Eithne picked up a white stone and considered the fickle board. They were well into the second phase of the game, and Alva Damar pressed on the King Stone at the center. Eithne struggled to hold off the ban-drymyn's assault.

They were in a night's camp at the very border of the Vale of Thaynú. A few small cook-fires were all they permitted themselves as the last hours of the night lingered toward the dawn.

"But what is love, then, Alva, if one can't expect one's wishes to be respected? There was no need for Eowain to send me away as if I were made of some rare Narician glass. You and my father know just as well that the fray holds no terror for me."

Eithne placed the white stone, blocked Alva's advance, and stole away one of her black stones.

"I don't think His Grace doubts your heart, my lady. That is simply not the manner of wife he needs right now. One of the duties of a wife and queen is to manage your lordship's kingdom and properties when he is away on his overlord's business. If the rumors are true and the Gruin-men attempt an incursion this summer, he may be away for weeks at a time on campaign. It will fall to you to stand his ground at home and secure the integrity of his kingdom. Then you will find combat enough, as you wrangle with the fractious cattle-lords for the full-share of their taxes and the full measure of their war-like young men."

There was a call from their perimeter, a challenge from one of their guards. There was a murmured reply. A moment later, a boy was led into the camp. "He comes from Eowain," announced his escort.

Eithne waved him close to the fire. The lad was out of breath and sweating. Eithne summoned a cup for him. "What news?"

The messenger, short of breath, accepted the cup and took a long drink before he made reply.

*****

Eowain put down a black stone. Across the fallen log they used as a bench, Medyr, wan and haggard in the firelight, raised a white stone and considered the board between them.

Eowain was satisfied that he'd secured at least two possible paths to the edge against Medyr. With his latest move, he'd unhinged the Lord-Drymyn's defense and threatened the King Stone at the center.

The sun had set some hours earlier. The night around their campfire was full of shadows and darkness. Ól came around and Eowain poured himself a cup, passed the skin to Lorcán's three-fingered grasp.

It had been a long day. Eowain ached in places he hadn't known he had.

A quiet murmur of talk floated around the camp. The men were weary. Eowain sat up, stretched his aching lower back. With that move came pain to his bruised and battered chest and shoulders.

Medyr placed the white stone and called Eowain's attention back to the game. His Lord-Drymyn had acquitted himself well on the field, with nothing but his blackthorn stick. Eowain rebuked himself for ever doubting the man's loyalty. "Are you well?"

Medyr nodded wearily. "When They are not forgetful, They demand a steep price." He put two fingers to his nose and squeezed at the bridge.

"Are you still sure this is the right thing to do?" Eowain nodded to his brother. "Lorcán has his doubts."

"Are you sure yourself, Your Grace?"

Eowain shook his head and considered the board that Medyr had left him. "I won't lie. She hasn't accepted the pledge of my troth. It makes me wonder. She's a Fiatach, and a Gwynn. Could this be some ploy to weaken Droma? Have the Fiatach made cause with the Cailech or the Gruin-men? Is this whole action meant only to bleed us?" He took a black stone and placed it aggressively, threatening the King's Stone at the center. "Old Time, he is a-flying. She should not be so coy in times like these."

*****

Having heard that Eowain was alive and healthful in camp, Eithne dismissed the messenger to find food and drink as he might. Across the fickle board, Alva took up a black stone and found advantage, pressing a line toward Eithne's King-Stone at the center of her board.

Eithne's maid Cunneen sighed and gazed up at the thin sliver of waning moon that still hung in the sky. "He's so brave."

Eithne wrinkled her nose at the game-board. "Not so brave."

"Oh, but he is, my lady." She put her cheek in her hand. "And so noble, standing to the hazard to protect your virtue."

"I can care for my own virtue." Eithne took up a white piece and blocked Alva's line toward the King Stone.

"Oh, I'm sure your husband would care quite well for your virtue." Alva placed a black stone seemingly without thought, captured Eithne's white piece and exposed her King-Stone once more. "You must make a decision, you know?"

