They rode across the bridge in single file, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Bee came behind and could see the warriors intermittently glancing at the arrow slits, light flickering from them despite it being early in the day. It wouldn’t take an éigeas to realise the warriors were expecting arrows to fly at any moment. Their glances were quick. Furtive.

  They’re afraid.

  She didn’t begrudge them a little fear. It was understandable. Riding across a bridge without a parapet in the clear light of day—wholly visible to those in the castle—could be catastrophic. Regardless of the threat from iron-pointed arrows, the skittering of arrowheads striking the stones could be enough to startle a horse. Where one goes, the others would be likely to follow.

  Upthog gazed down into the pinkly orange mists rising from the cleft below and thought her small expedition could quickly find itself in a river of molten metal. She didn’t feel the stench of rotten eggs was doing much to improve her confidence. The riders were all staring about nervously. Sainreth was constantly leaning over in his saddle to stare into the pink mists, his face a frown.

  Their greatest danger is their own fear.

  Three-quarters of the way over the bridge, Sainreth suddenly stood in his stirrups and shouted, “We come in peace. Show yourselves.”

  There was no response.

  “Calm yerself, Sainreth. If they intended peppering us full of arrows, they would’ve done it already,” Upthog said, sure her words wouldn’t break through his conviction the bridge would be his death.

  The warrior slumped back into his saddle, mumbling something she failed to catch. The rest glanced at each other, also muttering, all except Volt, who was wary but calm. Before starting across the bridge, Upthog would have guessed the Horse Warrior would have been more fearful than any of them. His being her staunchest ally just didn’t fit her picture of him.

  He is buried in his thoughts.

  “What’s yer take, Horse Warrior?” she asked.

  He shrugged and rubbed his bristles before realising what he was doing and putting his free hand on his saddle pommel. He studied the arrow slits before saying, “I think if they were hostile, we’d already be dead.”

  Is that anger in his voice?

  “Aye. Ye hear that, Sainreth? North Kingdom’s finest warrior agrees with me. That from the man who tracked down all the witches of The Coven and saw them hanged in Murias. Men and women, made no never mind, hanged them all.”

  “Your brother tracked them,” Volt said. “All I did was take the credit, which I have regretted ever since.”

  Shaking her head, Upthog wondered at the sudden admission. It was beginning to seem like she had maligned the North Kingdom warrior. Admitting his fallibility and foibles also belied her ideas about him.

  Was Cassandra telling the future?

  Dagda’s seeress had claimed she was cursed to never be believed. At the time, Bee’d found it to be a convenient curse. She also said that in time Bee would come to realise that she spoke the truth.

  “I don’t buy it. The undead might be waiting ’til they’re unlikely to miss,” Sainreth said, breaking into her thoughts, making Bee lose the thread.

  “We already passed that point, Sainreth. Grow a pair of magairlí, why don’t ye,” she said with a grin.

  The warrior mumbled some more as he stopped his horse under the shadows of the formidable fortress. Bee was only mocking him—teasing because she knew it would get a rise out of him. She’d fought beside Sainreth and knew he had the mettle when it counted. Like many warriors, he was superstitious and tended to let the superstitions get the better of him before the heat of battle took control. Sighing, she swung out of the saddle. The sound of her boots hitting the road echoed down the tunnel beyond the portcullis. Standing before the hole, Bee studied the entrance with a frown. The tunnel was dark, with no apparent guards to demand their purpose or kill them. The entire mountain seemed to be sleeping or holding its breath, waiting for something.

  Waiting for what?

  “We seek audience with Balor,” she called, unsure what else she could do. When there was no response, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, causing the Horse Warrior to wince and turn away.

  Nothing.

  Bee stared between the bars, scrunching her eyes together, trying to concentrate the limited light. Regardless of how hard she focused, nothing was visible beyond the bars—nothing but an impenetrable darkness as if a black cover blocked all light from entering. There were no sounds other than those caused by the nervousness of warriors and beasts.

