Brighid glanced up at the top of the rock wall. Cuchulainn was there, crouching beside the boy. The warrior had his shirt off and was tearing it into strips to bind Liam’s wing to his side.
“I will help the warrior bring the boy down,” Nevin said, calling Brighid’s attention back to the ground.
“As will I,” Curran said.
“No, I need the two of you here,” the Huntress said sharply. “ Nara, help Cuchulainn with Liam, and hurry.”
The Healer nodded and, with wings spread, she navigated the steep trail easily. Brighid turned to the twins.
“Liam was shot by one of the Guardian Warriors,” she said bluntly. “The signal fire has been lit. The warriors are on their way here.” Brighid’s first response was to order the twins to arm the adults and bring them to the front of the group where they could best protect the children, but the thought of the winged people greeting Partholonians with weapons made her stomach tighten. That’s not the way-it couldn’t be their way. If they chose to greet the Guardian Warriors armed, how would they appear any different than their demonic forefathers? The Huntress drew a deep breath. Epona, please let me be doing the right thing.
“Spread word to the other adults. Have them stay scattered among the children. Tell them to sit, to blend in with the young ones.” The twins nodded slowly at her.
“We understand. We are not our fathers.”
“No, you’re not. And this will not begin another war,” she said firmly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The children had fallen back into the unnaturally quiet state that Brighid was beginning to understand was their reaction to fear. They didn’t whine and cry like most children. They became very still and attentive. The Huntress respected that about them, and thanked Epona for their maturity. They were composed and silent, sitting patiently in a semicircle around Ciara’s hastily lit campfire, watching as Nara held Liam’s wing carefully immobile while Cuchulainn carried the boy down from the ledge.
Brighid had to force herself not to shout at Cu to hurry, and she paced restlessly, keeping her keen eyes trained down the pass. She and Cuchulainn needed to go ahead to Guardian Castle and confront the warriors, explaining why they had decided to use this pass, and making it clear that the New Fomorians were not an invading force from the Wastelands-they were a group of children and hopeful adults who had been promised a home by the Chieftain of Clan MacCallan.
Surely the Guardian Warriors already knew most of that. Cuchulainn’s mother had blazed the news of the deposed children of Partholon across the country. If not openly welcomed by the people, the New Fomorians should at least be expected. Etain was Epona’s Chosen, and Elphame was revered as touched by the Goddess. Their acceptance would at the very least ensure that the Partholonian people would not raise arms against the hybrids. To do so would be an act of defiance against Epona herself.
Yet Liam had been attacked.
“ Nara, I’ve made a pallet for him near the fire,” Ciara called.
Brighid turned from her silent contemplation of the empty passageway to see Cu striding to the campfire with a pale Liam in his arms. The boy moaned when Cu laid him on the thick pile of pelts. Nara called for boiling water and began mixing herbs as she murmured reassuringly to the boy.
Cuchulainn moved to Brighid’s side.
“We must intercept the warriors and diffuse this situation before it gets any worse,” Cuchulainn said.
“Agreed. I want to speak with the warrior who mistook a child for a demon.”
“Scolding a warrior of Guardian Pass is not the way to defuse this situation.”
“Scolding is the least of what I would like to do to him,” she said grimly.
Cuchulainn began to grumble a reprimand when a flicker of movement over the centaur’s shoulder made his body stiffen. Brighid spun around and sucked in a breath. The end of the pass was no longer empty. Silently dozens of black-garbed warriors moved toward them.
“Stay beside me. Don’t draw your bow,” he said.
“Cuchulainn?” Ciara’s whisper was a tremulous question.
The warrior spared a quick glance at the Shaman. “All will be well.” Then his steady gaze went from child to child, and he repeated slowly, “All will be well.”
Big eyes stared steadily back at him, bright with trust and belief.
Feeling the responsibility of their young idealism settling heavily on him, Cuchulainn nodded to Brighid, and centaur and human moved forward together to meet the line of dark warriors.
“Do you know any of them?” Brighid asked quietly.
“I can’t tell yet. I should. I trained here, but that was several years-” His words broke off as the approaching line stopped moving. A single tall warrior stepped away from the others.
Brighid slanted a glance at Cu, and was relieved to see that the stern set of his face had relaxed. He intercepted the dark warrior and held out his arm for the traditional greeting of comrades.
“Master Fagan, well met,” Cu said with genuine warmth.
The warrior hesitated only a moment before grasping Cu’s forearm and returning the greeting.
“Well met, Cuchulainn MacCallan. We were apprised of your mission to the Wastelands. When the signal fire was lit I hoped that I would discover you and not an invading horde.” Fagan’s voice was as gnarly as his heavily lined face, but it was filled with the same familiarity Cu had shown in his greeting.
Cu chuckled. “An invading horde? Not hardly. I am simply leading children back to the land of their foremothers.”
The old warrior studied the group of silent winged beings.
“So we had heard. But we expected you to guide them through a smaller pass that was discovered in the west. I wonder at your change in travel plans.”
“The western pass was our original intent-before the blizzard two moons ago. The snow made the pass too treacherous for children, thus we decided to bring them through Guardian Pass. ”
“It is unfortunate that we weren’t informed of your change in plans. I understand one of the Fomorians was wounded by my man.”
“He didn’t wound a Fomorian. He shot a child, not a demon. There is a distinct difference between the two.” Brighid’s voice was hard, and she thought-with satisfaction-that she sounded as imperious as her mother.
Fagan cocked his head back and studied the centaur down the length of his long nose. “You must be the Dhianna centaur who left her herd and joined the MacCallans.”
Brighid’s eyes narrowed dangerously but before she could speak Cuchulainn made hasty introductions. “Swordmaster Fagan, this is Clan MacCallan’s Huntress, Brighid Dhianna.”
“I assume the hawk belongs to you, Huntress?” Fagan asked.
Brighid ignored the surprised widening of Cuchulainn’s eyes.
“The hawk doesn’t belong to me, but I was grateful that Epona called her to my aid. She saved the boy’s life.”
Fagan gave her another long, contemplative look. “It would be a tragedy to kill an innocent youth. If the youth is, indeed, innocent.”
“This particular youth is my apprentice,” Brighid said firmly. “So when you question his honor, you question my own.”
“Understood, Huntress,” the Swordmaster said, holding Brighid’s gaze unblinkingly.
Brighid did not like the tone of his voice, but before she could tell him so Cuchulainn was making a magnanimous, sweeping gesture with his arm.
“Come, Master! Let me introduce you to the New Fomorians and their children.”
Reluctantly, the Swordmaster looked away from the Huntress. With obvious disbelief he said, “New Fomorians?”
Brighid was pleased to see Cuchulainn’s face harden and his tone lose its warmth. “These are not the demons our ancestors fought and vanquished. They are innocent of those deeds. I would expect a man as wise as my old Master to know better than to prejudge them.”
“And I would expect the warrior who so recently lost his betrothed to the madness of these creatures to be more careful in whom he placed his trust.”