“What will you do?” Bradán asked as Conall slipped out of his saddle.

“What I should have done in the beginning.” Conall smiled up at him as he handed up the reins. “We could have avoided all the mess.”

Bradán’s eyes were following the movement of the woman along the palisade. There was something in them Conall could not fathom. Something he hadn’t been able to fathom since they first met in Inbhear Scéine. He guessed the lad was still suffering from the loss of the woman he loved. He’d lost to the better man as far as Conall was concerned.

They were well back from the forest edge, so Medb would be unaware of their presence. Conall knew she was going for her morning panicked scrubbing, trying once more to vainly wash away the memories of Mac Nessa’s touch. It did not matter that the washing had never worked.

It would be her last.

“Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?” Bradán asked.

“Listen, lad, you heard the king: a head for a head. I need Cú’s head. Emer can’t bury him without it,” he said as Medb ducked under the trees, following the path to the glade beside the river. “He’d be a fool at Donn’s table without a head.”

“I suppose he would. It just seems so… I don’t know… so unfair to kill a woman while she’s bathing.”

“Aye, well, normally I would give her a chance, face her with me sword out, so to speak. With the Cailleach, that’s too much of a risk.”

“You fear her?”

“Aye, anyone with a sound mind would.”

“How can that be? She’s just a defenseless woman.”

“Not so. You remember what you told me about Fedelm, about how she mesmerized everyone? How she has a power with her voice?”

“Aye.”

“Well, Medb is the same. You let her speak, and before you know it, you’re under her spell. I don’t hold for a minute she has otherworldly powers. That’s nonsense. But she has something.”

“How’ll you do it? She’ll use her voice as soon as she knows you’re there.”

“I won’t let her know. I’ll use my sling. The Cailleach has cast her last spell over me.”

“Will I come with you, old man?” Bradán asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezing it.

“No, lad. This is for me to do. You take it handy and hold the horses. I’ll be back in no time.”

***

Bradán tied the horses’ reins to a low-hanging branch and moved under the trees at an angle to Conall. He made his way silently until he could see the forest area from where Conall would likely use his sling. It would be where Bradán would choose, and he knew Conall was as good as he was. Bradán prepared his tools and then watched from the shadows.

The queen was frantically scrubbing. Panicked. What is she trying to expunge? Is she even sane?

Looking at her, Bradán wondered why he was in this forest armed with his best bow, waiting to kill a man he had grown to like. After all he’d learned, all they’d been through, should he still be doing her bidding? When she first hired him, he’d been sure of his part in the story of the Five Kingdoms. Now? Now he was staring over the clearing, over a river with a panicked queen trying to scrub away some unseen dirt and wondering how he’d been so sure.

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Still, a contract was binding and, when already paid, should be completed.

He avoided killing the druid, watching Imrinn sneak out of the settlement with his bow. Back then, it felt like a gain, paid when someone else fulfilled the contract. Now, it felt like a Tuatha-sent reprieve. Over the last few days, he’d grown to like Genonn. He was a man who was conflicted in many ways but one to be respected nonetheless. Killing the druid’s father would have made him feel unclean, at least for a short while. He also liked Conall immensely. The man suffered no-nonsense. He meant what he said and acted accordingly. He was a true warrior and honorable to the end. His respect for the old man was probably his only truthful words to the seeress.

Now, there was a woman he’d like to create the two-headed monster with. Not this time; this time, it would have unmasked him. Maybe another opportunity would present itself. After all, there’d be no way to know what the Three Sisters had planned.

He was glad that warning Nechtan of Conall and Genonn’s imminent arrival in the hostel had failed. It was easy to convince them to let him go in first. He thought Nechtan would use the information for his own benefit. Instead, he’d tried to face Conall fairly rather than waiting in a dark corner and stabbing him in the back as he passed. Looking back, the tic under the man’s left eye should have warned him Nechtan would fail. With no control over his face, how could he have succeeded against someone like Conall?

He was also glad when Liath arrived in the clearing armed for war, just as he was about to stab the old man in the throat. With her news, he’d realized he needed to wait and find out what Ailill had to offer. After he listened to the king in Átha Luain, he should have reneged on the commission then. He was not sure why he kept going. Maybe it was a sense of adventure or comradeship with the two men? He knew it was not a sense of duty or adherence to the code that kept him going. As soon as Medb’s husband decided it was time for her to travel beyond the mortal world, all reasons of honor evaporated like an early morning mist.

Oh, he’d thrilled in the chase. Acting like he was a man who pitched his tent on the other side of the palisade had been a challenge. Whispering with the seeress and laughing to himself as the jealousy devoured, Genonn had offered its own rewards. However, as time progressed and he became involved with the little band, he felt ashamed of his dishonesty, which was not a good trait in an assassin.

Sidling up to Fedelm and pretending disillusionment in his chosen course was inspired. She’d believed him. But then, why would she not? He’d always been a good actor. His father always told him he should become a storyteller. Not for him, though, traveling around the kingdoms telling other people’s tales. He was a man who wanted to be in the stories, not telling them.

A slight noise from across the clearing caused him to put his thoughts on hold. He could see movement from the place he would have chosen.

Conall.

He’s good. No denying it. No one else would be as silent moving through a forest. His other skills were apt to let him down, like patience. Had he not killed the fénnid, things would have moved a little quicker. But then, he’d saved Bradán from undertaking the third part of his contract. Longas was to be dispatched after Conall, but Longas had gone to Tech Duinn already at Conall’s hand. Smoke and ashes. Work was becoming too easy. Three kills and two managed without even raising his bow.

Conall rose from behind his bush. To use his sling, he needed room to swing. The queen did not stop her scrubbing, so Bradán guessed her eyes were closed. As the warrior began to spin his sling faster and ever faster, Bradán hefted his bow. He gazed across the forest at the warrior. Did the queen deserve his loyalty? As an assassin, could he afford to let his contract slip? But then, if he didn’t shoot Conall, no one would ever know. Only the queen’s head would leave the glade.

The queen sat up suddenly, staring into the forest. He supposed she could hear the humming of the sling, which was too far for him to hear. He thought she would see Conall, but she was sitting doing nothing like she could not see.

The mystery resolved itself when she suddenly shrieked, “Kill him!”

She knew Conall was there just as she knew Bradán was there. He glanced at his bow and the arrows he’d stuck into the loam, selected the previous night while Conall slept. The best in his quiver. Three should be more than enough. He picked the best and peered at the head before looking over the glade and putting it back in his quiver.

Whistling silently between his teeth, he collected the other arrows and slung his bow over his back. Not today. Today, he would leave the story to fend for itself and allow the warrior to carry on with his own.