Kegan had woken them but not returned, still visiting the Morrigan inside the mountain. Nearby, six black-haired warriors of the Long Hand ignored him as they prepared their Rhedewyr for the journey, the dark elvish hellyll lithe and powerful in white and gold armor, their slanted dark eyes stern above chiseled high cheekbones. The city slept, cradled in gray gloom, only a few risers mingling between the darkened buildings and peering at the gathering warriors with wary glances.Arrow Jack sat perched on a tree growing from the rock cliff, watching all.From the Awenau path, Deirdre led her mount and two other Rhedewyr out of the forest shadows, her fiery hair hidden by the cowl of an ashen cloak. While her steed held its head high, the accompanying horses plodded like decrepit old men.“Are you coming?” Bran asked her.“Good morn,” Deirdre said. “I am. And so is Willowyn, of course.”“I know you wish to aid us, Lady,” Richard said. “But I do not remember the Queen asking you to be a part of our journey into the Snowdon.”Deirdre stared hard at Richard, her green eyes flashing even as they punctured his soul.
