When I ride into the keep, the first thing I see is the war chief on his red flame of a stallion, pacing restlessly by the gates. He nods in gruff greeting. Aine is calmly waiting, unruffled by the prancing horse and rider. She and I exchange grim smiles. I see no one else here, out of the nine Dobhar named.

"Cormar is not going," Aine tells me quietly with a nod to the small group of people in front of the Rian's house. I peer across the green. Flidais, Cormar, Nevvyn and the Cruithni woman who was with Nevvyn in his hut are engaged in lively conversation.

"I'm glad the Rian's bodyguard is staying," I reply to Aine, being careful to keep my voice low so as not to infuriate Dobhar with such talk. He looks like a moving stack of dry kindling ready to burst into flame at the slightest spark. "Where is everyone else who was called to ride with us?"

Aine just shrugs and studies the sky. It is impossible to tell what she is thinking.

When I look again towards the Rian's house, Nevvyn and Gorma are on their way to the great hall while Flidais and Cormar are striding towards us at a brisk pace. Dobhar pays heed and stops pacing his horse. He twirls his whiskers impatiently.

Flidais stands before Dobhar and addresses him with stiff formality. Her voice is cold as the hard ground under our feet. "Cath Milidh! Last night at sunset, the Cruithni skywatcher saw Verica leaving the keep. She followed her to the Carrigfin and board the dragon-headed boat with the Áth-Caomhnóir. They went down the river towards Inver Colpa." She pauses and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't think they were headed for the village. It is more likely that they are on the sea by now. Perhaps to Pictland, or even to Amlaidh's old home in Lochlann!"

The war chief's stillness is more horrible than his restless pacing. He stands like stone. His eyes look dead. Flidais waits. We all wait. He makes no reply but slowly lifts his arm. A flask appears in his hand. Perhaps it was there all along. He tips back his head, empties it, then throws it down.

"What say you, Dobhar?" The Rian's eyes narrow with anger. "Must I remind you that the raiding season is not far off? Amlaidh is no longer a friend to us! And Verica may rightly reclaim her position as tribal leader among the Picts!"

Dobhar sways slightly. He might as well be a feather in the wind. And this morning we are about to follow him into what is surely a trap set by the Cumhaill...

"I warned you not to trust that Lochlann sea-wolf!" Dobhar snaps at Flidais. Spit flies from his mouth as he slurs his words. "Now see what he's done. And we are without anyone to guard the river, no ferryman, and -" He shows his teeth in a grin that resembles a snarling dog. "You have lost one of your beloved Fian na Rua Filidh, my Rian!"

Flidais' face reddens but she holds her temper in check. "Ride now to Magh Croimor, if you must," she answers him with a shrug. "Take with you whoever is foolhardy enough to go. When you return, perhaps you will have also returned to your senses, Cath Milidh."

Meanwhile the two young warriors have arrived, along with Enna, to accompany us to Magh Croimor. There is no sign of Gartan or Niamh Gabulfota. The young ones jostle each other and make faces behind Dobhar's back, mocking him as a drunkard. Enna frowns disapprovingly. Dobhar flicks Dearg into motion again. The high-spirited horse rears up, barely under control.

"We will ride now!" Dobhar shouts, glares around at us all, then kicks Dearg into a defiant gallop, leaving the keep.

Quickly, Flidais grabs at my horse's reins before I turn to set out after the war chief. She looks up at me imploringly, and then at Aine and Enna. "See that he comes back alive," the Rian sighs.