The Ard Righ insisted that Fiacc ride with me to Inver Colpa. The old brehon is much respected but as old as the dust that our horses kick up on the High Road and slower than honey at midwinter. He is mounted on a gentle mare whose gait is easy on his ancient bones but we go at a snail's pace. To make matters worse, he often falls asleep unexpectedly, as the elderly sometimes tend to do, and several times he has nearly toppled off his horse. By the time we approach the Niafer keep, my patience is wearing thin.

To keep him awake and alert, I engage him in a discussion of the legal aspects of this matter of the Rian's half-sister. Fiacc seems to remember when Nemanda was born but he nods off in the middle of explaining her father's genealogy.

Did he say that her father was of the Sidhe? Or was he speaking in one of his half-dreams?

"Fiacc, we are near the gates!" I rouse him and he startles awake again with the snort of a snore cut short.