The march north was gruelling. The heat in the arid plains made the hard pace more exacting, and Balor could feel the undead pulling his wagon starting to flag to the extent that Abartach suggested a change of those acting as his beasts of burden. However, unwilling to delay, he refused, keeping the wagon moving and the arid plains rolling by.

  Soon, they would be back at the hole in the wall, but for Balor, it wouldn’t be soon enough. He desperately wanted to accept the oaths of fealty from his new warriors. They would be his personal guard while they invaded Middle Kingdom and exacted vengeance on Ruirech’s descendants. Soon, the battle noise of a rearguard fighting to save an army from annihilation would be replaced by the sound of humans vainly trying to stop his heavy cavalry from crushing them. When that happened, he wanted a King’s Guard to be arrayed around his throne. He wanted the pomp it would provide.

  And as the wagon rolled, so he dreamt.

  Gorias will burn. The plains of Talamh Thorthúil will ring with the clash of iron and the screams of the dying. But first, they will see me in all my splendour, surrounded by my guard.

  Balor would brook no delays and so the horde had passed Falias during the night. The warriors wanted to stop and raze the settlement. Balor told them they had more important things on their horizon and convinced them there would be little satisfaction in burning down an empty settlement. Some had grumbled, but most accepted his words without complaint.

  Now, with evening falling, the mountains had blocked sight of the sun, but it was still light enough to see when they reached the pass. The wall was not too far in, and Balor felt his excitement mount as they drew near the breach. It seemed like a long time since he used Lia Fáil to break the defences, yet it had only been a handful of days. A handful of days in which his army had witnessed the death of the enemy King and the acquisition of three hundred heavily armoured Horse Warriors Sharvan had called the King’s Knights. Balor liked the sound of the name and decided to keep it.

  I will dress my bodyguard in ceremonial armour.

  “One of the forward troop returns, Sire,” Abartach said, riding beside the wagon.

  The gait of the warrior running back from the pass told Balor the news was not good. He felt a surge of disappointment when the warrior told them that the vanguard found Ailbhinn’s cuirass sitting on a stone beside the hole in the wall. It wasn’t just disappointing but shocking. Instead of the thirty new warriors he’d expected, there was a decorative and ancient cuirass full of dust on the western side of the barrier. On the other side, thirty corpses were lying where they’d been when Abartach executed them.

  “Show me,” Abartach said, riding on, leaving Balor to follow more slowly.

  When he arrived at the breach, he saw Abartach kneeling beside Ailbhinn’s cuirass, sitting on a stone like an invisible magical guardian wore it.

  “What happened?” he asked, just above a whisper.

  The First Warrior glared at him, saying nothing. In some ways, Balor was not surprised the warrior couldn’t find his voice. The death of his lieutenant—not just death but return to dust—must have come as a hard knock. But infinitely worse, if the reason was what Balor suspected, it tied his First Warrior to him more surely than any rope or chains could do.

  More surely than any oath, which he is already regretting. An oath that ties him to me or pushes him to usurp Lia Fáil.

  When his First Warrior walked through the hole, Balor ordered the wagon towed through after him. The neat row of dead warriors struck him like a slap in the face. The implications of these dead men and women were so profound that he felt an ache develop behind the bridge of his nose. They should have become his guards, experienced warriors, fighters willing to… well, to be destroyed for him. Instead, they were a line of useless, rotting meat—not even Undead meat because the undead didn’t putrefy.

  Was this the work of Dhuosnos’s demon?

  Balor banished the thought as soon as it manifested because they were whole and stinking. Of course, Bábdíbir had returned after five nights, but surely the demon would have found the empty cavern and returned to the Lord of Darkness with news of Balor’s treachery. Besides, the monster’s mighty axe would have made much more mess. Instead of being in a row, the bodies would be strewn all over the pass in bits and pieces.

  “What happened?” he repeated, despite being sure he already knew. He studied Abartach for his reaction, but there was none. “What should we do?”

  Balor knew what he had to do but wanted to hear his First Warrior’s thoughts before he gave any orders. He had to be careful. If the Fomorii came to the same conclusion as his, they would start to desert. Many in his horde would welcome a return to dust. Most thought of nothing but vengeance, but not all.

  “What happened, Abartach?” Balor repeated for the third time, his voice rising in frustration at the Tuatha’s ignoring him.

  “Do you not have eyes, bundún?” Abartach finally asked.

