Ciaran awoke to stars floating around his head. He heard hoofbeats going off into the distance. He sat up and saw his friends, still unconscious.

Celthair… her name exploded into his mind. He looked around, but he could not see her anywhere. The hoofbeats faded. He must have only been unconscious for a short time. Ciaran groaned as he tried to stand, his head throbbing with pain. He knew he had to try and track the soldiers. He hurriedly wrote a note for his friends and tried to revive them. They groaned and rubbed their bruised skulls. Once they had recovered enough to focus on what he told them. He instructed them to go back and get help. It would be an hour before they could mount a rescue, and he feared the captors and their captives would be long gone. Ciaran decided the best thing to do was to follow them. He leaped on his horse and galloped off in the direction he had heard the horses’ hooves.

It was not hard to track the horses. By the first rising sun he had reached the camp of the soldiers, fifty leagues from Athlethan. He counted another ten men and women warriors. He saw the covered wagons and the children, bound, and gagged.

He considered riding back to meet the rescuers that were no doubt at least a whole nights travel behind them. But it would take all day and then another night just to get back to this location. By then they could be anywhere and gone off in any direction.

He was surprised at the speed the dark soldiers travelled, they did not stop for two days and two nights. They would have left any rescue party from Athlethan, far behind.

Ciaran followed at a safe distance. He hunted at night for food and cooked it next morning in the fires they left burning after stopping to eat. He was thankful for his horse as the journey was long and arduous.

The journey took him over the great barrier river and north towards the dead lands. He knew they would try to bypass Enna Aignech. The dead lands lived up to their name. Nothing lived there. By the third day in the dead lands, Ciaran was hungry and thirsty. He managed to find some scraps of meat and Trias bread near the abandoned fires of the captors. But thankfully on the evening of the third day, it rained, and he drank from the puddles on the ground as did his faithful horse.

After many days travel, he had remained undetected. Once clear of the dead lands he once again managed to catch some Cavy, a large rodent that lived amongst rocks around the Sennol mountains and across the wastes. Cavy had particularly tender and tasty meat. He also found some fruiting trees that provided a sweet and refreshing alternative to the meat.

Ciaran realised they were close to their destination when he saw them depart from camp and return clean from bathing. Later he found the place they had used, utilizing the time to wash himself also, from the grime of the long journey. After he was refreshed, he went back to the abductors camp to find they had already left, they had left in the evening, not what he had expected. But it was not hard to find the tracks on the road and follow them. Before long he could see the light hanging from the last wagon with a rearguard of two men on horses.

He followed all night, keeping well back so they did not hear his horses steps in the still night air. Early the next morning, he was dozing as the horse trotted along, tired from the lack of sleep. He did not notice the last wagon had stopped and that he was almost upon them. But he did not stop, it would look suspicious if he did, so he trotted past them, his hood over his head which protected him from the cool night air. The soldiers barely glanced at him as he passed them, they had already been passed by horsemen and faster carts. There was traffic on the road and Ciaran realised they were nearing their destination. He tried to look in the carts, trying to spot Celthair. But they were well covered.

Once he had passed by the front of the travellers, he came over a rise and saw before him the lights of a city spread out across the valley floor like reflections on black mineral oil. It was black, the lights did not show outlines of buildings, it seemed that the buildings absorbed light, and it was pitch black. As he rode down into the valley and the hint of dawn splashed across the sky behind him revealed the city as black as its name suggested. It was the Black city in name and appearance. As he rode toward the gates and joined a queue of people waiting for the gates to be opened. Not far behind him the wagons with his friends arrived as well.

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Entering the city, he found the streets coming alive with the dawn of a new day. He found the people to be curious of his pale complexion and blonde hair. He stood out among the residents were darker in complexion and had brown hair in different shades, right up to black hair. He stopped and turned into a side alley to allow the captors carts to pass, so he could follow. It was not long before they arrived at the market, now it was bustling with activity. Shouting and cries from the stall owners, selling their wares. A soldier grabbed his horses bridle and glared up at him. “No ‘orses ‘ere mate!” he said angrily. It’s too dangerous, go find a stable.” Knowing his friends would be here for a while he quickly rode around the streets till, he found an inn that provided a stable. “One spot left,” the woman told him. “The ‘orses ours till you pay to pick ‘im oop, the room comes with the stable.” He nodded in agreement, wondering how he was going to pay.

