the trees. Lightning flashed when Berengar put a hand on the wet stone, and the illumination revealed blood smeared across the surface. He knelt down and picked up a frayed rope from the muddy earth. Someone was bound here. “Lucas, you said there was a girl?”

  Lucas held Godfrey’s hand for reassurance. “She was tied to the table. The bad man had a dagger in his hand.”

  The man in the hood. “Tell me about this man.”

  “I didn’t understand what he said. He spoke in a strange tongue. When I tried to get a better look, he saw me and sent the headless rider after me. I ran to the bog, but it followed.”

  Faolá
n barked from beside a charred set of skeletal remains a short distance away.

  This isn’t a table, he realized. It’s an altar. The killing had all the markings of a ritual sacrifice.

  “Do you remember the murdered couple we found at the farm?” Godfrey asked. “I think we know what became of their daughter after the Dullahan abducted her. He brought her here to be sacrificed. Probably the other girls too.”

  “Aye, but who’s sacrificing them, and why?”

  Berengar had assumed the hag controlled the Dullahan. Instead, it appeared the Dullahan answered to the mysterious individual in the hood. The hag was aware of the sacrifices, since she’d asked him to bring one to her, but her involvement with the hooded figure was unclear.

  Godfrey studied the pillar after another flash of lightning. Another mark was etched into the stone. “Or to whom. Look at this.”

  “I recognize this symbol.” It matched one he’d seen on the forest shrine during the goblin hunt.

  “It’s the mark of Balor, King of the Fomorians. Whoever commands the Dullahan must be sacrificing the girls’ souls to him.”

  That must be where the sluagh come from. The poor things were cursed to wander the land in search of their souls.

  “There was a cult of Balor here, but it was stamped out long ago,” Godfrey said.

  “Perhaps someone is trying to revive it.”

  For a friar who claimed to wander Leinster, Godfrey seemed to know a lot about the immediate area and its history. Godfrey, dressed in friar’s robes, also wore a hood. There was clearly more to him than there appeared on the surface. That didn’t make him a killer, but he bore watching nonetheless.

  “We should leave,” Godfrey said. “The boy is frightened.”

  Berengar agreed. There was nothing more the hill could tell them, and he had other matters to attend to.

  Godfrey volunteered to show Lucas home when they arrived in Alúine. After returning the horses to their stalls, Berengar made his way to the jail, where the guards waited with a group of villagers armed for battle. The door to Gnish’s cell lay ajar, and the hobgoblin was nowhere in sight. Silas too was gone. The guards must have realized their mistake when they discovered Hirum’s self-inflicted wounds.