Igraine's hounds eagerly put their muzzles to the scrap of cloth. For a tense moment, they go in circles, brushing the grass with their shaggy beards. The circles uncoil, the dogs pick up speed, and suddenly they launch themselves into a leaping lope down the riverside. Igraine gives a whoop of delight as her steed instinctively rushes to follow them. The rest of our search party falls into the hunt. I lean down from my horse to snatch up the silken scarf from the grass. Indeed it is the Rian's favorite adornment. She likes to wrap it around her waist and let the ends trail down her hips. I've unbound that sash so many times. Before I tuck it into my leine, I press it softly to my lips.

The hounds take us along the river a short distance, then swerve back to the road. They stop on the very spot where we were attacked, and there they sit, wagging their tails and looking quite pleased with themselves. We try again, and this time they each go off in a different direction, quickly returning to the same place on the road. Once more with the same result, and we take our hunt back along the riverbanks.

At noontide we meet with Enna's and Fraoch's trackers. Neither band has had any more luck than ours. Enna found a fresh trail that led up to Amergin's Hill, hoofprints of just one horse and signs that someone had walked around the cairn recently, but they seemed to vanish from the summit with no further trace.

A basket of bread, meat and warm ale is brought from An Caiseal. We rest awhile to refresh ourselves before resuming the search. I lean back on a stone marker, sip at the ale and gaze into the sky. Poetry buzzes in my head. Irritated, I brush it aside.

Nevvyn wanders, his staff in one hand, a hunk of bread in the other. He can't seem to stop looking at the ground. His meanderings eventually bring him to stop in front of me. Crumbs fall from his fingers. He looks dazed and exhausted.

"You need a drink," I offer him what's left of my share of ale.

He looks right through me. His overgrown eyebrows meet in a ferocious scowl that lifts me to my feet. "What's wrong? What do you see?"

He gives a jerky shrug and a grunt, as if sloughing off a heavy weight. Then he points his staff at the marker I'd been using to rest my back. "That! That is the binding of it all. This is where we fought with Domnall of Dun Ailill. What's left of him and his henchman were buried in the ditch where you see that stone." Nevvyn pauses, expecting me to grasp this revelation. I can only mimic his shrug.

"Is it a coincidence that the Rian was ambushed and abducted on this very same spot?" he sneers at my ignorance.

"I've heard that said," I nod thoughtfully.

Nevvyn turns and begins his ambulations all over again, tapping his staff on the ground and staring at the trampled grass.

Later that day, we find some interesting remnants in a cave but nothing of Flidais.

Time passes. With each day, hope fades.