Arrows sailed at them from the trees on the right. The hurried footsteps of several dozen enemies rumbled from behind.

  Maeve O’Connor, however, remained rooted to the ground, a gnarled, leafless tree unbothered by the oncoming gale.

  Niall caught a buckler thrown to him by Conán mac Morna and spent the next few minutes deflecting arrows and shouting Maeve’s name.

  For his part, Finn sprinted to the side of his fallen comrade. The arrow protruding from Fergal’s chest locked the links of his hauberk around its shaft. Finn would have to remove it for any proper assessment, but he knew doing so in the middle of battle was as foolish as it was dangerous.

  “Does it hurt?” Finn asked.

  A drop of blood escaped Fergal’s mouth as he scoffed. “You’re too smart a man to ask a question like that,” Fergal said. “Of course it does.”

  “But that is why I asked,” Finn said. “We’d be in a brave lock of trouble if it didn’t hurt.” He shrugged and raised the right side of his mouth. “Besides, you’re too strong a man to let one arrow get the better of you.”

  “I’m often inclined to agree with you,” Fergal said, “but it’s a different matter when the arrow is—”

  Fergal raised his head to assess his wound. Finn placed his hand on Fergal's forehead and forced it down before the man could see.

  “Please be still while I’m working, lad,” Finn said. He couldn’t let Fergal realize the arrow’s precarious location: two inches right of his sternum and three inches below his collarbone.

  He traced a circle with his fully outstretched arms above his head. “Mall in ?uiliú.” He lowered his arms until his hands circled Fergal's chest. A blue-green light shone through the innkeeper's armor and up the arrow’s shaft. The gurgling sound in Fergal’s breath lessened but did not cease.

  “I’m fixed?” Fergal whispered.

  “Not for long,” Finn said. “I’ve slowed the bleeding, but every time that arrow moves against your body, it aggravates the wound. If I try to sear your wound the wooden shaft will burn instead. If I remove it, I can cause several more tears on the way out. I’m not sure my magic is strong enough to slow that much loss. We need—”

  “MacSweeney,” Maeve said. She’d knelt down at Fergal’s side behind Finn without either man noticing. She rested her hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Do your best, Finn. Whatever happens is my fault, not yours.”

  There was a shaky, airy tone to Maeve’s voice Finn had never heard before. An arrow landed three yards below Fergal’s feet, its fletchings pointed toward the force closing from behind.

  “None of that,” Finn said to her. “Stay with him for a moment. And you—” He stood and leaned into Fergal’s line of sight. “Hold still as you can. I’ll give you another round when I get back.”

  Finn glanced toward the tower. The most eager of the invaders were little more than a hundred yards away. He turned and ran to the gap between Goll mac Morna and Niall. “Bocóit.”

  “We need to move,” Niall said.

  “I’m aware,” Finn said as two arrows bounced off the pale yellow barrier over his arm. “Goll, how would move my friend here? We need to get him to a safe place if he’s got any chance of living through this.”

  “Uargal,” Goll said. “Give me your cloak and protect me as I work.”

  Finn unfastened his mantle and tossed it to Goll. The warrior removed his own cloak, laid both on top of each other and forced his spear through one of the sistered corners. Goll slid the spear to the other side and pierced the other sistered corner along the top. “Need a rope,” he said.

  “Make a gap,” Maeve said. “This will have to do. “Fuip fíniúna.” An amber whip wrapped around the spear handle.

  Goll spread his creation on the ground, looked at Finn and jerked his head down. Finn nodded and joined the man at Fergal’s side. “Carefully,” mac Morna said as they lifted Fergal high enough to ease him onto the makeshift sled.

  “Goll!” Caílte yelled. "We need you at the rear.”

  “Here,” Niall said, tossing his sword to Goll.

  “You won’t need it?”

  “These bleedin’ cowards in the woods haven’t advanced their position,” Niall said. “The buckler’s all I need for now.”

  “Grand,” Goll said. “Bard, you take your magic shield and help him catch every arrow coming our way. Conán, you drag the big fella, soft as you can.”

  “I have to do it,” Maeve said, “or the whip breaks.”

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  “Fine,” Goll said. “My brother will help shoulder it behind you. Oscar, Caílte, you two will help me handle our pursuers.”

  Goll charged at the attackers at the rear before anyone could acknowledge the plan. Caílte shrugged and followed him.

  “Let’s go, lad,” Niall said. He advanced toward the scouts in the forest. “Down the road with you,” he yelled to Maeve.

  “What happens if these eejits get brave and step out from the trees?” Finn asked.

  “Even with one weapon between us, I like our odds,” Niall said. “I’m more concerned with what might come down the road at Maeve and Fergal.”

  Finn shook his head. “I agree, but not for the reason you think, Uncle.” An arrow ricocheted off his barrier. “If help doesn’t come riding down that road, some of us won’t make it back.”

  The first wave of attackers proved no match for the two legendary members of the Fianna. Maeve’s magic whip held strong as she and Conán disappeared from the clearing down the forest road, grimacing as the whip's thorns dug into their shoulders and hands.

  “Time to go!” Niall yelled to the warriors. Caílte reached the edge of the forest in seconds. Niall and Finn backed away from the archers as Goll and Oscar followed.