  Despite understanding the profundity of their discovery, the venom in the Tuatha’s question caused Balor to start. Only a moon cycle before, his First Warrior would not have spoken to him in such a way. Everyone needed to follow the rules of etiquette, and—until a few moments before—he thought Abartach would be the last to break them. When Abartach entered the caves, he’d been an honourable warrior of the Tuatha, offering fealty. The warrior had remained leal for the thousand summers spent by Balor’s side.

  But that was before he saw this line of corpses.

  “I want your opinion. I will ignore your petulance for now, but don’t let it happen again.”

  Balor regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them. The eyes the Tuatha turned on him made him ready to draw draíocht from Lia Fáil. He didn’t want to destroy his servant but would defend himself if needed. He kept eye contact, knowing that to falter in the moment would appear weak. If he were Abartach, he would take weakness as a signal that regime change had become necessary.

  He needs no further convincing, Balor thought, fighting not to shiver visibly at the hatred in the Tuatha’s eyes.

  There is death there. Not such a bad thing, but first, I must have my reward.

  Finally, Abartach said, “Being far from the mountain and the influence of Lia Fáil, they died. Ailbhinn went back into dust because, by now, the open air would have rendered him so, even his bones. These others rot because they would have rotted if not newly made into the undead.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Balor glowered at a crowd of Fomorii who began to gather as if in a vigil for the fallen warriors. Most glanced and turned away, but not all. Some considered the implications. Some would drift away during the night to pass into the Endless Sleep.

  But how many?

  Balor was not so naive as to think there wouldn’t be any who craved release. All he could do was hope the numbers would not be enough to overly reduce his horde’s size and, therefore, their effectiveness.

  “Why do you think the foragers we sent out from under the Fiery Mountain did not die?” he asked.

  Abartach shrugged before he said, “They never went far from the Heart of the Mountain. Wood abounds on the slopes surrounding your domain, Sire. I imagine there is a limit to Lia Fáil’s influence, which they didn’t pass beyond.”

  A wolf howling distracted Balor before he could agree. Night had fallen while they stood staring at the corpses. The warriors closest were shuffling while lighting their torches and holding them aloft. The area around the walls was soon dancing in orange light, the shadows pulsing from corners and nooks in time to the waxing and waning of the flames.

  They will not like what is to come.

  He had already decided how to test the theory but wanted Abartach to suggest it. If he ordered the First Warrior to send out a scout—a sacrifice—Balor suspected, it might prove to be what made the Tuatha enact what he was already considering. Betrayal. He might have draíocht for protection, but something about the Tuatha made Balor fear him, even with Lia Fáil under his arse.

  Suggest something, traitor. Anything. Well, not anything. Hopefully to send out a sacrificial offering to test the limit of Lia Fáil’s power.

  “What would you do?” he said, yielding despite knowing he shouldn’t have. He was not sure in the limited light but thought he caught the beginnings of a smirk on Abartach’s grey features.

  “There is only one course of action, Sire. We must send out someone to test the limits of Lia Fáil’s influence.”

  As I thought, easy.

  “How would that work?”

  “We send a scout up the East Road and wait here until morning. Wherever they die will mark the limit.”

  Balor took hold of his chin, feigning careful consideration of Abartach’s words, while watching the Tuatha staring up the Eastern Road as if his eyes could penetrate the dark.

  “But the warrior would be dead,” Balor said after what he hoped would appear to be due consideration. “Is there no other way?”

  “None, Sire. I shall go.”

  You would offer yourself as a sacrifice? That doesn’t make any sense.

  Balor almost agreed. What better way to rid himself of this dawning trouble than to turn him into a pile of iron full of dust?

  A wolf howled. He gazed at the undead warriors within the light. They were shuffling their feet, staring into the dust. Something in the shuffling warned him against sending the First Warrior. Something that made him think if Abartach was allowed to seek the Endless Sleep, many of them would follow, leaving him with a great slab of rock and no means to move it or him. He would sit beside this broken wall until the wolf pack built the courage to attack and end him if they ever would.

  “No, Abartach. It is too much to ask. I need you to stay close.”

  Especially as you’re a potential enemy.

  Balor was trying to think of a way to justify his decision when a murmur began near the wagon and spread out among the horde like the ripples from a stone dropped into a pond. As if the wave of whispered words prompted it, a wolf howled long and hard into the night. Surprised that so much time had passed, Balor saw the moon rise over the mountain peaks. It seemed like a monstrous orb staring down at him as though Rhiannon was spying on him through the night’s veil.

