Volt watched her as she came awake. It was a slow process. Fachta must have hit her hard because several minutes had passed. In fact, it had been long enough for them to tie her to the flagpole, which was still flying its gruesome pennant. As her eyes came into focus and she saw him, Upthog turned her head and spat into the dust. Despite her lack of welcome, he crouched beside her and rubbed his crown, feeling a surge of disappointment because the rasp had gone.

  Time to scrape a blade over it.

  Volt shook his head at the sense of loss, wondering why he liked the rasp of bristles when he rubbed his head. Maybe it was because it gave him a sense of comfort, perhaps a sense of belonging to something. After all, long hair and iron helms didn’t mix well, as he’d been fond of telling those in his troop who grew their hair. Volt had encouraged the warriors to keep it short, making them uniform in a way other than stained white cloaks. Only Oisín and Ruairí refused, laughing at him when he told them bristles were easier in wartime.

  And with that memory, Volt wondered what had happened to the other troop members. King Connavar—at least the one they thought was the King—gave command of them to Maga, but she was here breaking his magairlí and couldn’t be both there and here. Maybe he would find his way back to them someday but probably not. Crouching beside yet another killer, he thought there would be little chance of surviving this latest adventure. Still, he was interested to hear what had driven Upthog to become what she was. Her earlier words spoke of some hardship that might—if not excuse her murders—explain them, at least a little.

  But Oisín and Ruairí working for Kathvar? It doesn’t make sense.

  “What happened to your brother?”

  “Like ye don’t already know or even care, bundún.”

  “What can I do to convince you I had nothing to do with what happened to him?”

  “Cut me loose and bring me bow.”

  “I can’t do that, Upthog. These people are Tuatha. They would cut you down without breaking a sweat and continue as if nothing had happened. They don’t have the same…” He hesitated, unsure what it was they didn’t possess. Finally, he settled for, “Sense of humanity as us humans.”

  “Ye enjoy a jest, I see?”

  “I am not following you.”

  “Never met a human with any humanity. On the contrary, humans are usually the least humane.”

  “Well, maybe so. What I meant was these Tuatha are brutal. Much more so than any humans I know.”

  “I’m no helpless leanbh mná, bundún. And I’m about as human as they are. Didn’t they tell ye I’m a witch?”

  “No, but I guessed. Maga said you’re Dhuosnos’s disciple, tasked with getting the boy to the Arena under Bull’s Head Rock. I reckon that puts you into a certain category.”

  A category I was raised on when it was time for bed.

  “That’s a simplified view, so it is.”

  “Yes, well, in my experience—limited though it is—these Tuatha only deal with the simple view. They fear anything complicated and remove it with a sharp edge and a strong arm.”

  “Aye. You ain’t wrong there, Horse Warrior.”

  “Tell me what happened to your brother.”

  “Kathvar murdered him and sent yer trackers to murder me.”

  “I find it hard to believe, Upthog.” Shrugging, she turned away and spat again.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  When she finished describing what happened to her brother, Volt felt more inclined to believe what she’d claimed. Something in the way she kept eye contact throughout the story convinced him she was telling the truth, at least what she thought to be true.

  “So, if you’re a witch, why did you ambush us with a bow? Why not blast us with Earth Power?”

  Volt felt sure he was missing something fundamental and the witch would delight in telling him what. He did not know ancient lores or races. Sometimes he thought himself to be less than what was required of a good leader.

  You are a good leader of horse warriors, he scolded himself.

  “Two reasons. As ye aptly put it, blasting is not a fine tool to excise a canker. Of more import, though, there is no magic. At least none I can reach.”

  “What do you mean, no magic? There must be.” Volt couldn’t believe his own words. Not long ago, he had thought the whole Dhuosnos saga belonged within the bounds of those with a vivid imagination.

  “No. Ye and yer caraid, Kathvar, saw to it when ye murdered the witches of The Coven. It’s those witches who syphoned Earth Power for Dhuosnos to create the source of magic—”

  “What’s the source of magic?” Volt interrupted. The look she gave him caused an involuntary shiver. Had she not been tied to a pole he felt sure he would pay for his interruption painfully.