  “This place seems deserted,” Volt said.

  Bee took a couple of steps back, tilting her head up to look at the gatehouse above the tunnel entrance. What she saw caused her to frown and walk towards the bars, saying, “It’s a mirage.”

  “What’s a mirage?” Volt asked, scraping his bristles.

  “Everything,” Bee said, making a grab for the bars of the portcullis. Her hand passed through the imaginary barrier, and she walked into the tunnel with another whistle. “Hobble the horses and bring torches. It’s blacker than a demon’s hole in here.”

  “Do demons have holes?” Volt asked while using his tinder to light a torch he found just inside the tunnel entrance.

  Upthog shrugged and continued to stare into the dark. “I have no idea,” she finally said.

  “How could you tell?”

  “What, Horse Warrior? If a demon has a hole?”

  “No. That the whole thing is a fake.”

  “Tilting me head back under the gatehouse, all I could see was a rock wall.” His facade was only meant to discourage visitors on the other side of the bridge.

  “That’s some powerful magic,” Volt said.

  “Aye, it is. Balor must have created the mirage to scare off unwanted callers. Standing directly under it ruins the cast. It just looks like a heat haze shimmering in front of the rocks and fissures of the cliff face.”

  “Effective,” he said, rubbing his chin.

  “Judging by the skittering of these warriors when crossing the bridge, I’d say aye, effective.”

  Upthog glanced over her shoulder as Sainreth and his Leathdhosaen scurried into the tunnel, lighting torches as they came. Their nerves had not lessened, even though there was no sign of opposition to their invasion of Balor’s domain.

  At least they came in.

  “Will the light not give us away?” Volt asked.

  “We ain’t hiding, Horse Warrior. Besides, I’ve a feeling about this. Something ain’t right. There’s a sense of emptiness like something has been torn out of the mountain—something essential.” Volt agreed. “Stay close together. We’ve no idea what to expect.”

  “You sure you want to go on?” Sainreth muttered. Bee ignored him and walked down the tunnel with her head high. She felt a momentary relief when Volt strode beside her, and the others ran to catch them.

  Bunched close, they moved along at a slow pace. Despite the several torches they had burning, the light didn’t penetrate far. Bee could discern little detail other than rounded walls and the floor angling down slightly. There was a coating of dust on everything as if the passage hadn’t been used for many summers. There was no sound other than the noise created by their boots on the floor. None. The sulphurous odour was more pungent in Balor’s fastness, but she would expect nothing less. They were under the Fiery Mountain, the source of the burning rivers giving off the stench.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  When the tunnel angled down sharply, and a glow from below gave more light, Bee picked up her pace, keen to discover the secrets of the infamous labyrinth. Besides, she remained convinced there was nothing here, never mind something to fear.

  “Whoa, what’s your hurry?” Sainreth bleated.

  She ignored him again.

  Reaching the bottom, she saw the tunnel opened into a vast cavern. The glow was coming from a cleft in the floor. Steam and a hissing noise—like someone roasting meat on a spit—also came from the aperture. There was a bridge spanning the gap and what appeared to be a well-worn path running to a heavy door of some sort of wood.

  That explains the dust. We were in an unused passageway.

  The door was closed, but there were no signs of any guards or anyone.

  “I think that’s the entrance to Balor’s domain,” Bee said, pointing at the door.

  “Aye,” Sainreth agreed, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to hide his chin in the neckline of his cuirass.

  “Let’s go knock and see if anyone’s home,” she said, drawing her sword and striding across the bridge.

  She didn’t wait for anyone to follow but was not surprised when she reached the door to find Volt standing beside her, her new existence where reality proved the opposite of her expectations. Neither was she surprised when Sainreth and his men hesitated on the other side of the bridge. She wondered if they would find the courage to follow. Being stalwart in battle required a different bravery from what was needed in this underworld where the monsters of legend dwelled.

