“In good truth,” Ardan grinned, “I thought in Scotland that I should never want to run again, but I feel now that we have been staying too long in the one place. After all,” he said complacently, “I am a man of action.”
“And, of course,” Ainnle gibed, “no one can run as quickly as you can.”
“No one,” said Ardan, “except Deirdre.”
“Listen,” said Naoise. “We have still more than a chance. We can run. Scotland trained us in that certainly, and if we can surprise but forty yards on the men without, we shall outrun their best in twenty minutes.”
“Where shall we run to?”
“We shall take the road to our own lordship. If Lavarcham’s message has been sent, our kinsmen should be marching at this moment on Emain. But,” he said, and pointed, “we cannot wait for them.”
They looked in silence.
A huge golden flame licked screaming through the window, wavered hither and thither like some blindly savage tongue, and roared out again.
“It was ten feet long and three feet thick,” said Ardan in a whisper.