Eithne scowled at the state of the game, and looked to the east. Dawn had begun to chase away darkness. Damara, bright Watch-Maiden of the Night, gleamed at her from the bruise-purple sky. "What if he's not the right man for me? How am I to know? If only I were older..."

Alva harrumphed. "For a marriage, that age is best when youth and blood are warmest. Don't be coy. Use your time, and while you may, get married."

She looked to the east and the brightening dawn. "The lamp of heaven, it's getting higher. We should make ready to go. The safety of the Vale can't be much further." She placed a white stone on the board, smiled, and took one of Alva's. "The morning is yet dry, but I fear we'll have rain."

*****

Medyr placed a white stone and took one of Eowain's blacks.

How like life the game of fickle is, considered Eowain. He picked up a new black stone and placed it on the board. There was no obvious advantage in the move. Medyr furrowed his brows and considered his position.

Despite the sorcerous steed of Cael's, Eowain's men had held the center, only falling back when they felt the enthusiasm of the bandits falter. Medyr and his acolyte had played no small part in the success of that action. They'd fought with skill, brained many an incautious brigand, and heartened the lads all the while. The very roots of the forest seemed to tangle the bandits' advance, and allowed Eowain's men time to fall back in good order, using the archers for cover.

But what would the morrow bring? He'd often said that luck could save a man, if only his courage held. But there's sorcery involved now. Was there some dark witch lurking in the wood, or had Cael somehow conjured that steed of smoke and shadow himself? Could Eowain uphold his courage against such dark magicks?

And what of Eithne if he failed? He'd sent her away, but she might be camped somewhere in the night behind him, close to harm's reach and not yet safe. He'd wanted her close to him all through their journey, to better protect her. But I have to protect her from a distance now. Despite himself, he feared for her.

Medyr placed a black stone upon the board. "Challenge, Your Grace."

*****

As the sunrise approached, the thin sliver of the waning moon hung low in the Fish, a constellation of stars low in the western sky. Their camp was packed, and Eithne stepped up into her saddle. The trees in the twilight seemed dark, without the yellow-green blush of coming spring.

Alva too considered the sky. Wind was bringing rain clouds from the northwest mountains. "Tomorrow night will bring the darkness of the Witches' Moon. Cétshamain approaches swiftly."

"Why is this so important?" Eithne heard the shrill tone in her own voice. She'd slept poorly, worried for Eowain and his men, and played at fickle the rest of the night. Alva's last gambit had put a black stone on the board and compromised the King-Stone that Eithne defended.

Alva pointed into the east. "Because the Dragon is coming."

"The dragon? What dragon?"

She looked from star to star in the firmament, as if calculating some strange geometry. "Maelgenn's Dragon." She put her switch to the flanks of her pony. "We must hurry."

"We're all rushing to the Vale as if I've made my decision. I've not." She shook her head. "This arrangement has brought me nothing but danger. Kidnapped by Cael, rescued by Eowain, now betrayed and chased all through Ivea by Eowain's own cousin. Why would I want to risk my life by laying down with such a man?"

Alva shrugged. "Don't be stupid and selfish, girl. Would you really go through all this, yet not marry him? If for no other reason, it would save lives, and honor those spent for your sake."

"I didn't ask for any of this, you know. I had my doubts, even before Corchen put us on this road to the Vale."

"Then why put us all through this?" Alva's voice was stern, irritated. She too had slept little in the night.

"I'd hoped Eowain and I would have more— more time. To know one another. To be sure."

"There's nothing sure in this world, lass. Least of all love. And will ye or nil ye, the Dragon is coming. If you choose not to take Eowain to husband, then the course of thayn will run... not straight."

"But what if I don't love him? We've barely been together in all this time. When we are together, there's always some threat just around the corner. How can I be sure that he loves me?" She worried at her lower lip. Surely, Eowain would be facing another assault from the brigands as the sun rose yet higher.

"Love is being together." Alva fixed her with an eye. "Even when you are far distant."

—33—

Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.

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