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“We need help too. Our plight’s as serious as theirs. What do they expect us to do — send our men to fight their battles, leaving our women and children at the mercy of the Fomorii?” He spits into the dust.
    “He puts it harshly but there’s wisdom in what my son says,” Conn murmurs. “Alliances are one thing, but begging for help like slaves... asking us to go to their aid instead of coming to us...”
    “Perhaps they can’t travel,” Goll says. “Many might be wounded or old.”
    “In which case they’re not worth saving,” Connla laughs. Those who follow him laugh too — wolves copying the example of their pack leader.
    “We should go,” Goll growls. “Or at least send an envoy. If we ignore their pleas, perhaps ours will also be ignored when we seek assistance.”
    “Only the weak ask for help,” Connla says stiffly.
    Goll smiles tightly and I sense what he’s going to say next — something along the lines of “Well, it won’t be long before
you
ask, then!”
    Luckily Conn senses it too, and before Goll utters an insult that will demand payment in blood, the king says, “Even if we wanted to help, we don’t know where they are, and I don’t trust this empty-headed child to find his way back.”
    “If the brehons were here, they could counsel us,” Fiachna says.
    “Brehons!” Connla snorts. “Weren’t they the first to flee when the demons arose? Damn the brehons!”
    There are mutters of agreement, even from those who don’t normally side with Connla. The lawmaking brehons deserted us when we most needed them, and few are in the mood to forgive and forget.
    The men continue debating, the women sitting silently behind them, their children sleeping or playing games. On the rampart the lookouts keep watch for demons.
    Goll and Fiachna are of the opinion that we should send a small group with Run Fast to help his clan. “It’s no accident that he arrived on the same day as the MacCadan,” Goll argues. “Yesterday we couldn’t have let anyone go. But our ranks have been bolstered. It’s a sign.”
    “Bolstered?”
Connla almost shrieks, casting a scornful glance at the four men and three women of the MacCadan.
    “Connla!” his father snaps, before the hotheaded warrior disgraces our guests. When he’s sure of his son’s silence, Conn leans forward, sipping coirm, thinking hard. Like any king, he dare not ignore a possible sign from the gods. But he’s not sure this is a sign. And in a situation such as this, there’s only one person he can turn to. “Bec?”
    I was expecting his query, so I’m able to keep a calm face. I’ve had time to consider my answer. I believe we’re meant to go with Run Fast. That was what the vision meant. The spirit of my mother was telling me to follow this boy.
    “We should help,” I whisper. Connla rolls his eyes but I ignore him. “We’re stronger now, thanks to the MacCadan. We can spare a few of our warriors. I believe Run Fast can find his way back to his people, and I think bad luck would befall us if we refused their plea.”
    Conn nods slowly. “But who to send? I don’t want to command anyone to leave. Are there volunteers...?”
    “Aye,” Goll says instantly. “Since I argued the case, I have to go.”
    “I’ll go too,” Fiachna says quietly.
    “You?” Conn frowns. “But you’re not a warrior.”
    Fiachna holds up Run Fast’s knife. “This metal is unfamiliar to me. It’s tougher than our own, yet lighter. If I knew the secret of it, I could make better weapons.” He lowers the knife. “I’ll stay if you order it, but I want to go.”
    “Very well,” Conn sighs. “But you’ll travel with a guard.” He looks around to choose a warrior to send with the smith. There are many to pick from, but he’s loath to send a husband or father. So it must be one of the younger warriors. As he studies them, his expression changes and a crafty look comes into his eyes. He points to Connla. “My son will protect