Author: * Amlaidh Niafer -
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Date: Jun 30, 2004 - 02:31
The hard, cool wind turns into a cold, gentle breeze when Cainneach and I arrive from the west. The village music is silenced, and the tree branches that shook out a jig overhead now play a melancholy air, a foreboding dirge. The Ulsterman dismounts and leads his horse silently over the grassy earth by the river. I soon see why.
Ahead of us, glistening in the moonlight, there stir two mortal figures. One appears to be a woman - of high status, judging by the colors she wears - and the other a man, also of rich dress. I dismount and lead my horse beside Cainneach's. He turns to me, and I read from his face the question, "Do you know them?" I shake my head in reply. Though I do not recognize either as being of Clan Niafer or the septs thereof, there is no reason to think they are otherwise. After all, I had been away from Inver Colpa since late winter. Much can happen in five months' time.
The closer we get, the more we see that the couple is not alone. Standing with the gentleman are a number of darkly clad warriors and druids, like those we had seen with... it is him! The woman, who I now recognize as a brehon of Tara (and unmistakably a Niafer!), speaks to him in harsh tones, though her words are difficult to decipher. My perceptable companion Cainneach, with narrow eyes, mouths the words she utters and nods as though undertanding far more than I.
All I know is that the Scourge of Erinn is at our doorstep. I draw my sword - Mistilteinn - the weapon forged by my father's brother Weyland. The song of a wælcyrge's chorus can be heard from the weapon, and the golden fires of Muspell glow in the runes engraved along the blade. Cainneach arms himself with his sword and two of his finer spears. Are we wise to act now? I wonder to myself. But Cainneach hears my thoughts and replies aloud, "There don't appear to be more than ten of them. Individually, we fennidh are able to defeat nine men, meaning we can take..." Cainneach closes his eyes tightly, deep in thought.
"Eighteen," I volunteer.
"Right," he agrees, sheepishly.
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