Now the movements of the two gerns assumed the aspect of a ritual. Bruidda drew to her the young woman who had spied out the open barrow. Padrec remembered her, Bruidda's daughter Nebha. She put in the girl's hand the pendant ruby and received her daughter's reverence. Dorelei came to Padrec and kissed him. He tried to argue her out of it, but Dorelei paid no attention. The course was fixed.

"This?" She bobbed her head toward Bruidda. "Be a price, Padrec. All things change, nothing stays. Be a place I have seen and my folk will have't. An I be fool, then Mo-ses one as well."

She pressed her mouth to his one last time. "Thee

was beauty in my arms. An I die, help Neniane to where a must rade."

Neniane knelt before her sister, hands to Dorelei's stomach.

"Have nae treasure to put about thy breast as our mother did, but Neniane second daughter will be Gern-y-fhain. ,,

The small kitten face raised to hers. "Aye, sister."

Guenloie and Malgon came to pay their respects, as did those of Bruidda a little way from them. Malgon touched Dorelei's belly, frowning with concern.

"Have been in war, Gern-y-fhain."

And knowing that place, Malgon knew the eyes of those committed to kill and those not. Dorelei was not ready for it, would hesitate where Bruidda would not. "Kill a quick. Nae think, nae feel. Do't."

Dorelei embraced the children, her lips to their ears, a secret endearment for each. Last of all was Crulegh, who didn't understand any of it and squirmed in her arms, hungry for his breakfast. Dorelei brushed back the lengthening black hair, smoothing it down. Then she undid the thong that held her sheath, drew the iron knife from it, and strode forward.

"Reindeer, come."

She didn't want to kill Bruidda and wasn't sure she could. The older gern had fought more than once and bore the scars to prove it. Twice in Dorelei's life, one mad moment with Cru there was the vicious will to have blood, the stroke repented every day since. Again when the Taixali cut down so many of them—then she did it smiling, but not this. She would fight to stop Bruidda, render her helpless if possible. Only her vision Dorelei would not give up.

She crouched as Bruidda did, the two of them circling warily. Silent, no breath or concentration wasted on hatred now, only the act. The tense fhains ringed about them. Somewhere on the heath, a bird piped to morning.

Bruidda sprang. The wiry-muscled legs bunched and propelled her forward, slashing up at Dorelei's throat.

At the last instant the younger woman moved slightly. Her blade was not as long as Bruidda's, allowing her less reach. She must be careful, go for a wound that would stop Bruidda but not—