The cave mouth faced east, so when the sun broke the distant horizon, it almost immediately eased the chill of the desert night air. Bee stood and rolled her shoulders to loosen the stiffness. Finn’s bedroll was empty, and she assumed he’d moved around the mountain a little to find some privacy. She hadn’t seen or heard him go because her thoughts had been directed fully on the cave and the arrival of the... the what? Assassins? The corpses of the Fae women were still where they’d fallen, which wasn’t a given considering where they came from. Someone or something else could have arrived and removed them. Not that there’d been any further activity from the cave. Bee’d spent all night mulling over who sent the Ban Sídhe, and the hole in the mountainside had been devoid of slapping noises.

  Now, with the tooth bathed in morning light, she felt a little better, if somewhat tired. The more she thought about it, the further she seemed to get from an answer, but with the warmth, the lack of an answer became a challenge instead of a worry. The only conclusion Bee had reached was that the arrival of the women was not a coincidence. Bren’s coming, Dagda sending Finn and her, and the two dead had to be connected. The first and the last were definitely linked, and Bee couldn’t see the middle being any different. In her experience, there was no such thing as coincidence in real life; the sisters, Badb, Macha, and Morrigan, always made sure things happened for a reason.

  During the night as she’d searched for answers, Bee had not dared enter the cave. Rather, she sat with her forearms resting on her knees staring into the hole on the other side of the fire. With the light of an early day, it seemed much less threatening. Sighing, Bee stood, wiped the seat of her pants, and walked around the ashes of the fire. She only hesitated briefly before entering the cave and kneeling to search for any sign the Fae might have left. Apart from scuff marks in the dust, there was a single bow and a quiver behind a rock from where the archer must have loosed her arrows. One bow explained why there was only one arrow at a time, something she’d fretted over during the night. Two arrows coming together would have been much more likely to succeed.

  We were lucky they weren’t both carrying bows, she said to herself, picking up the bow and quiver.

  But then, considering it, she realised it wasn’t luck. They were evidently Neit’s Maidens, women who often formed pairs, each with their skill: an archer with a sword master, a tracker with a scout. They usually became lovers, too. Returning to the bodies, she walked over and stared down at the one she stabbed, Eblui, the other called her. The Maiden lay on her back, glassy eyes staring at the new morning sky. Dried blood and flies covered her mouth, the buzzing a constant noise that Bee hadn’t identified until she stood over the dead woman and the insects rose in a cloud.

  “Who sent you?” Bee asked, crouching beside the body. There was a tattoo of a swallow behind the elongated ear on the side nearest to her, confirming her suspicions. She tried to turn the head to look behind the other ear, but the body was rigid with death stiffness.

  “You don’t need to look. There’s one on the other side, too,” Finn said as he jumped down from the ledge. The most advanced Maidens wore two swallow tattoos. “Before you ask, the other one has two.”

  “Ye were up early, it seems.”

  “Aye. Always rise with the sun. Summat to do with coming from a line of trackers, I reckon.”

  “A line?”

  “Aye. Da was a tracker, as was his Da. Probably his Da, too. Though I don’t rightly know about the last if I’m being truthful. Might have been a pig farmer.” Turning away from him, Bee thought he might have come from a line of trackers, but there was more to this Finn than that. She’d known many trackers and none of them had been much with a sword and a dagger. Finn eviscerated a Two-Swallow maiden without thought or recourse. He’d killed before and more than once.

  “What were Neit’s Maidens doing in the Fae Realm?” Bee mused. “They should be with Whitehead sitting atop Sliabh Culinn.”

  “Some of our more illustrious masters use them as guards, especially between Scourges. It’s about three centuries since the last—”

  “Three centuries. Are ye sure?” Bee interrupted, feeling her chin where the stitches should have been. Instead, she felt a ridge of flesh, raising the question of why it was still itching, as though newly healed.

  Should have looked in a glass, she thought. Not that she’d had any time for vanity. The God had hurried her through the gate. She only just had time to breathe, never mind looking at herself in a mirror.

  “Aye. More or less three hundred summers. Why?”

  “It just seems so recent,” she said. Lamely, she thought. “So, tell me all about the Maidens acting as guards?”

