Dother fell backwards and threw up a barrier in time to avoid getting hit by Maeve's arrow. Donal charged at the sorcerer, who pointed back at him and yelled to the dullahan.

“Get him!”

The dullahan urged its steed forward. Once within range, it dropped its right hand to the side. Having never fought against a whip, Donal held the spearhead high and away and pulled his head back as far as he could. The creature cracked its whip at Donal, striking the spear. The whip was too thick to wrap around the spear, but the force knocked it from Donal’s hands.

Donal rolled from whip recoil as the otherworldly steed rode past. Dother let fly a bolt of crackling energy across the well at Finn.

“Bocóit!” Finn yelled.

Dother’s spell broke against Finn’s translucent shield with no recoil or ricochet. Siobhan approached from the sorcerer’s right.

“Tréanáil!”

Her staff and sword glowed yellow. Dother hurled a ball of fire at her. She batted it with her staff and the fire broke upon impact. Maeve pointed her bow at the dullahan as it passed Donal towards her. The dullahan brought his whip up from below and cracked it. The whip was too far away to hit her but its crack spooked Scáth into galloping to the other side of the field.

The creature turned and guided its steed for another run at Donal. He and Maeve had the dullahan's focus, leaving Finn unnoticed off to the side. Finn sent forth a thunderous blast as the creature neared, knocking the creature from its mount. Donal used the opportunity to regather his spear.

As the dullahan rose from the ground, its steed bucked and brayed. Little bits of smoke trailed upwards from its neck and back, until finally the edges of those parts began to glow. A tongueless fire spread across the beast as if it were made of parchment until the skeletal steed had disappeared, leaving no trace of ash or smoke behind.

“Dya’do to the horse?” Donal asked.

“Nothing,” Finn said. “I was aiming for him, and I got him.”

“It’s because he got off the horse,” Donal said.

“That’s not it,” Finn said. “He got off the horse at Ards Beg. Focus!”

The dullahan stood up and ran straight for Donal. Donal sprinted toward it, attempting to get too close for the whip to cause maximum harm. The creature swung its whip three times in quick succession.

Donal parried several overhead, underhand and basic attacks but those deflections were more desperate shoves of a spear handle than deft techniques of anticipation. As the creature brought the whip over its head for another strike, it shoved Donal back with the open hand. Its next attack would hurt.

Donal chopped the left hand down and stepped toward the dullahan. Reflex took over and he shoved the spearhead upward toward the space where the creature’s head should have been. The whip arm came down and missed him, but he was left in the creature’s loose embrace.

His face was chest-level with his foe. A silver medallion hung around the collar of the dullahan’s cloak, the image of a spiral notched like a goat’s horn engraved on it. Donal looked at its tunic, gloves and waist. Its gear had only iron buckles and fasteners—not a scrap of gold or silver to be found.

Donal planted his back foot into the ground and summoned an imbáulad shove into the creature’s torso, separating the combatants.

“Finn, give me some room!” Donal yelled.

Maeve heard Donal’s call and planted an arrow in the creature’s thigh. Finn looked away from Dother and found his brother on one knee. He called forth a wall of wind toward the pair. Donal dug his spear into the turf and held his ground. The dullahan flew backwards and landed in the marshy area of the valley.

Donal yelled over the weapon strikes and spell impacts.

“Siobhan! You and Finn were next to that thing at the tomb, right?”

“What of it?” she asked.

“Did he have anything around his neck?”

Dother switched his target from Finn to Siobhan.

“Guirid idlann.”

Siobhan ducked a blast of heat and turned back to Dother.

“Gaibid frém,” she said.

Roots emerged from under Dother and climbed his body.

“I think I remember something when he first took me to the tomb,” Finn said.

Siobhan’s voice strained, her eyes remained on the sorcerer.

“I didn’t see anything,” Siobhan said. “But it was dark and I was in some trouble.”

Maeve loosed another arrow at the dullahan but he struck it out of the air with his whip.

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"I hate how savage that looked," Maeve muttered.

“Anyway," Donal said with a quick glare at Maeve, "according to Finn this thing isn’t meant to be out in the daytime."

Siobhan’s posture straightened. She extended her pointer finger from her sword’s hilt toward Donal.

“Try it!”

“Idlann lúth!” Dother yelled.

Purple lightning flew from Dother’s free hand toward Siobhan, striking her in her sword arm. She dropped to her knees and let go of her leaf blade. Finn ran over to cover her as she examined her wounds.

The dullahan removed the arrow in its leg and stood up, showing little evidence of injury. Donal ran to it once more, holding his spear by the bottom of its handle. He swung and lunged at the creature until he created a gap through which he could get at the medallion.

He slipped in between its arms and swiped at the medallion with his left hand, but the creature grabbed hold of it. He dropped his spear and reached for the medallion with his right hand. The dullahan was able to grab and hold it with only its thumb and index finger, the other three digits still wrapped around the whip handle. It planted a foot in his chest and shoved Donal backwards.

Finn advanced within melee range of Dother. He relented his magical barrier and swung his sword, putting the sorcerer on his heels. Siobhan pulled herself to her knees with her staff. Her left arm hung limp at her side.

The creature swung the whip downward at Donal but he rolled out of the way before the whip struck the ground. It raised its arm for another swing but recoiled after catching another arrow in its right shoulder.

