Cormar's fancy footwork upon the sithbe and yoke send me into fits of laughter, as our chariot rolls like thunder through the hillfort ruins. Good old Cormar has become like a brother to me, and my spirit soars to have him join me this day!

I snap the reins, and the horses are thrown into something akin to Cuchulainn's battle frenzy. We wild fennidh of King Cormac share our horses' passion for the race, and the four of us become one with the Hound of Ulster. We dodge dolmens and cromlechs at breakneck speed, but when a hollowed-out stone hall with thatched roof is spotted, Cormar directs me to guide the chariot toward it! Just before we enter through the main door, the Rian's bodyguard performs an uncanny leap up onto the roof, and I drive the racing chariot through a floor covered in shattered earthenware and straw. At the end of the hall is a brittle wooden door, but the mad horses smash through the splinters as if the door had been made of grass. From overhead, Cormar leaps off the edge of the roof and lands with cat-like grace back onto the yoke! I let out another laugh and snap the reins again, daring our chargers to go even faster!

We rumble past Moss the healer and Roisin and come within a table's length of Nyfain and Cathal's mare-led chariot. Cormar and I can barely keep our eyes open; we cut through the air like an arrow, though our hair and brats flail helplessly, at the mercy of the powerful wind.

Cormar cries out to Cathal and Nyfain with the customary taunts and gestures of bravado and pomp, as the two chariots weave their way through the last of the stone fixtures and into the dense copse ahead. For that time, the two clans are separated. With one hand, I adjust the fertbaccán for more slack in the suspension, as our route becomes challenged by rough terrain and underbrush. At the same time, our headroom is compromised by low branches. Still, nothing two Sons of the Niafer can't handle!