Well do I know this land, too well. The sinking slopes, the craggy trees, the watery bypasses, I know every fen and bog, every hollow and hillock, as well as I know the hips and lips of a longtime lover. I roamed these fields with my first pair of hounds and a gaggle of boyhood friends. An uneasy landscape, bewitching in its eerieness.

We've set up a rough camp in a clearing by the side of the road. Some of the warriors rest by the small fire, others tend to their weapons or drink and game, boast and pace. The scouts spin their web, spanning farther with each casting. Igraine's hounds and the Brigantes wolves, in their own language, bring more news.

The sky to the south flickers from their fire. The fire is too bold, too obvious. They think we are mindless moths, unable to resist being drawn to that flame, straight into the bright mouth of death. Flidais, the flame of my heart, is there. Ransom? Hostage? Sacrifice? If I were a moth...

Fraoch brings two horses, mine and his. "The night is almost gone," he grins.

Seeing the horses brought, the war band gathers in.

"We'll set out just before first light. They must know we're here, but no one wants to fight in the dark. They want us to come to them, and we will. From where we've sited the decoy campfire, half will go around it in one direction, half to the other side. They expected to encircle us. Instead, we will surround them. Risky, but its our best chance. If any of you find the Rian, carry her immediately to safety!"

Soon the battle will begin. And soon it will end.