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“Away now, back away now. Do ya think I’m going to lie here on the ground?” Loga shoved the women back and pushed to his feet.
He’d lost color as well as blood but planted those feet and stared up at Brian and Thar.
“Bring him down, Sidhe.”
“He’ll be taken to the Capital for Judgment. That’s the law, the law for all Fey.”
“Ya think I don’t know the law?” He looked around at his tribe, the ones who’d run from the village, those who’d poured out of the mines at the call of alarm. “We know the law, and we honor it. Put those weapons down, ya bunch of eejits. He’ll face Judgment right enough, and none here will stop ya. But I’ll have a bloody word first. It’s my right.”
“It is, aye.”
Brian brought him down but held him fast.
“Put a knife in me, would ya, Thar? Eaten at my fire, haven’t ya? Shared my food, my drink, and put a knife in the Father?”
“Not my father. My father’s dead, gone fighting for this one’s.” He spat at Breen’s feet.
“And a warrior he was, brave and true.” Sul looked back, nodded to some of the women to give comfort to Thar’s mother as she wept. “Ya disgrace him and bring shame to the one who birthed ya.”
“Loga’s weak, all of ya, weak who follow him, who follow the taoiseach. What do we get but huts on the stone and breaking our backs in the caves and mines? When Odran comes, and he will come, I’ll lead the strong ones, and the weak will beg for my mercy.”
“Take him to Judgment, and tell the taoiseach I will come for it as well. He is no longer of the tribe. Whatever Judgment is said at the Capital, he is banished from this camp and from the tribe. We do not know him from this day on.”
“So I will. I will call my dragon and take him. Breen—”
“Go. I’ll call Lonrach. I need to see to the potion, the balm first. I’ll call Lonrach as soon as I’m finished.”
“She’s under our protection here,” Loga told him, “and in all of Talamh. This is my word.”
They bound Thar with rope, and when Hero hovered, Brian flew him up. “I’ll tell Marco you’re coming soon,” he called, then soared east.
“Ya’ll come to the caves,” Loga told Breen. “Take payment for healing my scratch.”
“I won’t. I healed a friend. I won’t trade or take payment for healing a friend.”
His eyes narrowed on hers, and she worried she’d insulted him and the rest. Worried considerably more when he drew his knife.
“Will you give me your hand?”
Hoping for the best, she held it out. He scored his palm, then hers. Then gripped their hands together strongly enough to make her wince.
“Now we share blood. Witness this, all of ya! The Daughter of the O’Ceallaigh shares blood with the tribe. She is one of us from this day. She is Daughter of the Trolls, and is welcome here as she wishes, without permission. This is my word.”
“I’m honored.”
“Well, ya should be.” He grinned at her. “Now ya’ll finish your fussing for yer nerves, and have ale. Oh no, it’s wine ya like, isn’t it? Ale for me.”
She got the potion into him, chose the balm. When she called for Lonrach, a young woman stepped up to her.
“I’m Narl, the oldest daughter of Loga and Sul.”
“I see your mother in your eyes.”
Narl held out a thin band of hammered gold studded with dragon hearts. “This is a gift from all the children of Loga and Sul, and the one yet to come, from their children, and all yet to come. This isn’t a trade or payment, but a gift. It’s a thanks.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Wear it into battle, see?” She set it on Breen’s head. “It’s protection, and a warning, a warning the one who wears it is fierce with the blood of the Trolls though she has no braid.”
