A darkness came into her head. Voices, hushed, surrounded her. When she returned to herself, one of the healers appearedmiraculously and knelt before her, his basket set on the sodden ground.
“How did ye come here?”
He gave her a grim look. “Hush.”
Disobedient, she stared at the wound he treated on her arm. “I do not remember getting that wound.”
“Warriors rarely do.”
“I am not—” She stopped. Ardahl’s sword still lay across her knees. Did that make her a warrior?
When the healer finished his work, Maeve came and sat close beside Liadan, put an arm around her, and drew her in.
“My mam…” Liadan began.
“I know, bairn. I know. I saw. Cry it out, if ye must.”
But Liadan could not cry.
“I do not know where my sister may be.”
“’Tis a torture, not knowing.”
This woman did not know where her son was. Just like Liadan. She did not know if Ardahl be living or lost.
An agony.
“Rest.” Maeve tucked Liadan’s head into the crook of her shoulder. “All we can do is wait.”
*
They waited tilldawn, none of them sleeping save the children, the adults too chilled to find slumber. At first light, scouts went stealing out to read the lay of the land.
They came back at length to report the enemy had gone, having destroyed whatever they could and slain whomever they’d encountered. Their plan to burn down the rest of the settlement had been mostly thwarted by the rain.
“There be other groups like us,” one of the men reported, “who flew and hid. One has already gone back down. Others will follow.”
“Is it safe for us to return?” asked a woman cradling two children.
“So far as we can tell.” The scout—a rare surviving member of the guard who had found them during the night—shrugged.
Said an older woman, “What if they return?”
That question went unanswered. Another member of the scouting group who’d ventured farther afield came hurrying.
“Our men return! They are far to the west yet but on our land. Donnacht has taken them the news.”
Is Ardahl among them?Liadan wanted to ask, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.
“The chief comes!” the man cried as if in answer.
Those gathered exchanged glances. The chief’s wife and young children had not yet been found. Mayhap they were with one of the other groups of fugitives.
Maeve tightened her arm around Liadan. “They return,” she murmured, “and will defend us. Let us go home. Bring the sword.”
The air reeked of smoke, so thick and heavy that Liadan could scarcely draw a breath without choking. When they reached the settlement, they found others there before them. With no one in charge, folk wandered around looking lost, many of the woman weeping.
Liadan could not go home. Her mam lay there—and not for a fortune in gold could she have made herself walk in. The hut of Maeve—who seemed to have set herself to look after Liadan—had burned long since. So had that of Dornach, where she’d been staying.
