Lys: Lost

No sooner had Cathair met his fellow warriors and opened a pass than a new force joined the enemy. Cathair knew their added fighting skill would be nothing compared to the heartening effect they had on the small band. He was all but certain that the battle was already lost- Cunorix would not be collecting his lovely prize. And if all the men fought like their leader, it was very possible none of them would be collecting rewards.

He sat in a shadow, his horse breathing hard beneath him, and watched, as others watched, the arrival of this new commander. When the smoke cleared enough to see his face, he started. He looked like a young version of Vortigern! It is the Fox, then. Well. Won't this be a nice little bee in Vortigern's bonnet.

He felt sorry for the beautiful woman at Vortigern's villa, though. If by some chance they won, the death of her brother would be a blow, especially as it would mean she'd have to wed Cunorix.

The thought took him back to the woman and the boy. Were they siblings? He wished he'd been able to find out how much damage he'd done. If they were to lose the battle, if this was the day of his death, he did not want to go to the Judgement Seat with innocent blood on his hands, unconfessed. God, allow me to make restitution before I die...

He wheeled his horse and plunged back into the fray.


Aithne's weeping had turned to keening. It was the way the women of her clan grieved. It was a mournful sound- a chilling sound- Brother Parthalan had likened it to banshees' cries.

And so she was keening. Keening for her loss, keening for the boy, and more deeply, keening for the loss of the bit of heaven that was the villa. With his death, it seemed the peace and love that had so delicately rested in this valley had been shattered. Outside, that other world she had told him about had come pouring in to this one, trampling and soiling the good and pure.

The destruction tore at her heart, as though it was her own body being trampled.

She was keening for Britain.

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