"Aengus, Daithi, Maeva, Maedoc, keep on the flank. Runna, Fearghus, Cathal, Aodh... be prepared at a moment's notice. Lula, Lamont, Nuada and the rest of the hunters... keep our backs safe."

The hunting party was fifty Elkhorn strong, yet only a select few were considered the "heart" of the party. It had been Ahearn Chieftain's command, and the words of Finlaech - go to the House of Crom. Go to the House of Crom and find Bearach. Go to the House of Crom, and slaughter the captives of the missing Warchief of old. Domhnall had been assigned as the leader of the warparty, and so many had been chosen. Most who were chosen were villagers, your average Cimmerian who toiled each and every day and night on skinning leathers, forging weapons, acquiring lumber - keeping the clan alive and healthy.

Every Cimmerian knew how to fight. Only twelve - Domhnall included - were actual warriors. Maeva was a shaman, essential should trouble arise. The leader of the band counted on the information Finlaech had given - minimal guarding, minimal Vanir, and only a few Ymirish. Crom help us all if there are any more, he thought to himself. Crom help them indeed... most Cimmerians have the opportunity to slay and feel the exhilaration of battle in their lifetimes - few get to witness Ymir's bastards.

Domhnall and his warband made their journey through the sacred fields, where the cairns of the fallen were often buried. Frosty breath escaped the lips of each and every Cimmerian - winter pressed slowly but surely. Rain did not fall, but snow did instead. No matter how slow or fast they moved, the cold hindered them, yet no Elkhorn was about to quit. No Elkhorn would give up on one of their own. Domnhall grinned to himself at that fact - it made him proud to have been chosen, even when he was relatively unproven - a simple blacksmith who had the unfortunate chance battle with a rampaging giant in his former home - Moragh village.

"Hold!" The warband leader shouted.

They had reached the entrance to the base of their destination. He recalled the stories of the Vanir, of how they were trying to excavate the House of Crom - had they all truly fled as Finlaech said they had? With a quiet motion of his hands, Domnhall led his band to the right, and up the long winding steps.

Someone was certainly home. More then just one - a horde was waiting upon them. The silence was broken as red haired warriors swarmed down upon the warparty. Ymirish followed, the large bastards of Ymir himself pressing down upon the Elkhorn. Domnhall drew his blade and raised his roundshield, blocking the axe of one Vanir. A single thrust later, the red hair was dead, yet it seemed there were others in his place. The band-leader growled in anger as he noted several kin already splayed out, fallen. Maeva... the shaman was among them, her throat sliced. Blood began to run thick as the Elkhorn pushed up the steps, trying to get to the location.

"Elkhorn... do not stop, do not quit!" Domhnall roared out, even as he felt sharp burning pain in his arms, his shoulders, and even his gut.

The thunder that raged above them was almost like a bad joke, causing snow and rain to pelt them all, even as the battle raged on. Fearghus was using two axes to carve up each and every Vanir in his path. Runna was shrieking in a rage so furious, one could wonder if she even felt pain. Aodh, despite being covered in blood, head to toe, refused to fall, even if much of the crimson was his own. The Elkhorn tenacity - if nothing else - would succeed on this day.

"Elkhorn! DO NOT STOP!"

Domnhall roared his words out, even as he felt his own life slipping away, glancing down finally at the wound he had felt earlier. A gash in his stomach, he dropped his shield and placed his hand where he had been stabbed. He felt his intestines, and tried to keep them inside him - tried to stay alive - as he parried with his blade...

He fell to his knees. His vision blurry, and the last sight before him as he slipped away, was Fearghus, Runna, Cathal, and Aodh leading ten warriors through the carnage.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Finlaech."

The world was spinning.

"Finlaech... wake up."

So light headed...

"Finlaech, get up!"

Crom and Ymir....

"FINLAECH!"

"Crom and Ymir away from me ye bastards!" he started as he sat up, drawing his blade - seconds from attack when he noted those before him...

The hunter stumbled back, falling on his arse as pain shot through his left leg, the result of a Ymirish club. He spit out blood as his jaw throbbed - again, from the work of the Ymirish.

"Where is Bearach, Finlaech?" One warrior - Fearghus - asked.

"ain't 'ere," the hunter snorted.

Runna growled, "We find Bearach."

"No, ye ain't," Finlaech retorted, as he pulled himself back up to his feet - favoring his right leg.

Fearghus glanced at Runna and the rest of his hunting party in confusion before stepping forward, "And why not?"

Finlaech stepped back. He glanced about as a sinking feeling took hold of him. The hunter knew he was in a precarious position... he had to lie his way out of things once again. But this time was different... much different. The damn Vanir and Ymirish had backstabbed him, just as surely as he...

"cause they took'em t'Ymir's Pass. Somethin' about an Ampitheatre th'ol'Archeronians used t'use. I 'eard that a'fore they knocked me silly."

"Why didn't they kill you?" was the question Aodh had, as his hands rested on both blades strapped at his hips.

"...cause..." Finlaech replied, "...they couldn't."

The hunter couldn't lie his way out of this, he realized. He had led them on a wild chase. First, as a sign of loyalty, he told the Chieftain that Bearach was alive, even if he had hated to. Then, he led them to the wrong place in Conall's Valley, giving the red haired bastards a chance to move the old one. Now... another misstep.. the only way to get out of this alive would be to confess.

"What is it you are holding back?" Fearghus asked.

"Oh I 'unno... th'fact I helped th'Vanir?"

Almost immediately, several angry gasps, growls, and shouts filled the air, and the next thing he knew, Runna tackled him, trying to strangle him. Fearghus and Aodh tried to pull her off, and successfully, as Finlaech gasped for air.

"There was a durned good 'reason for it too ye fools... an I..."

"Shut it. I don't want excuses dog, you betrayed us. I will let the Chieftain handle you," Fearghus replied sharply.

Finlaech began to respond, but the warrior drew steel, and thrust the butt of the weapon forward, knocking him out cold.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ahearn Chieftain stood inside the hut, arms crossed, as he looked before the shackled Finlaech. The Chieftain shook his head sadly, knowing what would become of his friend... a traitor. He knew the truth, and he would vouch for his friend when it came time to bring him before all four chiefs... but he would not stop them if they deemed it necessary to slay him. Finlaech was a traitor, no matter his other deeds, and a traitor would still be treated as such, no matter whose friend it would be.

"I am sorry Finlaech... but the clan law... and the law of honor... must be followed."

The Chieftain left the hut, and made his way through Conarch Village, dreading the next move. Bearach - if Bearach was truly alive - was being held in Ymir's Pass. The winter was too deadly - if he was alive, Ahearn had to wait.

Perhaps then, it would be too late.