Donal pushed himself up and saw a divot in the turf where he had laid. He held out his arm, focused on the spear at the dullahan’s feet and caught the handle as his weapon flew back to him.

“Think you can hit that thing on its chest?” Donal yelled.

Maeve scoffed and knocked another arrow. Donal parried another whip crack from the creature. Maeve’s arrow struck the medallion but broke without damaging its target.

“That’s our target,” Donal said.

Donal hurled his spear at the creature. The dullahan clattered it into the turf with the top of the whip handle.

“Too big and slow,” Maeve said.

“We’ll see,” said Donal. “Put one more in that thing, then help Finn out with Dother.”

Donal raised his hand and summoned his weapon from the ground in front of the dullahan. He sprinted for Siobhan and threw his head under her wounded arm to help her into a standing position.

“I need you to put a ‘tad extra’ on this,” Donal said.

Siobhan nodded and looked at the spear.

“Tr—”

Donal grabbed her healthier hand.

“Not yet,” Donal said. “And maybe something a little more combustive. Give me a moment.”

Maeve circled back to Siobhan’s side of the well. Finn’s anger had served him well in holding back Dother, but the sorcerer knocked him back and Dother’s hand began to flicker with purple light. Maeve grazed her target’s forearm, allowing Finn time to regroup. Donal was now across the well from the dullahan.

He held his bident level with the ground. He drew in breath until his lungs could expand no further and felt his chest warm as he slowly exhaled. With his left hand Donal pulled all the energy from Mag Mon that he could hold and with his right he pulled the spear back.

Siobhan called from behind him as stepped into his throw.

“Lasadh sleá.”

The spear traveled with the speed of an arrow. By the time the larger of its two prongs pierced the medallion, the entire weapon was aflame. The medallion split in two and fell to the ground. There was no wait for smoke to turn into flame. The spear ignited the dullahan and the headless rider met the same fate as its steed.

Dother cries of rage created a concussive blast that spread across the valley, unhorsing Maeve and sending the rest of the group flying. The sorcerer picked up Fragarach and walked over to Finn.

“We’ll have to use you as sacrifice to summon another,” Dother said. “Even if they do restore the cauldron without you, you can serve the other plans we have in motion.”

He examined the sword and smiled as he pointed it to Finn’s throat.

“Before I lead you out of here,” he said, “it’s time that your friends heard the truth from that mouth of yours. Did you really think you were a match for my magic?”

“Of course not,” Finn said. “How could I be with just a week’s training? That would be absurd.”

Dother cackled.

“Fortunately for me, both of my teachers are more than your match.”

Dother’s smile faded. He looked up as a slate grey cloud took shape sixty feet above his head. He was so distracted by it that he didn’t see Finn crawl away from him.

“‘Both?’ Who besides Murrough has taught—”

“—Saiget geláin!” Siobhan yelled.

With a single bolt of lightning, the small cloud neutralized the last remaining threat to the cauldron of The Dagda.

“Maeve?” Donal yelled. “You hurt?”

Maeve laid flat on the ground, partially obscured by her horse as it nuzzled her.

“I sure hope that was all of ‘em, because I think I broke my arm,” she said, “and the rest of you are terrible shots.”

“You don’t have to go so easy on us,” Finn said.

“Please,” Maeve said. “If I had to listen to you brag about how amazing you were at magic for any longer, I would have cut your belt with an arrow.”

“You can do that?” Finn asked.

“I was willing to try,” Maeve said.

Finn chuckled and stood up. He walked over and helped Siobhan to her feet and they reexamined the scorch wounds on her left arm.

“I thought maybe Dother needed to know how it felt,” she said.

“What now?” Donal asked as he walked over to help Maeve.

“We’re already here,” Finn said. “Let’s try cleansing the cauldron.”

Finn picked up the cauldron and walked it to the side of the well. The water level in the well was three feet below the highest points of its makeshift walls. The vessel was nearly as wide as the well's opening.

“Are you sure this place will help us fix it?” Finn asked. "Or could it curse the well?”

“I’m not certain,” Siobhan said, “but after all this, I like our chances.”

Finn lowered the cauldron—cloaks and all—until it rested atop the water surface. He stood up straight, held his hand out and closed his eyes. After a few deep breaths he reopened them and spoke:

“Bennachad arsaid an Dagda a athnuigid.”

Finn circled his hands as the cauldron began to shake. The water upon which the vessel floated was rolling as if it were hung over a fireplace. He held the cast for nearly a minute before the rolling slowed and the top cloak fell to the side. The pale yellow cloud that lingered inside the vessel was gone.

Finn pulled the cauldron from the well and examined it.

“How will we know if this works?” he asked.

“There aren’t any fields up here,” Siobhan said. “But there are plenty between us and Niall.”

She walked over to him and stooped by the cauldron.

“Dya’feel that, though?” she said. “Feels better. Healthier.”

“Don’t you eejits know anything about the tales?” Donal asked.

“Excuse me?” Siobhan asked.

Donal walked over to the cauldron and stuck his hand through the opening. He was startled at first when his hand couldn’t feel the bottom of a three foot cauldron, but his hunger took over and he pulled out a roasted chicken leg.

“Of course that’s the bit you remember,” Finn said.

Finn threw an arm around Siobhan and received two in return. After the squeeze she walked over to Maeve to tend to her arm.

“Gather the weapons, fellas,” Siobhan said. “We have to get the cauldron back to Niall before Donal leaves it bare.”