  Do I need them? They weren’t here yesterday.

  Banging the door with the hilt of her sword, she said, “I am an emissary of Dagda and demand an audience with Balor.”

  She listened. There was no sound other than the booms of her knocking echoing through whatever lay beyond the door.

  Another cavern or tunnels?

  “Did they lose their voices with their lives?” Volt asked.

  Bee shrugged. She still felt a sense of loss. Something had happened in Balor’s domain that the rocks and dust seemed to be complaining about. Not in any sense the humans with her would understand. It was more a feeling that only those in tune with their world would recognise. Although, she got the sense that Volt could feel something—as though he were more Tuatha than human.

  I wonder.

  “What are yer origins, Horse Warrior?”

  “Drombeg.”

  “I know that. Who were yer parents?”

  “I never met my father. Mother was a Horse Maiden under Magón’s father—that’s how they met. She lives in Drombeg with Fearghal, my stepfather.”

  “She never told ye who yer father was?”

  “My father died in a Táin shortly after I was born. Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity.”

  Saying which, Bee took hold of the metal ring in the door and gave it a turn. She heard a slight click. When she tugged at the ring, the door swung open with a piercing shriek. “They could use some oil in Balor’s domain.”

  Instead of waiting for a response, she ducked around the door and entered another passage. Sconced braziers hung from its walls, providing pools of light every few paces. The floor was dust-free, and the tunnel appeared to run straight until it vanished from her sight.

  Bee started walking.

  After a hundred paces or more, she came to a broad set of rough-hewn steps explaining the tunnel’s seeming disappearance.

  “Further down,” Volt said from close by; the rest were milling about several paces behind.

  “Ye coming?” she asked Volt, ignoring Sainreth and his Leathdhosaen. He nodded and followed her down the stairs.

  After thirty steps, they reached a broad space, and the staircase doubled back to head in the opposite direction. Just as Bee put a foot on the landing, a wail erupted from deeper in the hole they were climbing into. She paused to listen. She’d never heard anything quite as evocative as that wail. It seemed to carry all the woe of all the races since moon cycles began. It made the hairs on her arms stand up and tingle. Arriving beside her, the Horse Warrior drew his sword and cocked his head to listen.

  “We should leave,” Sainreth said from several steps higher up where he’d come to rest.

  “Why’s that now? Still not found yer magairlí, Sainreth?”

  “You know me better’n that. I’ll fight anything. But not that. Can you even hear it?”

  “No point in fighting that. Ye’ll never win against it.”

  “See. We have to leave.”

  “Run if ye want to, Sainreth. Ye won’t catch me running from the sound of the wind in a flue.”

  “What’re you talking about.”

  “At a guess, I’d say there’s a chimney somewhere. What yer listening to is the wind.”

  Even in the limited light, Bee could see Sainreth’s face flush. She wanted to give herself a kick for teasing him but had been unable to resist. Volt sheathed his sword, grinning. Even the warriors of Sainreth’s Leathdhosaen saw the funny side.

  “You got me,” Sainreth said, holding up his hands and grinning back at the Horse Warrior. “Come on. Let’s get this done with. I could use a mead right about now.”

  They continued down the steps accompanied by the anguished wailing. Strangely, when they reached the bottom, the noise stopped as though they had activated a hidden switch to cut the wind off mid-howl.

  Fifty or so paces from the bottom of the stairs, there was an arch not unlike the one under Bull’s Head Rock. The columns had been intricately carved with figures that seemed almost lifelike. Humans in varying degrees of pain climbing to meet at the apex.

  Probably modelled on the people who use the arch. The Fomorii. At least before they became the undead.

  “Come on,” Bee said, striding forward.

  Passing through, she could tell she’d entered another vast cavern, although the only light was from the tunnel she’d just left. As well as the sconced braziers, the warriors still carried their burning torches, not trusting enough to extinguish them.

  Thankfully.