  Goll shook his head at Finn and Niall as the pair caught up with the group. “Not a one of them stepped out of the shadows to cut us off?”

  “Honestly, sir," Finn said, "so much has gone wrong on our journey, I don’t mind if our enemy makes a mistake once in a while."

  Niall cupped his free hand next to his mouth and yelled at Caílte, now several yards ahead of Maeve, Conán and Fergal. “Any dearg dues?”

  Caílte stopped and turned around. “If they’re here, they’re treading softer than we are.” He twisted his head. “Or perhaps not.”

  By the time the rest of the group caught Caílte, the rumbling ahead of them was as loud as the pursuers behind them.

  “That must be Rory,” Finn said. “The wans we fought off yesterday were not that loud.”

  “Let’s move,” Goll said. “If it’s not our people, waiting around guarantees a fight on two sides at the same time.”

  “Hang in there, Ferg,” Maeve said as she and Conán resumed the tow.

  Finn circled behind them and walked behind Fergal. “Howya, big fella?”

  “I’ve got a grand view of the horde gaining on us from behind,” Fergal said. He raised a hand from his chest and examined his fingers. “And it appears I’ve aggravated the wound.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Finn said. “Let’s hope Rory’s wagon survived any battles they faced.”

  “If that is, in fact, themselves approaching.”

  “Sure look, Ferg, faith doesn’t have to be the sole domain of the Catholics, does it?”

  “I still go to Mass several times a month.”

  Finn squeezed out a single laugh. “You have no excuse for it, then. Take heart.”

  Fergal patted the unspoiled side of his chest. “Four inches from a poor choice of words.” His eyes were the only part of his face that managed a grin.

  Finn heard Maeve inhale sharply through her nose.

  The rumbling ahead of them grew louder. Caílte sprinted up to the next bend, stopped, and then smiled back to the group. “If these are dearg due, they’d be the ugliest lock of ‘em I’d ever laid eyes on.”

  “What did I tell you?” Finn said to Fergal.

  The two groups of allies converged on Caílte’s spot at the bend. Five other riders flanked Rory, followed closely by a fully intact wagon.

  “You look none the worse for wear!” Niall said. “What happened to the waves of beasts coming to save their master?”

  “We encountered several groups along these roads,” Rory said. “Then half of them scattered at once. Made our job much easier. Happy to see some familiar faces have joined you.” Rory’s eyes slid down to Fergal. “I’m sorry. When did he fall?”

  “Minutes from now, while we stand around chatting,” Maeve said. “Can we please get my friend to safety now?”

  Rory dismounted and waved for their riders to assist them in clearing space on the wagon. Niall, Oscar, and the mac Morna brothers lifted Fergal and carried him to the wagon. Finn climbed into the cargo area after Maeve and knelt by his injured comrade. “Mall in ?uiliú,” he said, spinning his hands.

  “They’re closing in!” Maeve said, pointing behind them. The silhouettes of six warriors appeared in the mist.

  Niall climbed into the wagon’s seat, and the Aos Sí each paired up with a rider. Turning the wagon about cost the company valuable time. Maeve set Fergal’s hand on the wagon bed, removed the bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow. It struck the shield of a warrior running in the center of the lead pack. She loosed two more at the runners on the left side of the group, dropping one attacker. She felled two more by the time the wagon driver righted his course.

  The entire invading force was in range now, and Finn noted several carrying bows.

  “Why aren’t they firing?” Finn asked.

  “They don’t want to stop and take the time to aim, apparently,” Maeve said. “Personally, I’d try it on the run if I were them.”

  “But they’re not you,” Finn said.

  Maeve’s usual countenance flashed across her face—and disappeared as quickly. “They’ve been running for over a mile now. Why do they continue to draw closer?”

  “We’re bogged down,” Niall said. “All but two of our horses are carrying extra—Finn!”

  A shout came from behind the lead wave of attackers. A fireball arced into the sky toward the wagon.

  “Bocóit!” Finn shouted as he abandoned his healing duties. The projectile broke against his translucent shield. “I was afraid of that. Easier to cast magic on the run than it is to fire an arrow.”

  Another shout. Finn barely caught the blast of heat with his barrier and he fell back into Maeve. She pushed him up, without curse or insult, as the wagon rolled through a crossing.

  “That’s the road to Norroway, right?” Niall asked the driver. “How far until Uargal?”

  “Two miles or so,” the driver said. “The road east marks two-thirds of the journey from the tower to Uargal. You’ll be seein’ its roof over the trees past the next bend.”

  “Hear that?” Maeve asked Fergal. “I’m sure they’ll have something there to help Finn get you better.”

  Fergal nodded. His sigh carried a gurgle, and it caused him to cough up a few drops of blood onto his blue lips. All color had drained from his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Finn asked.

  “I miss Brigid,” Fergal said. “She changed my life, you know.”

  “Not as much as you changed hers,” Maeve said as she wicked the sweat off of his forehead and eyes. “You’re one of a kind, MacDavett.”

  “Am I, now?”

  “What’s with this talk?” Finn asked. “You lie down for one rest and suddenly the philosophy is on you?”

  Fergal’s face winced as he swallowed. “The arrow doesn’t hurt anymore, Finn.”