  “It’s a status thing, I reckon. Having them around with their swallows and their swords. Especially the more illustrious like the symbology of it all.”

  “Any idea who might have hired these two?” Finn shrugged and turned to look over the inlet before spitting in the dust.

  “They weren’t very good for Two-Swallow Maidens,” he said. “Lucky for us.”

  Bee shook her head. None of it was good fortune or bad. Neit’s Maidens were highly trained warriors, even those with only one tattoo, and the ease with which these two died didn’t sit right with her. She suspected someone sent the Maidens through on an errand, and they were no doubt surprised by the presence of a couple sitting around a roasting hare. Whoever sent them knew Bee and Finn were travelling but expected them to have been long gone.

  “We took them unawares,” she said, thinking about the hissed argument she’d heard from the cave. It now seemed evident that they’d been arguing about how to proceed.

  “We shouldn’t have been here, and then the heat hex threw them some more,” Bee surmised.

  “How so?”

  “They arrived two days after me. They expected us to be long gone.”

  “So, they weren’t sent after us?”

  “No, I’m guessing their mission was another. When they found us here at the cave, they decided to act. Maybe because waiting for us to leave would have delayed them. All they saw was a couple of humans tending a hare when one of them loosed that first arrow.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “In a hurry and thinking us strangers and human?” he asked with a shudder.

  “Aye. Nighttime. No light except that from the fire. Us wrapped in our cloaks, so no idea we were Fae. Probably thought we were worshippers from Bacca. Me heat hex would have changed that, only adding to their confusion.”

  “All right. That makes sense.”

  For Bee, the part that didn’t make sense was why they came after they expected her and Finn to be gone? Why didn’t the Maidens arrive with orders to kill them? Surely, that would have ended her mission. So, whoever sent them doesn’t want us stopped. She kept her misgivings to herself. Something about the previous night just didn’t fit. Not even slightly. And it wasn’t only the Maidens that felt wrong.

  “How long is it to reach the ferry?” she asked.

  “What, you ain’t goin’ ta use Earth Power?”

  “Apart from the interest such a surge would inevitably create, moving the physical from one location to another isn’t possible, not for me alone. Drawing that much power alone would kill me. Why else d’ye think witches work in covens?”

  “Pity,” Finn said. “It’s three or more leagues of slog through shifting sand. Half a day, all going well. Hope you brought a clean undershirt. You’ll need it when we get there.”

  “So, if we go now, we’ll get the evening sailing,” Bee said, ignoring his attempt at humour.

  “Aye. What do you want to do with these two?”

  “Leave them. The wolves can have them.”

  “The wolves won’t come on the mountain. Scared, or wary, of the cave, I reckon.”

  “I thought ye said they’re silent hunters? Don’t move yer bedroll too far from the fire, ye said.”

  “Did I? Can’t imagine why I’d say that. Must have been in shock.”

  ***

  As Finn had said, the trek to the ferry port was a hard slog. Climbing dunes with the sand shifting underfoot was never easy. Doing it during the blistering heat of a desert morning put it at another level. It was as if every two steps forward brought you one back. Not as if, Bee amended. It really happens that way. When the sun reached its zenith and the heat was the worst she’d ever experienced, she suggested they halt and wait for twilight. They could camp on the shores of the Sailin and take the boat in the morning.

  “There’s not much to go to firmer sand,” Finn said. “A hard push, and we’ll meet the ferry.”

  Bee would have argued, but Dagda had stressed how pressing it was for her to find Bren, so she let it drop. Saying nothing, she nodded, and they carried on fighting the shifting sands. It was a further hour of struggle before the sand became wet and firm, lapped by the gentle swell, and they turned north to head for the ferry port.

  When they arrived at the pier, the ship’s master was preparing to cast off.

  “Put yer hood up,” Bee said, suspecting that if the sailor knew they were Fae, he would try to fleece them, and she wasn’t in the mood.

  Finn shrugged and said, “I’ve been on the ferry already. Putting my hood up won’t fool anyone.”

  “Just in time, youse are,” the man said with a frown, eyeing the bow slung over Bee’s shoulder.

  “How much?”

  “This one’ll tell yuh, seein’ as he’s been on the Sailin Bridge twice in three days.”