  As they came through the arch and added light, the scale of this latest cavern became apparent even though she could not see far into the shadows. There was something in the quality of the air that spoke to her of an enormous open space.

  As soon as they were all together, they walked forward as one. Bee held her breath as the light unveiled the architecture of the room. She supposed the Fomorii had had hundreds of summers to build their underworld kingdom. Even so, it was impressive beyond much she’d seen before. Eterscel’s builders had shown skills far and away from most human understanding; this work was a level above even that.

  The warriors were walking as if entranced, staring above and all around.

  “Look here,” Volt said after they’d been walking for a few moments.

  Just visible in the limited light, Bee could see a dais. As she neared, she saw scuff marks on the surface, showing someone had moved something heavy. Bending over, Upthog studied the damaged surface. She was no tracker. Nevertheless, she thought the grooves appeared fresh.

  “Horse Warrior?”

  Kneeling, he examined the scrapes, licked a finger and ran it through a groove, lifted it and stared at the tip before rubbing it on his thumb.

  “Well?” Bee prompted.

  “Heavy stone. Possibly onyx. Dragged into position and then lifted.”

  “How could you know that?” Sainreth scoffed.

  “There are shards in the grooves. Onyx-like, but they have a strange feel. It’s as though they are buzzing with suppressed energy. The grooves don’t reach the edge of the dais, so whatever was dragged wasn’t dragged all the way. Must have been lifted. There’s no dust in the grooves, so whatever they moved, they did it recently, I’d say.”

  “They’re gone,” a voice said from the shadows. “They took the throne with them.”

  The warriors drew their swords and crouched defensively, blades angled up slightly.

  “Someone get a torch over there,” Volt said, pointing at a shadowed area behind the dais.

  Taking Sainreth’s torch, Bee walked over and held it aloft. Several men were hanging from the wall in chains. All but one of them was unconscious. She would have said dead, except she didn’t believe death was a concept that worked in this egg-stench of a pit.

  “Who are ye?” she asked.

  “My name is Cú Anoir, the Hound of the East. I came to discover the secrets of the caverns many moons ago. When I refused the blade and Abartach defeated me in single combat, they chained me here to await my transition.”

  “Transition to what?” Volt asked.

  “Transition to one of them.”

  “One of the undead challenged ye?” Bee asked.

  “Aye. Balor’s champion, Abartach. Knocked me senseless. When I awoke, I was hanging here.”

  “Ye mentioned refusing a blade. Which blade was that?”

  “The King has a blade. A magic blade that transitions victims quicker. One stab to the heart is all it needs. Otherwise, you must hang here and wait.”

  “How long ago?” Bee asked.

  “I have no idea how long. It seems to have been a long time since they chained me here.”

  “Who was your king?” Volt asked.

  “Dar Mac Dedaid.”

  Bee turned to the Horse Warrior and raised her eyebrows. Mac Dedaid had been known for his cruelty and the lack of value he placed on human life, especially that of his vassals.

  “He was poisoned more than twenty summers ago,” she said with a shake of her head. “How can ye’ve been hanging here so long?”

  “The throne’s power kept me living while I transitioned to the undead. Now it is gone, and I am dying. These others are already dead,” Cú said.

  “What like was this throne?” Bee asked a sudden fear gripping her gut.

  “Black. Onyx. I heard Balor’s stonemasons carved it from a rock they found in the labyrinth’s depths.”

  “Did they name it, Cú? Did ye hear them call it anything?”

  “Lia Fáil.”

  Bee slumped onto the top step of the dais and took her head in her hands. She could feel a ringing in her ears and wanted to scream. Everything suddenly became clear. She understood why there was a feeling of loss; a feeling that something had been torn from the earth.

  “What’s Lia Fáil?” Volt asked her.

  “Lia Fáil, Horse Warrior, is the Heart of the Mountain. Pure draíocht. Seems it’s the source of Balor’s magic and our destiny to take it from him.”