Yes; this could indeed be fashioned into a cautionary tale, the beautiful pony killed on the battlefield through no fault of her own, and half the clurichauns slain for no good reason. And, of course, the bag of silver wasted. But, clurichauns being what they were, if I ended it that way I could not say they had learned their lesson.

“The king of the blue tribe did not see Snowdrop coming,” I said, “and slashed out with his sword—a weapon of sharpened oak wood, and very fine—just as she passed by. There was a sharp scream from the pony, and sharper ones from the two princesses, who rushed onto the battlefield heedless of danger. ‘Retreat!’ yelled the blue king, and ‘Lay down your arms!’ shouted the green king, as their daughters pushed a way through the melee to the mad-eyed animal. One snatched the halter; the other grabbed hold of Snowdrop’s mane.”

Before I could draw the tale to a close by accounting how the warriors obeyed their leaders’ commands, the battle ceased, the horse suffered only a scratch and the two girls became fast friends, Grim spoke again.

“Pony was hurt and scared. Reared up. Hoof struck one girl on the brow and she fell to the ground. ‘My daughter!’ screamed the green king. ‘Your accursed creature has killed my daughter!’ Threw back his head and howled like a banshee. Leaped forward, knife in hand. Slit Snowdrop’s throat. Blood spurted out. The princess’s white gown turned red.”

“Grim,” I said quietly. We had stopped walking, the four of us. Grim’s face was like a death mask; he was no longer with us, but somewhere else entirely.

“Fighters went mad all at once. Like they were deaf and blind. Like they’d forgotten everything but the weapons in their hands and the enemy waiting to be killed. So it went on, men falling, maimed, hurt, dying, dead. Screaming. Such screaming. On and on. Couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t save them. Not strong enough—”

“Grim! Stop!”

He was as white as chalk, his eyes gazing on the unspeakable. If I slapped his cheek to bring him out of the trance I risked being hurt; he would not know who I was. Flannan took a step forward as if to lay hands on him.

“No, Flannan.” I kept my voice soft and calm, though my heart was thumping. “Grim, I’m getting tired. I want to go back now. You come with me; Brother Dufach will take Flannan on to St. Olcan’s.”

“But—” began Flannan.

“Come on, Grim.” I took a step closer, praying that he wouldn’t turn on me. “Best if we head for home now. Grim?” I laid a cautious hand on his arm.

He started as if struck, and dashed my hand away with such violence that both Flannan and Dufach protested, moving toward us.

“No!” I snapped.

Grim rubbed a hand over his face, blinked a few times. “What? What did I . . . ?”

“We were just telling a tale to pass the time,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “But the story’s finished now. I’d like to go home.”