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blinked. Almost too late he swept his blade up.
    “Body!”
    —Sword lowered, swinging to the left to block the blow that hissed in from that direction.
    “Body!”—but from the other side; blade flipping sideways to meet it.
    “Leg!”
    He met it—barely.
    “Body!”
    Yeah, okay; he managed that one too.
    “Head!”
    “Body!”
    “Leg!”
    “Head!”
    “Leg!”
    Too fast—or he was too slow, the weapon a burden in his hand. Metal slammed into his unprotected thigh, and a fine, clear pain slid through his flesh. Before he could stop himself he glanced down—and saw Fionchadd’s blade embedded almost an inch deep in his leg.
    The world went momentarily colorless.
    Fionchadd jerked the sword away, and David gasped. There was no blood, no wound—and no pain any longer.
    “The hardest thing for our kind to learn,” Oisin said from his place between two stones, “is how to deal with pain.”
    *
    Fifteen minutes later it was over, because by then David was so numb with fatigue he could not have raised a weapon if his life depended on it. “Sorry, guys, I’ve had it,” he panted, as he flopped down on a slab of mossy stone beneath a trilithon.
    “Already?” Fionchadd sighed. “Surely you can go a little longer.”
    David could only stare at the Faery in helpless frustration. How dare he look so calm! Oh true, Fionchadd’s usually pale face was flushed a little, and there was the merest sheen of sweat along his long, smooth limbs, but nothing else gave any indication of exertion. The little sleaze was not even panting—damn him!
    A shadow fell across David’s face. “Not a bad beginning for a mortal,” Nuada said. “Perhaps in another few decades you might even prove quite accomplished.”
    “Decades!” David moaned. “I’m not gonna be able to move for at least a century. And anyway, who am I gonna fight? My kind don’t go in for that sorta thing anymore; and you folks don’t need to bother with it to get at us. Two words and snap-your-fingers and we’re goners. Even me—now that the ring Oisin gave me’s lost its ability to protect me.”
    Nuada glanced at his companion. “A sorry thing that, though ruined in a righteous cause.”
    “Yet a man must be the source of his own strength. Reliance on anything beyond oneself can only lead to disappointment.”
    David scowled thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I agree with that. No man is an island, and all.”
    “No,” Oisin replied. “But a man should be able to function as an island if he must. I have not said that isolation is desirable, only that the ability to deal with it is. A man should be the source of his own strength, but likewise should he let it flow out from him and merge with others, and drink from their strength as well.”
    “Okay, okay,” David protested wearily. “My poor old brain’s too addled for this kind of heavy thinkin’.”
    “And in any event, we must depart,” Nuada said. “Lugh has a grievous problem on which we must be ready to advise him. Fionchadd, are you coming?”
    “In a moment.”
    “Ah.” Oisin laughed softly. “I heard him called a fiend before, but I think a truer word for him is friend .”
    David simply closed his eyes and did not reply. He was tired…so tired. He did not see Nuada and Oisin leave. Almost he slept.
    But suddenly water was splashing into his face—only it wasn’t water, because when he licked it from his lips it was sweet, and when he opened his eyes it was a thin stream of red that Fionchadd was squirting from a white leather bag straight toward him.
    David blinked, then allowed the Faery to fill his mouth. His aim, of course, was perfect. “Damn, that was good.” He giggled, after Fionchadd had turned the arc toward himself in a flicker of movement that did not waste a drop. “What is it, anyway?”
    Fionchadd’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Why Faery wine, of course!”
    “Not the kind that dooms you to an eternity there, I hope.” David yawned, letting his lids