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thief in Ateris, an orphan, unloved and unwanted. A hard thing for a child, Caswallon.'
     
    'A hard thing for anyone,' said the clansman. 'You know he crawled for almost two hours with those wounds. He's tough. He deserves a second chance at life.'
     
    'He is still frightened of the Aenir,' said Oracle.
     
    'So should he be,' answered Caswallon gravely. 'I am frightened of them. They are a bloodthirsty people and once they have conquered the lowlands they will look to the clans.'
     
    'I know,' said the old man, meeting Caswallon's eye. 'They will outnumber us greatly. And they're fighters. Killers all.'
     
    'Mountain war is a different thing altogether,' said Caswallon. 'The Aenir are fine warriors but they are still lowlanders. Their horses will be useless in the bracken, or on the scree slopes. Their long swords and axes will hamper them.'
     
    True, but what of the valleys where our homes are?'
     
    'We must do our best to keep them out of the valleys,' answered Caswallon with a shrug.
     
    'Are you so sure they'll attack?' asked Maeg. 'What could they possibly want here?'
     
    'Like all conquerors,' Oracle answered her. They fear all men think as they do. They will see the clans as a threat, never knowing when we will pour out of the mountains on to their towns, and so they will seek to destroy us. But we have time yet. There are still lowland armies and cities to be taken, and then they must bring their families over from the south land and build their own farms and towns. We have three years, maybe a little less.'
     
    'Were you always so gloomy, old man?' asked Maeg, growing angry as her good humour evaporated.
     
    'Not always, young Maeg. Once I was as strong as a bull and feared nothing. Now my bones are like dry sticks, my muscles wet parchment. Now I worry. There was a time when the Farlain could
     
    gather an army to terrify the world, when no one would dare invade the highlands. But the world moves on ..."
     
    'Let tomorrow look after itself, my friend,' said Caswallon, resting a hand on the old man's shoulder. 'We'll not make a jot of difference by worrying about it. As Maeg says, we are growing gloomy. Come, we'll walk aways and talk. It will help the food to settle, and I know Maeg will not want us under her feet."
     
    Both men rose and Oracle walked round the table to stand over Maeg. Then he bowed and kissed her cheek. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'I promise I'll not bring gloom to this house - for a while, at least.'
     
    'Away with you,' she said, rising and throwing her arms around his neck. 'You're always welcome here - just bear in mind I've a young babe, and I don't want to hear such melancholy fear for his future.'
     
    Maeg watched them leave on the short walk through the pasture towards the mountain woods beyond. Then she gathered up the dishes and scrubbed them clean in the water bucket by the hearth. Completing her chores the clanswoman checked on the babe, once more stroking his brow and rearranging his blanket. At her touch he awoke, stretching one pudgy arm with fist clenched, screwing up his face and yawning. Sitting beside him, Maeg opened her tunic and held him to her breast. As he fed she began to sing a soft, lilting lullaby. The babe suckled for several minutes, then, when he had finished she lifted him to her shoulder. His head sagged against her face. Gently she rubbed his back; he gave a loud burp which brought a peal of laughter from his mother. Kissing his cheek, she told him, 'We'll need to improve your table manners before long, little one.' Carefully she laid him back in his cot and Donal fell asleep almost instantly.
     
    Returning to the kitchen, Maeg found Kareen had arrived with the morning milk and was busy transferring it to the stone jug by the wall. Kareen was a child of the mountains, orphaned during the last winter. Only fifteen, it would be a year before she could be lawfully wed and she had been sent by the Hunt Lord, Cambil, to serve Maeg in the difficult early