I remain hooded and the bitter gag across my mouth is only removed so that I can eat and drink just enough to keep alive. There is no way to tell how long I have been here. It could be one day or it could be the span of moon's phases. Confined to darkness, I lose all sense of time. I have almost forgotten who I am.

One of the men reminds me. "Now that Morann is here, we can be done with the Rian Mor Niafer and get on with the rest of it!"

I listen intently to his voice, that I might hear something in the words, manner of speech, or tone that will give away some secret I can use to escape. The men don't bother to talk quietly any more. From the slur in their speech and a vague sour smell, they must be drinking heavily. Names have been spoken, none of which I know except perhaps Morann. That name itches and teases my mind, but my senses are too befuddled to remember where I could have heard it.

From what has been said, I know pieces of the plan. None of it offers me any hope. I have been deliberately taken hostage, perhaps intended to be murdered, and it must be done on borderlands. The accents are southern, mostly noble or upper class, probably from Laigin. Morann is a druid, a sacrificer, a brehon, or all three. He speaks differently from the others and is not of the south. Up until the time Morann arrived, it was argued whether I should be held for ransom or killed. There has been mention of a dun, but there are duns aplenty.

The conversation picks up again. As I lean forward to catch it all, suddenly I am yanked by the hair and dragged across the rough ground.

"She sang as she swung her sword!" someone growls into my face. "This is for Domnall!" Out of nowhere, a thunderbolt of pain crashes into the side of my head, spawning a splatter of bright stars before my eyes.

"No!" roars Morann. The flesh-pounding noise of a fistfight comes through a haze of near unconsciousness. That blow to my head has knocked loose a memory. Domnall of Dun Ailinn. These must be his brothers, out for revenge after he and his band of raiders met us in battle a few summers ago. They set fire to Inver Colpa harbor and tried to turn our allies against us. I thought we slew them all. Dobhar himself cut Domnall down. One of them must have survived to tell the tale.

Whatever the result of the fistfight, I am thrown over someone's shoulder and hastily carried off in a stampede of footsteps. Dizzy and hurting badly, I struggle to stay alert. After awhile, who knows how long, I smell fresh damp earth and then I smell horses. Two powerful arms crush my ribs in an unwanted embrace as we ride off at a gallop. Where? Why? This time I welcome the darkness when it comes to fetch me away.