"Aye," said Boc, full earnestly.
They did so, and Domhnull passed round the wine he had from Branwyn: "This should go first," he said, and felt their spirits lighten for it before they took to the saddle again, riding into the narrows.
"Lord," said Beorc, and Ciaran looked up at him in the dark, from his seat beside the spring. The others lay asleep, or feigning it, even the youth on watch.
"I sent the lad to sleep," Ciaran said. "Go to sleep yourself; I will wake Boda when I feel the need."
"I promised—"
"—Branwyn. Aye. To hover by me." He frowned, for Beorc squat ted down before him, solid as a boulder. "I need no nurse, old wolf."
"Then go to sleep, my lord."
"You harry me, Beorc. If—" A shudder took him, which he tried to prevent. The land rose about him gray with daylight mist, with ill woven in it. "The sun has risen."
"Lord?" Beorc settled there, arms locked, patient of any madness.
"The sun in Eald, Beorc. When things have most power. But it is cold. Cold. This land has come back; she said it. It was lost to Eald and somehow it has come back again."
"How—come back?"
"Would that I knew how." He felt the chill again and touched the stone within his collar. He shut his eyes, seeking with that second sight, through all the maze that pent his vision. The stone seemed like ice in his hand. "I am cut off on all sides. It frightens me, Beorc. She was afraid. Trees, she said, as if one of the Sidhe could be alarmed at trees. But these are ghosts. And I cannot see past them. Neither could she, I think."
"Lord, let it alone."
"And sleep?"
"Let me rouse the men. We will set out now, and get you home again."
"I have sent Domhnull out there. I do not think I should have done it. The longer I am out here the less I find this place comfort able."
"He's a clever lad, and Boc is with him; and Caith besides. And Caer Damh has lost its yen for mischief, look you, not a stir from them all winter."
"They have been quiet," he agreed. "But, Beorc, the woods go around An Beag as they do us. I am not so sure of Damh. And I can no longer find the sea."
"What woods?" Beorc asked patiently, questioning a madman. "What sea?"
"Give me your hand, Beorc."
Beorc settled to his knees and gave it, and so Ciaran drew it to the stone.
Ogods, Beorc said, or tried to say; and there was all of Beorc's self with him, far too close, and the trees were about them both. The earth began to sink beneath them.
No, Ciaran said, and took the stone in his own hand, trembling. The open land was about them again. The nightwind blew gently on his sweating face, and Beorc still knelt before him. It had been close, that third Eald which was Death's own. The wind from it still whis pered.
"O gods," Beorc said, "how do you bear it?"
"Did you see the trees, old wolf, how they grow here?"
"I saw something. Like shadows. I'm not sure what shape they had."
"You have iron about you," said Ciaran. "I should not have done that. Beorc, I should not have sent him. There is something amiss I took no account of. This is not the Eald I knew. It bunds me. I think it would blind her. And I have less and less trust of it now that I'm out here near it." He looked into Beorc's face, finding fear where fear was not accustomed to be, and doubt, where doubt had never been. It occurred to him that he might lose this man, that he might already have lost him, his loyalty, his love, whatever it was that a man gave who had served him as Beorc had. The man that Beorc followed had never faltered, never erred, not to this degree, not with the lives of all else he loved. Small wonder Beorc hearkened now to Branwyn, born to this land as she was, heir of the Cearbhallain, as she was. Like Rhys. Like all he had inherited. He came as interloper, and led them all amiss. "I don't know what to do, Beorc. I don't know."
"Lord, who does, in this? You have done the best thing. And if it were wrong, then Domhnull will make the best of it if it can be made: you sent those who can bend what can be bent."
"Bund."
"With the Sidhe's blessing on him. Do you not recall it? On all of us who serve you."
"Can you remember, then? Do you remember?"
"Not with clear sight, maybe, but I remember something. That I have seen the Sidhe. I remember—someone at the table; and there was silver, and she was dressed in white and gray—"
"No gray. She had no cloak about her."
"Or something like. But she spoke to me. I remember. My weak ness and my strength she said. And about dark and morning. I re member that."
"There was a time," he said, "that the stone let me see. I have seen dragons, Beorc. Once. I have seen the Sidhe ride to war. They are memories, or something like, pent in the stone, but I can't find them now. Only the mist and the ghosts, and I have led us deeper into them, and sent Domhnull and Boc even farther. But the King . . . the King, if he stood with us and not against, if I could win my brother back to reason—" He shook his head. "O gods, this mist surrounds him. Maybe I was to do nothing. But they forget, the Sidhe; or they have their own concerns and Men are small and brief among them. Maybe if Men are to be helped—that is for me to do."
"Lord, let us get you back to the hold. Tonight."
"No," he said, just that. No. "Let me be."
Beorc nodded slowly, gathered himself up and retreated to his blanket, spread on the ground beneath the oak, where the earth was bare: The others slept. The horses were still. The wind stirred, in this world. The others were bound in leaden stillness.
Ciaran sat, and leaned his eyes upon his hand, for they stung with weariness, though there was no sleep in them. The mist gathered about him again when he looked outward with his heart.
Then a small lumpish thing hopped out of it and perched before him in elvish day. For a moment his heart froze in fear, but there was no ill in this creature.
"Man," it said, hugging its arms about its knees, "Man, o Man, this is a lost place. Fair, she said, a fair land, but Eald is strange here."
"What are you, wight?"
It sniffed and wrinkled its nose. "Wight, wight he names me. O why do you sit, Man? Things are amiss, amiss here. I have met the children and seen them home to the Cearbhallain's walls; and the dark man with them."
"What have you to do with them?" he asked. His heart was pounding. "What cause had you to meet them?"
A lank shaggy hand touched a shaggy throat. "Eald is about them. She sent me. O there is much amiss, Man."
"With them?"
"They are safer than you, far safer. O Man, Man, Man, there is dark, dark about your path. The Gruagach has seen it. Dark and bright together."
"She has sent you."
"To guard the children. She said there were saucers of milk for me. And the Gruagach has had them. He has seen your people, fine, polite folk they are, but o Man, there is trouble near them."
"Where?"
A shaggy arm reached out, long fingers waggled.
"The Gruagach. Is that yourself?"
It bobbed, still crouching, and its eyes glinted in their darkness. It seemed to shiver. Whites showed as its eyes rolled. Its voice grew thin.
"Dark, dark and dark it lies— O Man, there is ill, ill, ill."
It was gone. Vanished. He sat on the cold earth and a chill had come on him.
He leapt to his feet. "Beorc!" he shouted. "Wake!"
Men reached for weapons, scrambling to stand, sleep-mazed and frightened.
"Ride back," he said, "Tuathal, get to horse; ride back to Alhhard's steading and send the boy to Caer Wielclass="underline" they have a pony, bid him go, and tell my lady we have need of half the men up here. The rest must stay with her. The rest of you, we are going north a ways."