The witching hour had passed; the night was still, except for the wash lapping the sides of the small vessel sailing across the moonlit waves. Three men were intent on the silhouette of the coast of Ynys Môn, a brooding presence that grew as they watched.

“Further to the left,” the man in the front of the currach said.

“Give it up, Brenn,” Lug, the man holding the tiller, said. “When was the last time you sailed to Druid Island?”

Aware of the rumors about the headless assassins resting at the bottom of the sea midway between Brí Chualann and Caergybi, supposedly weighed down with their ineffective armor, the assassins were sailing Lug’s currach from the mainland.

Brenn and Cyn were convinced the job would be simple—easy money because the man in a hood told them no one on the island would oppose them. Not as gullible as the other pair, Lug was less convinced. Anyone with even a little sense would not trust The Elders, notorious for their shenanigans.

The stranger made a convincing argument.

It was so convincing that Lug felt he had no option but to take the chance—not with the money the job offered, which was ten cumhals per target. Ten cumhals would last a frugal man for life. Half the silver had been paid in advance; half was waiting for them at the hostel in Dinorwic, the settlement on the mainland where assassins congregated looking for customers.

“What you going to do with your haul, Brenn?” Cyn asked.

“I’m going to open a hostel. Sick of this life of creeping murder. This one’s the one I’ve been waiting for me whole life.”

“You two make me laugh,” said Lug, shaking his head.

“Why’d you say that, Lug? The go-between said it was to be a simple kill. The druids are going to make it easy.”

“You think? Since when did the druids make anything easy, Brenn?” Lug asked, shaking his head. “They have more schemes in them than Cernunnos.”

“Why you here then, Lug, if you think they’re playing games?”

“Ten cumhals is ten cumhals. I can’t afford to pass up the chance. And if it is a game, my Isolde has five cumhals to see her through.”

“Yeah, you and your Isolde. You never talk about anything else. I tell you, it’ll be easy. Mark my words.”

“So, what about them other three? Minus a head at the bottom of the sea.”

You’re both too cocksure, so y’are.

“That was some merchant trying to be clever. The druids did for him,” Brenn said.

“How do you know that?” Cyn asked.

“I drink in the same hostel as his ship’s mate, Olwen. The captain went to Caer Leb with three heads in a sack and an open palm. He was never seen again. Left his boat to Olwen.”

“You believe far too much, Brenn. I bet that man Olwen has never seen a longship from the inside.”

“Well, that’s as maybe, but I swear he seemed to know what he was talking about.”

“Give it a rest, you two. Jump over the side and pull the currach up the beach.”

“Who made you the leader?” Cyn asked with a smirk.

“It’s my currach, and I got the contract…”

Further explanation was halted as the boat struck bottom, and the sail flapped vigorously in the rising breeze. The wind had pushed the small vessel well into the shallows, so when Cyn and Brenn leaped over the sides, the water did not come over their knees. Lug scrambled over the back and pushed. It was only a few moments before the boat was high on the beach, close to the treeline.

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“Get some branches so we can cover it,” Lug said.

“Get some branches so we can cover it,” Brenn mimicked, pulling a face. “You’ll be the death o’ me, I swear.”

Despite his moaning, Brenn moved about under the trees, gathering branches. Lug kept shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.

Once done, they made their way inland.

The land beyond the beach was flat and wooded. With the moonlight so full, the woods were not difficult, the tree roots easy to spot where they poked out of the fine silver sand, so their progress from the beach was good. By the early hours, they were lying on the edge of the woods, staring down on Caer Leb. The light of fires from behind the ramparts was throwing the elevated palisade into silhouette. All seemed quiet. There were no sentries atop the rampart, from where they would have a clear view to the treeline.

The stranger told Lug that the entrance on the east would be guarded, and they had to crawl through the marshy ditch surrounding the fort before climbing the unguarded palisade.

“How will we know where to find the targets?” Brenn whispered.

“Typical of you, Brenn. You should have asked that question before now.”

They’re in the central roundhouse on the southern edge of the settlement center.

“Yeah, yeah, so what’s the answer?”

“They’re in the roundhouse on the south side. Do youse not find it suspicious there aren’t any guards on the walls?”

“No. The go-between said there’d be no guards,” Brenn replied. The other said nothing.

“You lost your voice, Cyn?”

“I’m with Brenn. Go-between said no guards.”

Lug frowned but kept his peace. He would not have chosen these two as partners, but they were the only assassins within a day’s ride of the coast. When the shadowed face told Lug he needed a team immediately, he’d gone straight to the hostel in Dinorwic. The common room was empty of all killers except Cyn and Brenn, eyes smarting from the smoke of the cook fires and drunk on mead, boasting of past kills.

“We go in, but we keep silent. Despite what yer man said, we don’t know who’s behind the palisade. Guards could be still, and we wouldn’t see or hear them.”

Lug didn’t wait for a response but ran forward in a crouch, not caring whether the two idiots came with him or even hoping they wouldn’t. However, his momentary dreams were dashed when he slid down the bank into the ditch and heard a splash to either side.

“Ah, by all the Gods, do you smell that?” Brenn said.

“Be quiet. Have you never been in a marsh?”

The smell bubbling up from where they had disturbed the stagnant water and the mud beneath would have caused men of a lesser constitution to throw up their evening meal. Lug breathed through his mouth and took several swallows to force his bile back down.

“We go over the palisade one at a time,” he said, not waiting for a response before he scrambled up the rampart and squatted under the wooden stakes of the fortress walls.

Climbing the palisade proved easy. Lug landed on the inside close to the wall and held his breath, scanning the houses in his immediate vicinity. Most were roundhouses but the occasional blockhouse broke the monotony.

There was no sign of life. The stranger had been telling the truth. For the first time since climbing into his currach on the coast of the mainland, Lug felt himself start to relax.

As the others joined him at the base of the wall, he wrinkled his nose and frowned.

If anyone had been awake, they would’ve smelled us coming.

“No noise,” he said as he began to edge around the side of the nearest roundhouse.

Stopping at the front, Lug studied the settlement. There seemed to be no one moving, but he couldn’t see the eastern gate. He took solace from the fact that the guards supposed to be guarding the gate couldn’t see him, either.

Using his hands, Lug indicated the others should stay in the shadows. Satisfied they understood his meaning, he ran to the central well in a crouch. He could see the roundhouse on the southern side of the settlement where the stranger said the targets would be sleeping.

“I told you to stay there,” he whispered as Brenn knelt beside him.

“Yeah, and I told you, easy,” Brenn replied.

Lug nodded. It seemed Brenn and Cyn had been right, and he had been wrong. He was beginning to think the man with the silver had told them the truth when he said there would be no obstacles to the killing. He could taste the silver and guessed his face must look something like Isolde’s when he gave her the five cumhals.

When Cyn arrived, Lug unsheathed his dagger and ran to the blockhouse nearest to the roundhouse. Still, there was no noise in the settlement—no one had raised the alarm.

Lug turned and took Brenn by the shoulder. He placed a finger over his lips and pointed to the oxhide covering the roundhouse entrance.

“Go slowly,” he whispered as he gave Brenn a slight shove, which was when the dogs started to bay like all the hounds of Donn’s Hellish domain.