  The shuffling became more fretful under Her light.

  Balor was about to shout at the Fomorii and tell them it was time to grow up. Most of them were a thousand summers or more old. The time for them to act their age had long since passed. Before he could, the crowd parted, and a female warrior walked through, coming to stand in front of the wagon, her head up defiantly. Dressed for war, she had moonlight bouncing off the burnished ancient helm on her hairless head; a burnished ancient cuirass covered her chest; a leather strip skirt ended just above her grey knees; bronze greaves covered her grey shins. She carried a tall spear. A buckler was strapped to her forearm.

  “Who are you?” Balor asked.

  “I am Esther. I will go, Sire.”

  “Go where, Esther?”

  “I will march up the highway and discover the limits of Lia Fáil’s draíocht.”

  ***

  The howling of the wolf pack continued until just before dawn, as the rays began to lighten the night sky when it stopped suddenly. In contrast, Abartach stayed away, only approaching the wagon when a grey tinge rimmed the eastern horizon.

  I’ve the wolves for company at night and the traitor for company during the day. I am surrounded by my enemies.

  A vigil of Fomorii stood around the wagon, unmoving, staring at the corpses. They, too, had been there throughout the night. Abartach’s approach caused the crowd to part.

  “Sire,” he said studying the wagon’s wheels as if they were adorned with a fascinating motif.

  I cannot do anything unless he attacks me. Like the pup, the Fomorii wouldn’t like it. Unlike the pup, they will do more than complain and shuffle unless I have good reason.

  Balor knew he had to wait but also knew he would be ready. Forewarned by the change in Abartach’s behaviour, he would blast the Tuatha at the first sign of physical dissent, so long as it was in full view of his warriors.

  You must never now be alone with him. And you must start the search for a replacement. You cannot command this horde from here.

  “What is it, Abartach?” he asked, feigning a smile.

  The warrior seemed taken aback momentarily before saying, “I have been speaking to those in Esther’s troop. They all agreed that she was ready to return to dust before we came across the bodies. Her sacrifice was not altogether altruistic.”

  Of course, it wasn’t altruistic.

  “Do you think she has been gone long enough?”

  Abartach shrugged and gazed towards the mountains with a frown. “Who can say? I ordered her to keep going and stay on the road. As a single warrior, she would be much quicker than the horde, so if we marched there would be no way to catch her—not while she is still moving. However, the only way to be sure the test is accurate would be to stay here and send out another scout until they discover Esther’s remains.”

  “Get it done.”

  Midday had been and gone by the time the wagon reached the burnished armour lying in a pile, despite the scout discovering Esther’s remains a mere league from the wall and Lia Fáil. It had taken far too long to get the horde moving.

  Only a league.

  “The foragers must have gone more than a league,” Balor said, gazing at Esther’s buckler where it leant against a rock.

  Abartach crossed his hands behind his back before saying, “They never left the mountain. Perhaps when the heart is in the mountain, it acts as a conduit.”

  Yes. That would make sense. Now what am I to do?

  Apart from tying his horde and new enemy to him, the limit meant Balor needed to rethink his strategy. He’d intended to sit in Gorias directing his campaign from the inner keep. With the change, he would now have to conduct his war on the move, which created its challenges but, in some ways, might prove better. After all, this war did not come about because of greed for wealth and power. He didn’t need a base from which to operate nor to declare a seat from where the conquered would accept him as the new overall ruler of the Kingdoms. His army didn’t need supplies—other than weapons, which they could collect from the foes they crushed—so occupying forts and castles to protect supply routes wasn’t necessary. With a league to play with, his King’s Knights had enough room to crush those who opposed him. As Abartach predicted, they could ride across the plains, destroying all before them.

  Truth be told, this change meant their vengeance would have no boundaries because they could swarm through the Kingdoms, razing all settlements and killing or assimilating all their enemies. Balor would need to recruit familiars from the humans they encountered who could leave Lia Fáil’s influence to scout, but that should be easy enough. Many would prefer vassalage over being dragged into the realm of the undead. Balor could bind them to him with draíocht so they couldn’t agree to scout and then run.

  “What are your orders, Sire?”

  “We march for Gorias. I feel the need to create another breach. And this time, my people, we will raze everything in our path.”