Fenian orders a halt until there is sufficient light to fight, and I am only too glad to rest my tailbone. The new horse that MacMorna gifted me with has an agreeable walk. But this long night of trot-trot-trot has left me with aches in my backside. Some of the lads have kindled a small fire and I sit to warm myself. I close my eyes and let my senses roam where they will. In my mind, I am sitting on my hill, watching a young Flidais Niafer grow from a gawky gamin into a lovely young lady. A strained voice whispers in my ear and there is a soft touch on the back of my hand. I catch a glimpse of her red-gold hair, and she is gone again.

Leaping to my feet, I begin to pace the confines of our small camp. I stop and listen, sending out a tendril of fatherly comfort, for she is in dire need of comfort and succor. There! Just on the edge of my thoughts. The voice comes again. It is muffled as though through a thick layer of fleece. Only vaguely can I sense the direction. I open my eyes and stride to a new spot and try again. Fainter, this time, but still from the same point. Again and again I try, each time with varying success. Closest to the road, it is the strongest, and here there comes a wispy cry for help. I must go to her, now!

Three or four steps take me to the road, and I turn in the direction of the enemies fire. A short distance up the road, the call rings out much clearer, and more to the east, away from the fire. At the same time, my senses detect the movement of someone or something up ahead. I pause just long enough to see two dead leaves flutter down from a tree. With no further thought, I turn off the road and into an oft-used trail made by the deer. Though it winds and branches, it takes me ever closer to my daughter. I call out, mind to mind and blood to blood, sending a ray of hope. All the while, I hear the bard behind me and hope he has brought reinforcements.

The false dawn sits pregnant in the east as the shriek of a Ban Sidhe sunders my thoughts. Have they then killed our Rian? No! I can still hear her fuzzy voice. I lean forward and hasten toward the source of that soul-less scream, with MacMorna nearly on my heels. There is a clearing ahead and a small flickering flame. My common sense takes over and stops me from rushing into the feeble light. Before me is a sight of passing strangeness.

A young woman, the one who came for the bull, stands with sword dripping gore. Before her is one I know by name and reputation. It is Morann, the sacrificer, never a friend of mine at any time of my life. And from the look on his face, his life is near its end. He clutches his black robes, and a stain blacker still seeps through the cloth. His eyes whirl wildly and his mouth opens to gasp for words. Naught comes out but a gout of blood. He staggers to a large stone which he seems to have prepared as an altar. It is then that I spy Flidais, lying in a heap.

I cannot contain myself. I utter one of the nine words of power and the ground gives a lurch. I step into the clearing as Morann collapses across the stone. I kneel beside my daughter and place my hand upon her forehead. She has been starved and drugged and abused in ways I do not know. Heedless of my surroundings, I begin to pour healing energy into her. She stirs, ever so slightly, and I ease up on the flow. The swordswoman has moved some distance away. MacMorna has come to stand beside me, weapons at the ready and staring into the shadows. Belatedly, I realize we have company. It is the woman from the Lucky Charms Shop and a man I do not know but feel that I should.

I pull myself erect, with the aid of my staff and face the two in the shadows. "Stand fast!" I warn. "Do not approach, at peril of your life!" I whisper a word and the misshapen crystal atop my staff flares with a brilliant light. The pair look around as if expecting more of their numbers. I glance over at the bard and mutter, "Is the war-band behind you?"