  “I don’t know how to describe it except it’s like a huge lake of power,” Upthog finally continued. “Each time someone uses a bit of magic, it depletes the source. The more powerful the magic, the greater the depletion. Without The Coven witches, no one can draw Earth Power for Dhuosnos, and so no lake.”

  “Can’t the giant draw it himself?”

  “No. Not from within Tech Duinn. That’s why Dhuosnos created The Coven to draw from the earth. When ye destroyed them, ye took away his ability to replenish his lake. The Lord of Darkness’s never been so weak. The longer it takes him to break free, the weaker he’ll become.”

  “Is there no one who can use this Tuatha-forsaken power?”

  “Apart from the Tuatha, there’s the true witches, those who came before The Coven. Not Dhuosnos’s sorry imitation. They once drew from the earth. It’s a lost art, so far as I know.” As she spoke, Upthog looked away, seeming concentrated on the distant past, as though she was one of those who had lost the art.

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  “But…” Volt hesitated, unsure what to say. Eventually, he said, “If Kathvar’s a witch, he must know that. Why did he do it?”

  Upthog didn’t speak for several moments, watching the activity of Maga’s guards. She was still lost in some past, something was forcing her to an introspection so profound it was mildly worrying.

  Eventually, her eyes focused, and she said, “At first, I thought he wanted to be the witch to release the Lord of Darkness, but there’s more to it. It’s as if he’s weakening Dhuosnos on purpose.”

  “Why would anyone want to weaken Darkness?”

  “I can think of only one reason, Champ. It’s as—”

  “Where’s the boy, woman?” Maga asked, causing Volt to jump. She was stood a few paces away with her arms folded, Fachta behind, grinning as usual, his eyes speaking of the violence he would unleash without Maga to hold him back.

  “Don’t know.”

  “What does that mean? Why don’t you know?”

  “He ran off. Must be out on the plains somewhere. Hiding in the grass weeping if I know him.”

  “You let him run off. How will Dhuosnos react to that?”

  “Honestly, I don’t give a shite how he reacts. I agreed to do his bidding for me own ends. Wasn’t about to stop the boy running, either. I’d enough of the dailtín breaking me polltóna to last a millennium.”

  As she spoke, she didn’t maintain eye contact with Maga. One thing was obvious, Upthog was not being entirely honest and Volt wondered why. He was surprised to notice the Tuatha failed to spot the subterfuge.

  Her heightened senses are only for the physical. She could not read people, which surprised him. What is Upthog doing, protecting the boy despite her bluster?

  “So, he’s out in the plains alone and vulnerable,” Maga said. “We’d better get after him.”

  “Not sure that’s necessary,” Upthog said, tilting her head.

  “What do you mean?” Maga asked.

  “Boy has a demon. It’s what stuck him up the flagpole.” Upthog tilted her head back, indicating the warrior above her. Maga glanced at the gruesome pennant and nodded as if it was a sight she was used to.

  “Where did he get a demon?”

  “Summoned it. Marbh came to him in a dream and told him how. It’s been with him since that bundún locked him in a granary,” she said, nodding at Volt.

  “Good. That’s very good. Very good, indeed.”

  Volt opened his mouth to demand what was good about it, but Upthog stopped the question with a barely perceptible shake of her head. Once again Maga failed to notice, and Volt wondered if there was any truth in the legends.

  “The demon will lead him to the Bull’s Head, you think?” Maga asked.

  “Aye. It’s the reason the monster exists.”

  “So, we can head there. If we meet the boy and this demon on the way, well and good. If not…” Maga finished her statement with a shrug. “Where did he run from?”

  “Out in the plains. We took shelter in a dip, half a league West. I came back to Caisel when I saw youse on the road.”

  Thinking that they might have picked Scamp up, Volt realised.

  “Fachta, find the boy’s trail and make sure this one’s telling the truth. No contact. If he’s with a demon, come meet us in Gorias.”

  “If he isn’t?”

  “Bring him with you, but no harm’s to befall him. The rest of you, prepare to ride. You, Horse Warrior, are responsible for the woman. Her life is in your hands.”

  “It will be dark soon,” Volt said. “We’ll be safer if we stay here tonight.”

  “Safe from what, Horse Warrior?”

