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But then consciousness was slipping away even as his captor charged into the fray again； and he knew no more。
Caball MacArdry and the remnants of Dhugal's mand limped their way back through the gates of Castle Transha just at dusk。 They brought two dead with them； and not a man among the living had escaped unscathed。 One prisoner they had managed to take； lashed to the saddle of Dhugal's protesting pony； but only because he had been too badly injured to ride with his rades。 Were it not for the fact that they hoped to question him； Caball gladly would have cut his throat without further ceremony。
All during the slow； painful ride back from Carcashale； the devastated Caball had rehearsed the possible ways of telling old Caulay that his son was captured。 In the end； he could only let Dhugal's absence speak for itself。 He dared not meet the old man's eyes as he and the five other survivors still able knelt at the foot of the chief's chair in the great hall。 Caulay stiffened as his rheumy eyes searched the faces of the six and did not find Dhugal。
〃We met them at Carcashale； sair；〃 Caball said in a low voice； blood seeping between his fingers where he clutched at a wound in his right shoulder。 〃Brice of Trurill led them。 He has turned traitor。〃
〃And my son？〃 Caulay managed to rasp。
〃Taken；〃 was all Caball would whisper miserably。
He tried to tell Caulay that they believed Dhugal still to be alive； though wounded … and that Caball would send out the fiery cross to summon the clan and pursue … but the news was the final blow to Caulay's already frail health。 Without uttering a sound； the old man clutched at his chest and sagged in his chair； eyes rolling up and out of sight。 He died within seconds； cradled in the arms of Kinkellyan the bard； his helpless kinsmen able to do nothing。
Though numbed almost beyond further reaction； and weak from his own injuries； Caball had the alarm rung and summoned the remaining clansmen at Transha to the great hall … young boys and old men； for the most part； though some of the women came to tend the wounded。 Stripped to the waist so his own wounds could be cared for； Caball sat on a stool beside the slumped body of the dead chief as the others gathered before him； one hand gripped tight on the edge of the table against the pain。 As castellan and next in succession after Dhugal； it had bee his grim duty to assume the leadership of the clan until Dhugal's condition should be learned。 He winced as his wife and Kinkellyan began washing out his wound； trying to ignore the bard's troubled muttering。
〃Young Dhugal is our chief now；〃 he told the assembled men； 〃if he lives。 I dinnae know what his captors will do wi' him； but since they didnae kill him when they first threatened； we must hope he is still alive。〃
〃We should go after！〃 one of the men rumbled。 〃If young Dhugal still lives； then he must be rescued … an' if he be dead； then he must be avenged！〃
〃Aye； an' where is the prisoner？〃 another demanded。 〃Before we gae chargin' offtae take on rebel knights； we should first find oot wha' we be dealin' with。〃
〃Ciard； bring him；〃 Caball ordered； waving off those tending his wound as the gillie and another clansmen went to do his bidding。
The prisoner's face was pale as whey； his sword arm splinted and bound to his chest； but he managed to stay on his feet as he was marched roughly to the dais。 Though they had stripped him down to woolen singlet and boots and breeches beneath his black mantle； he still wore a rust…stained arming cap on his head。 He bit back a groan as he was shoved to his knees before Caball； only barely catching himself on his good hand。
〃On yer knees an' uncovered before yer betters； man！〃 Ciard barked； yanking back the man's coif and shoving his head closer to the floor。
The man's lank hair was cut in the bowl…shaped hair…style favored by many warriors； but a tonsured spot gleamed at the crown。 As the significance registered； Caball seized a fistful of hair and yanked the man's head up to look at his face； heedless of the blood streaming down his wounded arm。
〃By the good God； he's a cleric an' e armed among us！〃 Caball breathed。 〃Look a' the tonsure！ What's yer name； priest？ Wha' master d'ye serve； who sends priests armed into the king's lands？〃
The man merely grimaced and closed his eyes as Caball twisted the handful of hair harder。
〃Speak up； priest！ I hae little patience t'day。〃
〃I have nothing to say；〃 the man whispered。
〃Dinnae waste yer time wi' such slime； Caball！〃 one of the clansmen snarled。 〃He's a traitor。 Let's gie 'im a traitor's reward。〃
〃Aye； hang him； Caball！〃
'Touch me and your lands go under Interdict the instant my master hears of it！〃 the prisoner responded； opening blue eyes defiantly。 〃He'll exmunicate the lot of you。 I claim benefit of clergy and the right to ecclesiastical trial。 You have no authority to judge me。〃
〃Interdict？〃 one of the men murmured； as several others crossed themselves。
Caball gave the man's hair another vicious twist。
〃Mind yer tongue； priest！ Yer traitor master cannae save ye here！ Speak up。 Who are ye？〃
Consternation flickered across the man's face for just an instant； but still he shook his head stubbornly。
〃I do not have to answer to you。〃
〃No； but ye may well wish ye had；〃 Caball replied； releasing the man with a shove that overbalanced him into a groaning heap on the floor。 〃An' there is one to whom ye will answer。〃
Caball backed off unsteadily and leaned against the edge of the table； catching Ciard's eye as he let his wife and Kinkellyan return to their ministrations。
〃Ciard O Ruane； as gillie to our young laird； I give ye the charge o' tellin' the king what has occurred。 Spare neither self n？？ steed； sae lang as ye reach Rhemuth quickly。 If the king is n？？ there now； he will arrive shortly； so wait。〃
〃Aye； Caball。〃
〃As for the prisoner；〃 he smiled menacingly as he turned his eyes back on the defiant captive； 〃a suitable escort shall follow ye tae Rhemuth on the morrow。 'Tis only for this that we spare ye； priest。 An' know that th' king is bloodkin to our young laird； an' will be greatly wroth if any further harm should e to him。 Ye'd best pray that yer master does nothing rash。 Take him out。〃
