My spear feels abruptly lighter. An extension of myself. I am in control, but my movements are suddenly more sure, more nuanced. I block, and block, and find myself with a rictus smile as the flow of the fight swings. Not in my favour, exactly. But I am holding my own. Flush with a strange clarity, a razor-sharp certainty in what I am doing.
The redheaded man snarls and backs off slightly, breathing hard, frustrated at his lack of progress. The inexorable rush of our initial attack fades as these warriors—seasoned and brave—withstand the chaos and position themselves back-to-back. There is an occasional groan from the injured, but otherwise allwar cries have ceased. It’s just grunts and snarls and clattering weapons as we poke and prod and deflect and blink steaming sweat from our eyes. Torches that were hurriedly tossed aside at the beginning of the ambush begin to gutter out, letting the teeming fog creep even closer, thick enough to render the others little more than flashing shadows. The air reeks of salty, hot blood, and I hold the suddenly recalled terror of the naumachia at bay.
I want desperately to know how the fighting around me is going, but I never take my eyes off my opponent, nor he off me. We circle, and in the flickering half-light I see his muscles tense. Spot his intent. Not from training. Not from logic. I justknow.
I move as he does. Sway to the side, letting his lunge brush by me. Pivot and bring my spear forward.
The barest of resistance as it plunges into his stomach.
I follow, driving it farther, in and through, until we are almost face-to-face. His eyes wide with pain and shock. Spittle dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he trembles. Drops his weapon. I feel the heat of his breath on my cheek as he bends forward, as if to embrace me.
With a final grunt I heave him away, onto his back into the shallows of a stream. He splashes and writhes, pulling vainly at the shaft jutting from him, crimson clouding the water. I just stand there for a second, breathing hard, looking at him. Hand shaking.
“Do not prolong his suffering.”
It’s Tara. She has a gash on her shoulder. The man who was using Will is a vague and motionless outline on the ground ten feet away. I finally gather myself enough to look around and distinguish the others in the fog. Fearghus limping toward us using Conor as a crutch, looking more annoyed than in pain. Seanna and Miach both crouching and stripping armbands and torcs from the dead.
The warrior I felled is the only one left alive. Swallowing my horror, I pick up one of the last torches still lit, and crouch by him.
“Where is Gallchobhar?”
He just spits weakly at me. His green eyes glitter.
“He will not speak to us, Leathfhear,” says Conor.
I glance around at the others. They are watching me expectantly.
I nod, reluctant though the motion is. They’re right. This man has no motivation to cooperate. And a stomach wound is not a good way to die.
Steeling myself, I straighten, then yank the spear out with a clean jerk—eliciting a final, rasping gasp—before thrusting it down again, through his heart.
He twitches, and lies still.
I watch him for a few more seconds, standing over him, hand still clenched around the haft of the spear buried in his chest. For all the horrors I have seen, for all the dangers I have faced, I have never taken another life before. Not truly. As much as I felt the weight of what happened with Estevan at the naumachia, and as much as I may have been responsible for his death, some part of me has always known that it was Estevan himself who made that final decision.
There’s a hand on my shoulder, and I break from my grim contemplation to find Tara there. She meets my gaze, and nods. Just once. “We should not linger.”
She’s right; there’s no telling how close we are to the party’s destination. As I pull my weapon from the dead man again, Miach crouches beside him and carefully removes the iron torc from his neck, then offers it to me.
It feels like stealing from the dead, but I know it’s not thought of that way here. It is an act meant to honour as well as boast. To show not just how many you have killed, but to ensure you remember them.
Reluctantly, I take the torc and slip it around my bicep: arm for trophy, neck for status. The metal is still warm where it was resting against its former owner. Miach slaps me on the back approvingly before he draws his short blade, grabs the dead man’s hair and begins sawing at his throat.
“Why do you remove their heads?” I ask it quietly, not wanting to watch but unable to look away as the others start similar, grisly tasks.
Tara looks at me as if it’s a strange question. “So they cannot walk again, should the boundary to the Otherworld become too thin.”
I don’t have much choice but to accept the explanation; Gráinne mentioned the Otherworld once or twice, and I know it is part of their beliefs, but I’ve never been clear on its nature. As I force a sickly nod, I realise that the presence in my head is still pulsing. Closer than before. I tense, look around at the others. Keep my voice low. “I think there is still someone out there.”
They pause in their macabre work, turning to me as one. “Why do you say that?” murmurs Conor, alert. His hands and knife drip.
I could dissemble, but I know at least Tara is already curious about how I spotted the intruders from the crannog. And perhaps more tellingly, I simply don’t wish to lie. “I can sense something. In here.” I tap my head. “It is hard toexplain, and I do not know why it is happening. But it’s how I knew this party were by the lake. I am not imagining it. And I am not certain it’s coming from an enemy.” The pulse has only helped me, and seems to have been travelling near this group rather than with it.
There’s silence as they process, and then Tara nods. “Far?”
“A few minutes away, maybe.”
Her eyes flick to Fearghus, then the spear in my hand, and then back to me. She doesn’t want to split up, not with our injuries. “The fog is thinning; you will have a better chance of staying hidden alone. Leave tracks where you can. If you have not returned when we’re ready here, we will follow.”