  “Predators. Plague victims. Rogue Fianna.”

  Volt felt a shiver run up his spine when Maga turned her back and walked away, laughing.

  ***

  What remained of the small group made camp beside the dyke on the way to Gorias. Fachta had ridden off with Gul, and Maga seemed to think she could trust Volt to stay because he was no longer under close guard. Perhaps she realised that putting the woman’s life in his hands meant Volt wouldn’t run, which was intuitive. He wouldn’t abandon Upthog even though she killed his friends; not only because of a sense of honour but also because he wanted to understand what he was involved in. Something told him the witch would have a better idea than he did.

  You and your Tuatha-forsaken honour.

  He supposed he shouldn’t complain. It might be a cack-handed sort of honour, but it was all his and—with an eye of calm—he realised he was involved in momentous events because of it. He’d cursed following the Tuatha into Middle Kingdom until what happened in Caisel opened his eyes to how vital events might be.

  Is a Scourge upon us?

  Whatever the witch might have done in the past, Volt felt sure she would be able to provide him with some answers. When he finally joined Upthog at her stake, night had already fallen. She was leaning her back against her prison with her eyes closed, her hands tied behind, and an ankle hobbled to the post one of Maga’s guards had driven into the sod with a war hammer.

  Crouching beside her, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

  “Aye. As comfortable as possible in the circumstances,” she replied, keeping her eyes closed.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, noting the sentries were far enough away not to overhear a few quiet words. Maga was snoring so loud he thought she would scare away any natural predators, plague victims, and the hungry.

  “Ye don’t need to worry about this lot, Champ. They’re Tuatha,” Upthog said, still not opening her eyes.

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re so arrogant, they don’t pay attention. They don’t care what schemes we might hatch because we’re beneath them and easily controlled.”

  “That doesn’t seem… doesn’t seem like a wise approach.”

  “These are Danu’s guards. The Mother Goddess of the Tuatha don’t need intelligence in those who protect her but violence and a willingness to use it.” Volt was surprised at the vehemence he heard in the witch’s words. It seemed some cause of rancour existed between Danu and Upthog.

  “Why did you stop me from asking my question earlier?”

  “Which?”

  “I was going to ask her why the boy having a demon was good.”

  “Oh, that. It would’ve got her thinking. The last thing we need is Maga thinking. She might decide there’s no need to keep us and get that man of hers to cut our throats.”

  “Our throats or your throat?”

  “Does it matter, Champ?”

  “No, I suppose not,” Volt conceded. “Will you answer me if I ask you some questions about a couple of things on my mind?”

  “That would depend, no.”

  “Oh. On what?”

  “On whether I find yer questions offensive or inappropriate.”

  Volt studied their surroundings in the light of the roaring campfire, gathering his thoughts and wanting the next few moments to provide answers rather than offence. He heard an owl hoot and watched the sentries exchange a few words as they passed.

  Bheara. Always Bheara.

  Despite—or maybe because of—the ill-omen of the owl’s call, the scene convinced him Upthog wasn’t wrong about the arrogance of Maga and her guards. A roaring fire would not be something the cautious would consider while out in the open plains.

  Eventually, he asked, “First, why is it good the boy has a demon?”

  “Two reasons. The demon will bring him to Bull’s Head Rock, and it proves he’s a summoner.”

  “Oh?”

  “Only a summoner can summon, Champ. What’s yer next question?”

  “It’s about Kathvar. I’ve hated him ever since he ordered the witches hanged—”

  “That’s convenient, no.”

  “Take it for truth, Upthog, or not. It matters little to me.” She tilted her head and a slight smile creased her mouth. Volt couldn’t tell if that meant she believed him or didn’t, but as he’d said, he didn’t care.

  “All right, Champ. I’ll take yer word for now. I wouldn’t want to be ye if I discover yer lying to me.”

  “You started to tell me what he’s up to when Maga interrupted us.”

  “What I suspect he’s up to.” Volt nodded. “Only one thing makes sense to me. He intends to usurp Dhuosnos’s power.”

  “How will he do that?”

  “He’s heading for the Arena. When it comes time to bridge the Void, he’ll use whatever power he has to destroy the Lord of Darkness.”