As the prisoner was jerked to his feet and led none too gently from the hall； a grim Ciard following； Caball collapsed back against the edge of the table。 Behind him； a gillie handed Kinkellyan the cloth…wrapped end of a glowing iron。
〃Devlin； send out the fiery cross to summon the seven chieftains；〃 Caball said to the clan's gleeman； who stepped forward at his name。 〃An' let th' piper sound the corranach tae speed Th' MacArdry on his way。〃 He steeled himself as Devlin and another man moved in to hold him for Kinkellyan's work。
〃An' let the women prepare The MacArdry's body for his final rest；〃 he went on。 〃Until we hear otherwise； young Dhugal is our new chief； an' I shall direct the clan only in his … 〃
The hiss of the hot iron searing flesh cut off further speech； and Caball's body arched with the agony； though he uttered not a sound。 He slumped into merciful unconsciousness before it was done； so he did not hear the lone piper begin his lament for the dead chief； or the women keening as they drew around the body to take it away。
Those who had ridden with the new chief heard it； however； and Ciard O Ruane； as he mounted a fast horse to ride for Rhemuth； hoped desperately that the corranach was not for the young laird as well as the old。
Dhugal MacArdry would have deemed the piper's lament wholly appropriate in the days which followed； though he stubbornly refused to die。 Nor； it seemed； did his captors wish him dead。 He vaguely recalled shouted threats to do him harm； when he first had been taken； but he sensed that his captors considered him a hostage of some value。 When he first regained consciousness； they were bandaging his head； though nothing was done about his cracked ribs。
He passed out again when they made him stand to put him on a horse of his own； however； and he drifted in and out of consciousness often in the days which followed。 Even when he was awake； swaying groggily in the saddle of the rough…gaited mount they had given him； his head throbbed and his broken ribs burned with every breath and jolt。 Sometimes； the very effort of trying to focus on the world around him made him pass out。
Unconsciousness was something of a blessing initially； for there was no part of his anatomy which did not hurt。 He could not fall off his horse； for his feet were bound to his stirrups and lashed beneath the animal's belly； but whenever he fainted； which was all too often； his already battered body sagged limply against the ropes and strained tortured muscles anew。
But his head was the worst。 As often as not； when they roused him from one of their infrequent rest stops and made him stand； he passed out again。 No matter how he reckoned that； it meant a serious concussion … for which the only cure was rest。 And so long as his captors continued to press onward toward their unknown destination； he knew he would simply have to endure。
In such manner did the days pass … four since his capture； so far as he could calculate。 He had learned the identity of the men his captors escorted； but that was hardly more reassuring than his condition。 That the notorious Archbishop Loris had somehow managed to escape his sea…girt prison was chilling。 He wondered whether Kelson knew。 He suspected Loris' escape somehow had to do with the Mearan question Kelson had been worrying about； but he could not seem to put it all together。 His head started aching anew everytime he tried to think about it。
He worried about his head and about Loris as they rode through the snow on that fourth day。 The first snow…storm of the season had swept down upon them with the morning's first light； and he shivered with the cold of it； despite the extra mantle they had wrapped around him。 Exhausted and bordering on delirium； wrists chafed raw from days of riding with his hands tied in front of him； he laced his fingers in his horse's mane and concentrated on staying conscious as they seemed to float in a sphere of silence through the still…falling snow。 When their pace eventually slowed and he weakly raised his head far enough to see why； they were approaching the ghostly blackness of city gates。
He thought it was Culdi at first； for the guards who admitted them wore the Bishop of Culdi's livery。 But even as he thought it； he realized it could not be Culdi。 Culdi was loyal to Kelson； Loris would never go there。 They had ridden west and south。 He decided it might be Ratharkin。
They rode for what seemed like hours through the silent streets； pulling up at last in a darkened courtyard where he was unceremoniously hauled from his horse and half…dragged； half…carried inside a formidable…looking stone building。 Being supported under his arms put excruciating pressure on his cracked ribs； but worse by far was the jolting of his head。 He passed out as they manhandled him down a narrow； ill…lit stair。
The next thing he knew was the warmth of a fire not far away and the play of firelight on his closed eyelids。 He lay curled on his left side with his bound hands partially shielding his face。 There was fur underneath him； besides the fur lining of his cloak。 Voices buzzed low in the background； occasionally discemable as words and phrases； punctuated by the muted clank of men disarming and the snap of mantles being shaken out。 He caught the scent of mulled wine behind him； but the sound of others arriving warned him to feign continued unconsciousness。 Cautiously he eased his eyes open to the merest slits to see two men in clerical attire entering the room。 The elder he recognized as Creoda； Bishop of Culdi。
〃Your Excellency；〃 Creoda murmured； bowing to kiss Loris' ring。 〃Wele to Ratharkin。 May I present Father Judhael of Meara； whose family is responsible for arranging your escape。〃
As Creoda stepped aside； a younger man with silver hair came forward to bend in homage before the renegade archbishop； remaining on one knee when he looked up and Loris did not release his hand。
〃So； Father；〃 Loris said； 〃I see I must thank you for my freedom。〃
〃In truth； it is not I； personally； who am responsible； Excellency；〃 Judhael replied； gazin