Dunlad eyed the alchemist up and down, reevaluating her. He had never been one to lend much credence to the words of the gods, although he gave his respects where they were due. He had sat many a time, on the cool earth as the orange-cast sky cooled to twilight, contemplating the winking stars and wondering (for he knew, as did all, that they did exist), if they really bothered themselves with the supplications of the kerns in the fields just as much as the brawny gallocmen who won glories in their names.

Yet even Dunlad was forced to admit that Maire's words held water. He butted in to speak his mind again, "I'm in agreement with Maire, and my fellow councilors. This journey's been hard on us all, not in the least the kerns and the thralls, many o' whom died in the passage, as I trust you saw. If this Aifric can ease their burden, even if just a bit, I can tell you it'd not go unnoticed." 

"As for this Fintan," he continued, gesturing brusquely with his walking stick, "If what the alchemist says is true, sending him ranging is like as giving him to Camvor before his time. Rockjoint 'taint an easy nut to crack. He might wish to die bloodied on the field of battle with his brothers, in the glory of Urak and all that, but he very well can't if he can scarce walk on two legs. But he still has the sword-learning in his head, and in his arms. It'd be a shame to let that field go fallow." 

"My sons wish to earn their fame with sword in hand as well, gallocman," he said, addressing the kneeling warrior directly, "Perhaps it's time you did something creative, for a change."

Glancing about at the assembly, he crossed his thick forearms and leaned back into his thornwood chair. 

"Well, I've said my keep." 

[hr]

Dunlad sacrifices [b]20[/b] cattle to his patron god, Luigibad, hoping that he will favor Clan Aonghus' first harvest in their new home.