Ronan nodded. “It’s worth exploring. Clía and Kían, take the left flank. Niamh, Domhnall, stay behind me. I’ll draw it out if it’s there. Keep your distance until you have no choice. Niamh, I want you to apply the ranged attack.”
Everyone began moving all at once. Clía fumbled to free her blade, following Kían as they led her to the edge of the trees and slowly approached the cliffside. Niamh readied her bow, and Domhnall stood with his sword as Ronan made a direct line toward the cave entrance.
He walked steadily. Sure. He gripped his blade, and with the other hand reached down to the shoreline and grabbed a stone. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, a look of concentration on his face—then he hurled it right into the mouth of the cave.
They waited. Clía’s breath caught in her chest.
A moment of silence. Then heavy thuds.
Paws on dirt.
Ronan launched another stone.
The beast emerged.
It stood as tall as Clía, a mountain of bold and vibrant green fur. With its sleek fox head, sharp eagle claws, and strong wolf hind legs and tail, it was no wonder so many people had fallen prey to it.
Its eyes found Ronan in seconds. With a roar, it lunged forward.
Niamh sent an arrow flying, but it was too late. A swipe of its claws sent Ronan crashing to the ground. Clía rushed to his side as Domhnall, Kían, and Niamh descended on the monster.
“Are you okay?” She scanned him for injuries. His silver breastplate was marred by deep cuts from the onchú’s talons.
“I’m fine,” he huffed, climbing back to his feet.
There was a shout. She turned to see Niamh stagger back holding her side, Domhnall coming to her aid. She must not have kept her distance.
Kían’s sword cut into the meat of the onchú’s leg. With a howl, the beast knocked them aside. They fell to the ground, losing hold of their sword, as the beast leaped toward them.
“Be careful, it’s poisonous!” Ronan shouted, dashing forward.
Kían pushed the beast’s head back, keeping its teeth from tearing into their neck. “I’m not planning on eating it!”
“Not. The. Time!” Ronan said, swiping at the onchú with his sword.
It roared in pain as Ronan’s blade pierced its thick neck. Heyanked the blade back, and a gush of dark blood flowed from the wound.
Clía lunged at the beast with her sword, following Ronan’s blow with one of her own. Its roars turned into cries as her blade slid into its flesh. The sound was not unlike something Murphy might make, but full of desperation and pain.
It would have killed us, she reminded herself, even as she winced.
Abruptly, the cries stopped. An arrow had pierced the onchú’s eye. It slumped forward, crumpling to the ground. With a grunt, Kían pulled themself out from underneath the monster.
Niamh stood triumphantly, her wound forgotten as she lowered her bow, and then pulled out her sword.
“It’s dead,” Clía said, her voice faint.
Niamh moved to the beast. “Kordislaen wants its head.” Her blade cut through its thick neck. It wasn’t smooth or fast. Blood pooled as the blade caught on bone and sinew. But finally, with a sickening noise, the head rolled onto the ground.
Nausea roiled through Clía, but she bit it back.
“Watch the fangs,” Ronan reminded Niamh as she went to pick the head up. It was bigger than her own, but she carried it as if it were nothing. “They can still do damage with the venom.”
She nodded, placing the trophy in a thick sack and tossing it over her shoulder.
“Are we done here?” she asked. Her question was for Ó Dálaigh, who stood at the forest’s edge watching them all. He took the sack from her. Dark blood stained the bottom.
“You are.”
