From my seat near the kitchens, I have watched the comings and goings through the morning and well past the mid-day meal. I have picked up some interesting bits of gossip from the cooks and serving girls as they pass by my corner of the hall. Having exhausted this source of news, I am about to leave when three... no, four... figures cross the sill at once.

As they approach the fire, I see it is Tethra and his wife Gert, who is holding MacMorna's child by the hand. At the first glance, I do not recognize the young woman who is holding Kaelen's other hand. I come near to choking on my ale when I realize that it is Kaelen's own mother who is returned from wherever she vanished to, some two years and more ago. She looks changed by whatever adventures she has seen. She seems older; that is only natural. but she also seems a bit more mature.

Her eyes fall upon me and light with recognition. "Nevvyn!" she calls out. Rushing over, she takes his hands and exclaims as to how good it is to see him again. I am about to return the gesture when there is a great "Hoo-Rah" from the gate. I excuse myself with a brief explanation of the long overdue party, and hurry outside to see what is the cause.

Torann and his group have just returned with tales of a strange mist upon the road. "We went into it and could see nothing. We rode back out and the sun was again shining", says one with a troubled shake of the head. Another announces, "It was moving along the road at a slow walking pace, coming this way." Still another comments,"I could see from the head of my horse to his tail, but I could not see the man next to me, though we were nearly touching." "And there was no sound within that cloud", adds another. "I called out and could scarcely hear my own voice!"

One of the sentries on the wall calls down. "Your mysterious mist approaches!" The gates are closed and barred. I peer out through a gap in the planking and see a swirling silvery mist. "Sidhe magic!" I mutter. Before I can take anither breath, the mist dissolves and a beleaguered lot stands before the gate with Igraine at their head. "Open up the gates!" I order, and the guards and sentries rush to do so. The ragged party drags itself into the keep and the gates are again closed and barred.

The first thing I see is a sledge, drawn by Fenian's steed, and carrying the War Chief and the Bard, both sorely wounded. The second is the Rian's horse... without the Rian. There are two dead guards, several more with various wounds, a stranger and a very large bull. No time for questions, now! We must see to the wounded! Litters are fetched, and Fenian and MacMorna are carried to the Rian's House where they can receive the healers' attentions. The Rian's Ladies are trained in this sort of thing. Fenian is placed in a soft bed and the knot on his head is examined by one of the women. She prepares a poultice to reduce the swelling and then bathes his face with a cool cloth.

MacMorna is another story! A broken spear shaft protrudes from his thigh and his clothing is stiff with his own dried blood. Clean linen is spread on a heavy table and the Bard is stretched out atop this. One of the girls gives him a liberal dose of uisge beatha... enough to dull his senses. While the women cut away his ruined breeks, I set about washing my hands and tying my long hair and beard out of the way. The women wash away most of the gore while I take a look at the wound. The spear-head is deeply buried in the muscle and the flesh is puckered around the iron socket. I must assume the head is barbed, else the Bard would have pulled it out rather than hacking off the shaft.

With a pair of pincers, I pull the rivets that secure the head and gently remove the splintered shaft. I pour a little of the spirits into the wound, which elicits a gasp from the patient. With a sharp knife of bronze, I make a small cut in the back of the leg and ease the point out in that direction. This way, there will be less damage than if I tried to extract it from the direction it went in.

As I am doing this, 'Tissa bursts into the room and takes stock of the situation. One of the guards restrains her, but still she cries out. "MacMorna! My Bard!" I motion for them to remove her until I am done.

It is not long before the offending point is lying on the floor and I am cleaning and closing the wounds. I pour some powdered herbs and some of the yellow dust from the Cruithni mines into the entry wound, before I sew it up. Then, and only then, do I allow myself a deep breath of relief, and tell the guards they can let the estranged wife come back.