Once Ciaran had put his horse in a stall and brushed it down, leaving it contentedly chomping on hay, he ran back to the market.

He arrived there and panicked slightly when he could no longer see the wagons. But it was not long before he spotted a row of people standing on a platform, dressed in the clothes of his country. He realised they were being sold as slaves, his heart raced with fear seeing Celthair standing there, he stared until he was struck from behind by a man pushing a wheelbarrow. “’ey git orf d’ road ya’ idjit’” the man remonstrated angrily, “You’re blockin’ the way!”

His reverie broken, it struck him suddenly and Ciaran looked down at his matching clothes style, it dawned on him that it would not be long before someone spotted the likeness of his clothes to the people being sold as slaves, and he was questioned. Even his hair colour was the same. He ran away once more, frantically thinking about what he could do. He was angry and felt helpless to help his people and especially Celthair.

Behind one of the food stalls, he saw a young couple looking at him. The woman smiled and beckoned to him. He went over to them trying to hide his nervousness.

“You look like those slaves, are you from the same place?” the woman asked. Knowing it would look like a lie, as he did look a lot like the captives from Athlethan, he nodded.

“Where are you from then?” the man asked.

“The east,” replied Ciaran, unwilling to give away information to these strangers.

“Yes, we know, but where?”

Ciaran had now taken in their demeanour, and they were clear eyed and had lighter complexion than the majority of people in the city. He felt he could trust them and went with his feelings.

“I am from Esclarmonde, my friends who are now unjustly slaves are from Athlethan,” he said.

Their eyes widened and they glanced at each other with amazed looks.

The woman turned and looked at Ciaran with piercing eyes. “Do you know of Tuatha and Laegaire and their daughter Celthair?”

It was Ciaran’s turn to show surprise.

“I do, he is the king of Athlethan. It is his daughter I have followed, she was kidnapped and bought here, along with others.”

“I told you”, the man said, he turned to Ciaran, “I am Dom, and this is Gretta. We knew Tuatha, Laegaire and their children. I grew up with Celthair, but I did not recognise or notice her, she must have changed a lot.”

Ciaran remembered his father telling him about Tuatha’s son, Aillel going off to Don Cluana with a girl he loved.

“I knew Aillel, quite well,” he said.

Dom, jumped about excitedly, patting Ciaran on the back. “He is my brother-in-law; I really did feel we had a connection!”

“Then who are you?” Gretta asked.

Their raised voices had gotten some attention and Dom interjected.

“Let take this somewhere more private, where you wouldn’t be recognised and the alarm raised,” he said. “You look like an escaped slave.”

They led Ciaran through a maze of streets to a warehouse on the docks. There were several ships berthed there.

“That’s ours,” said Dom proudly. Pointing to a medium sized vessel just outside the large doors of the building.

“Are you merchants?” asked Ciaran.

“We are, my crew are in town getting food and some of them are over there sleeping,” replied Dom.

“So, tell us,” Asked Gretta, “Who are you?”

“I am Ciaran, son of Ainnle and Caer Omaith, King and Queen of Esclarmonde.” He said, his eyes watching their reactions.

They stared at him for what seemed like a minute.

“Nooo, said Gretta incredulously.

“Did you escape? Why are you here?” asked Dom.

He recounted to them his story so far and they listened with curiosity in their faces.

“Well,” said Gretta slowly and thoughtfully, “We must try and save her, and the others. This place is a rough and dangerous place to live.”

“I have a horse,” said Ciaran suddenly. “I need to go and get him from the stable, but I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Dom. “I’ll go and get it, you rest up and put on those clothes over there, you need to try to dress like the locals.” He disappeared and Gretta showed Ciaran a room where he could bathe and rest.