Cullen’s body lay on the floor at his feet. They had brought whatever of the dead they could transport away from that terrible place at the border and home with them.
Ardahl’s chariot rode third in line behind the chief’s and Dornach’s. Cathair rode behind him in a fellow warrior’s chariot. His own had been wrecked.
If Ardahl had energy to spare for it, he might have felt the ire Cathair no doubt directed at him. He had not. The battle ended, he now felt every wound, and weariness weighed upon him.
The whole train shuddered to a halt when their tribesman appeared out of the damp and foggy air. Men carrying burdens—corpses on shields—put them down.
“Chief Fearghal! The settlement has fallen under attack! They came yesterday afternoon. Many dead and injured. The settlement—”
“What—?” Fearghal faltered. Rarely had Ardahl seen him do that, and his men stared.
“The settlement! Attacked!” Winded from hurrying, the messenger could say no more.
“But we had Dacha’s men engaged!” Fearghal seemed dazed. “We bested them.”
“No’ Dacha’s men.” The messenger, an old man well wearied, shook his head. “These carried Brihan’s colors.”
Ardahl, not in a position to see Fearghal’s face, watched him stiffen. “Betrayed! Brihan has allied with Dacha to destroy us!”
Aye, so,Ardahl thought. Had they waited for Fearghal’s men to roll out and engage Dacha’s? No wonder they’d met no resistance while crossing Brihan’s land. They’d been lured on, leaving their own lands exposed to an unsuspected enemy.
By all the merciful gods, was this what Conall had wanted to tell him?
Unbidden, he called out to the man, “How many o’ our people survive?”
Chief Fearghal did not object to the question.
“We can no’ tell. Some fled. They were still coming down from the hills when I left.”
His mam? Liadan.
Chief Fearghal swore bitterly and exchanged a look with Dornach before turning in his chariot and calling back to his men.
“Let those o’ us driving go forward with all due haste. The rest o’ ye afoot, come as quick as ye can.”
The weary ponies quickened their pace. A half-score or so chariots—all that remained—leaped forward and into the morning.
If ever anything could quicken the steps of the rest of them, Ardahl thought grimly, it was the desire to discover whether or not their loved ones lived still.
They saw—and smelled—the smoke long before they entered the settlement. It hung like a dark pall, refusing to dissipate.They were met by members of their own guard, which seemed to consist of old men. Fearghal halted repeatedly as they imparted information.
“Chief, your wife and family have been found safe. They are back in the settlement.”
“Thanks be to Lugh,” Fearghal replied.
“The dead are being gathered to the east o’ the settlement.”
The dead.
Ardahl began to feel ill, and his hands trembled on the traces. The ponies grew uneasy, pulling up in alarm.
If ye keep calm, your team will also. How many times had his da told him that? But Da was—
Dead.
The next thing to reach Ardahl was the sound. Weeping. Grieving. Like the heavy clouds of smoke, it seemed to rise from the very stones of the place. Distress most profound.
They rumbled in, and the chief dismounted. He gave no orders. What were there to give? Each man would go searching through the horror that lay before him.