  “A silver each, I reckon,” Finn said, jumping aboard and waiting for Bee to open her purse.

  “The Sailin Bridge?” she asked in a hushed voice as soon as they were underway.

  “Aye. Man’s got ideas way too big for his little boat. More of a rickety old tree fallen across a stream than a bridge.”

  Their crossing was uneventful. When they arrived at the port of Bacca, Bee wasted no time heading into the teeming streets to find a hostel. The night would soon be shrouding the land in darkness and the town’s main vendors would already be shut. They needed to buy horses and supplies, so they couldn’t begin the onward journey until the merchants reopened. She supposed their route was south. If Brenos were seriously searching for the sage, eventually, he would head for Sceine’s Cove. The Chief told her to head for the Great Forest to recruit Whitehead and her Maidens, but Bee was no longer convinced it was a wise choice. Having no idea who the dead Maidens were working for, they could not trust Whitehead until sure she’d played no part. There was a portal gate at her fortress, after all. Whitehead could be in and out of the Fae Realm at whim. It was a severe blow because, like Dagda, Bee thought the search for Bren would be far easier with two thousand Maidens at her disposal.

  “The Boiled Cock is probably the least disreputable place in Bacca,” Finn said, adding, “As in a male fowl,” when Bee raised an eyebrow.

  “I heard there ain’t a good hostel in this shithole.”

  “Aye. I don’t disagree. But when your choice is limited, what can you do?”

  The Boiled Cock turned out to be as bad as Bee’d feared. When they found their room at the rear of the hostel, the two cots were piled with stinking hides and blankets and a full slop bucket stood in the corner, making it smell like a midden trench.

  “Well, ain’t this a flea pit,” Bee hissed.

  “We could sit in the common room. Have some meads and get to know each other,” Finn suggested. She nodded, saying nothing, knowing that by some meads the tracker meant they should spend the night drinking. It wouldn’t be the best way to continue their mission, but where was the choice? She didn’t think tossing in flea infested hides would be more restful, especially with the ensuing scratching and trying to rid their seams of fleas using hot irons.

  “Let’s hope the mead is better than the rooms,” she said, nodding back the way they’d come.

  The common room was crowded, full of smoke from a badly set fire, and still an improvement on the room. A few Fae were in the company, but most revellers were human and drunk. The tables were in deep shadows, and Bee felt uncomfortable because she couldn’t see most of those making all the noise. They sat at the only table with enough space and ordered mead and something to eat. It wasn’t long before Bee found herself relaxing because the drunks were more interested in arguing amongst themselves than in the two new arrivals. Surprisingly, the hostel fare was passable. She’d drunk worse mead and the mutton stew was well seasoned and tender.

  Things seemed to be improving until Finn said around his cup, “Don’t look now but there’s an ugly whoreson over in the corner who can’t take his eyes off you.”

  “Fae?”

  “No. Definitely human. Judging by the flowery nature of his lugs, used to be, or still is, a ring fighter.”

  Bee had to resist the urge to turn and look. Although she’d never met one, she’d heard of the ring fighters, men who’d batter each other bloody for money, surrounded by a ring of warriors bearing shields. The ring, hence the name, would force them to remain within until one of the fighters knocked the other senseless. Apparently, the crowd would lay wagers on who would prevail.

  “Is he feeling amorous, d’ye think?” she asked.

  “No. Wait now. He’s seen we’re talkin’ about him. He’s coming over. Ain’t looking too pleased, either.”

  Turning, Bee watched the brute approach. She’d thought Finn was exaggerating when he said the man’s ears were flowery. The reality was the tracker had understated. The man’s face was scarred and pockmarked. His nose was so badly crushed it was hard to distinguish it from the rest of his face. He wore a leather vest, and his arms were bare. Bee didn’t think she’d ever seen arms as big, except on a demon. She supposed that with the size of his barrel chest, arms that were any smaller would have looked out of place.

  “Can I help ye?” she asked as the brute arrived at their table.

  “Well, now, that would be something I might consider,” he said in a surprisingly cultured voice. “What I think, though, is we might benefit by helping each other.”

  “Oh?”

  “It is my guess, we’re both looking for your brother, Brenos.”