“Tidy in every particular. Well, almost. The witch girl dies; the valley is saved. Elaine marries Hugh. Richard of Northwoods establishes his outpost on the far shore. Eamonn of the Marshes adds a nice little stretch of forest to his territory. The mysterious red-haired lady gets her wish. We all live happily ever after. Pity about Simon. He’s the one piece that doesn’t quite fit. There could have been a handy spot for that boy under my command, if he’d been able to learn a little discipline. Good skills in the field. Somebody taught him well. But he got too inquisitive for his own good. Overheard what was best kept silent. Saw something he shouldn’t. Couldn’t be trusted with what he knew. Interested, aren’t you?”

I could not bring myself to pick up my work again, but remained crouched by the basket, my arms stretched over it in protection. Go away. His presence contaminated the very air we breathed. And yet, I needed to hear the end of his story. The end of this particular truth.

“Unfortunate, it was. Own nephew, and all that. But I knew the boy; straight back to his brother, it would have been, and out with the information. And even Hugh couldn’t have ignored that. For as you know, our kind don’t mix with yours. Sworn enemies. Chalk and cheese. But he’d seen me, and heard me, with Eamonn’s man. Heard who knew what? So I had to issue an instruction for him to be—removed. Silenced. Eliminated. Fortunately, I have a man who’s expert at these things. Problem was, I left it just a little bit too long. Big mistake. The boy up and vanished. Went off on his own, who knew where and why? I expect he thought he’d be some sort of hero. Simon was always like that, acted first, thought afterwards. Of course I went after him, had to be seen doing the right thing, close kin and so on. Besides, with what he knew, every moment he was out there was one too many. Fruitless search; and when I got back, they were all dead. Every one of my men. Severed limbs, shredded flesh. Scattered bones in the mud. Every last one. Take years to build up my special force to that level of skill again.”

His tone was bitter. I thought, this is the measure of the man, that he values his people merely as tools in his quest for power.

“Colum. It had to be Colum and his sons. The elusive, evasive warrior lord, who seemed to be able to sweep his opponent’s pieces from the board whenever he chose, and disappear as silently as he attacked. Colum of Sevenwaters. No wonder so many men hate and fear him. I came to the conclusion Simon had been captured, and had squealed. Who else could have revealed my men’s position? The boy turned out as weak as his brother, all bravado on the surface, no iron underneath. Handy enough with a sword or a bow, or with their fists; but you can’t rely on them when things get tough. Wouldn’t you agree? Where’s Hugh now, when you need him? Hasn’t exactly rushed back to rescue the little wife, has he? Got better things to do. Whatever they are, and I’d dearly love to know what they are. Well, I came home. Reported to my sister, your boy’s lost. Nobody knows where. That part was true enough.