The King of Sleep by Caiseal Mor Page B

perilous art they practice is that of persuasion. Through the use of subtle argument they spread havoc among their enemies.”
    â€œAnd are they still abroad in the land?”
    â€œOf course they are. The one who should be chasing them down is sleeping by the side of a pool. They won’t be captured while he dallies and indulges himself in the Faidh.”
    Dalan looked to the ground in shame. “I have not been able to discover a way to deal with the Watchers,” he admitted.
    â€œThen you had better commence a wider search for the answer to your riddle. It’s no use wasting the hours with fruitless rest. There’ll be time enough for that later. One day you will be free to sleep your life away, but not until you find a way to deal with the Watchers. If you falter, great changes will come upon this land and Innisfail may go the same way as the Islands of the West.”
    â€œWhere will I find the answers I seek?”
    â€œAsk the right person and they will be able to tell you,” she chided. “How will you ever find anything out if you don’t ask the right questions?”
    As she finished speaking she began to float slowly skyward out of his sight. The Brehon watched, still awe-struck by her beauty. Her cloak was no morethan a tiny dot of green high above when a thought struck him.
    â€œDo you know what can be done about the Watchers?”
    But Cuimhne was already beyond his hearing. His voice fell empty back to Earth.
    Just then the Brehon heard a noise nearby that startled him. It was the spitting crackle of a fire. All around him was an orange glow, and on the rocky outcrop which jutted out above the spring there was a dark shape he had not noticed before.
    A stranger.
    In a rushing dizzying spin Dalan felt his spirit drawn back into his body. In another moment his lungs filled with air and he sat bolt upright on his cloak of feathers. The heavy sensation which accompanied his return to his cold body sobered him a little.
    For a moment the Brehon was bewildered but then he was on his knees, head jutted forward, eyes squinted down to tiny slits in their effort to focus. Despite the darkness Dalan was certain he saw the dark shape move slightly.
    â€œWho’s there?” he ventured cautiously.
    His voice echoed back to him as before but there was no reply. The figure edged into the shadows. Dalan listened for any sound that might identify this stranger but the constant trickle of the spring frustrated him. He couldn’t hear anything but its senseless babble.
    The Brehon leaned forward, straining all his senses.He asked himself why anyone would hide themselves in such a manner. The only answer he could think of did not reassure him.
    All the while the stranger sat above and across from him on the rock Dalan could feel eyes staring back down at him. He felt his hair shiver on end with fear and he shuddered.
    â€œAm I still in the dream state?” he asked himself aloud.
    Suddenly the stranger leaned forward into the light so that he could see her face. Dalan recognized the young woman instantly. Her skin was no longer pale and the wisps of hair that framed her dark eyes were changed to jet black. But he would have recognized her features anywhere.
    â€œCuimhne?” he stuttered. “Is that you?”
    The woman raised an eyebrow. Then she leaned against her staff and with a gentle grace used it to help herself stand up.
    â€œI am called Sorcha,” she told him once she was on her feet. “This is my spring. You must be Dalan. I’ve been expecting you.”
    Goll mac Morna, chief warrior of the southern Gaedhals and leader of the Fianna, sat on the green windswept ridge and looked out toward the rounded hilltop a thousand paces away. Wattle and mud walls surrounded the summit and the circular houses clustered closely together. The style of building clearly marked this as a Fir-Bolg settlement.
    Seven small huts lay within the walls atop the manmade