He stabbed his last remaining opponent in the eye and received a shower of blood. Even as the man fell, he made to step around the tree. No time. The next of Dacha’s men came whooping like madmen, all too soon upon him.
So far, no one had got past him into the forest.
Aye, he would die here.
Liadan.
Upon the thought of her, the sounding of her name in Ardahl’s mind, something moved beside him. A figure it was, a familiar one glowing all in white.
Conall?
Did ye think I would let ye fight alone?
The shade of Conall held a sword. It must be Ardahl’s sword, since he had Conall’s in his hand. But he had left his sword with Liadan, along with his heart.
No matter, for the ghostly blade connected with those of their enemies. Struck against their blades. Slashed and wounded flesh.
More will be coming,Conall said even as the last man facing them fell.Come.
They ran, ducked between and through the trees, dodging the trunks in the dark. Ardahl could see nothing of the escaping party ahead. Had they got away? Been caught?
He realized suddenly he ran alone, the spirit of Conall so swiftly gone. Dacha’s men came after him, a great crowd of them, as it sounded. The breath surged in his lungs. Blood dripped steadily from his arm. From other places also, where he did not remember taking wounds.
He ran on but could feel himself weakening. If the pack behind reached him, they would fall upon him like hounds on a fox.
His steps began to lag. The breath seared his lungs. He caught a toe and nearly stumbled.
Up ahead, through the trees, he saw a light. Heard a rattle. A chariot appeared and rumbled up next to him.
But it was not a real chariot. They had not brought their chariots, and anyway, this one glowed with unearthly light, just like the shade of Conall. To be sure, he could see that Conall was aboard, driving the pair of white ponies. He leaned down and called to Ardahl,Come up!
A cry familiar from the battlefield, when a charioteer wanted to get his partner out of danger.
Ardahl leaped for the cart, felt Conall’s hand close on the back of his cloak and haul him aboard.
They took off, Conall driving through the trees in a reckless fashion. He had pushed Ardahl to the bottom of the cart, and there he stayed for the moment.
I am dead,he thought quite clearly.I must have died back there with my back against the tree. This is the afterlife.
But I thought I’d be flying away toTír na nÓg. Not riding in a chariot with Conall.
I have somewhat to tell ye,Conall said.Quick, before my time wi’ ye is done.
Ardahl struggled up, clutched the crossbar with both hands. “Am I dead?”
No’ yet. But I am. Conall gave his familiar, crooked grin. Almost ran the chariot into a tree.
“How is it ye are here?”
My sister asked for help. But listen. That day in the practice field, when I died, ’twas no’ supposed to happen that way.
Ardahl went still. “How did it happen? Why did ye turn on me in anger?”
For weeks, Brasha had been feeding me lies. Tumbling me senseless. Making me believe what she said. She told me ye were jealous o’ me.
“Surely ye never believed that. We were close as brothers. Closer!”
Aye, and were ye no’ a better warrior than me? Nay, she said ye were jealous o’ my having her. That ye’d pressed yourself upon her. Vowed to have her awa’ from me. She kept at it and kept at it till I was half mad.
