“And you will send someone with us who knows the way?” Ronan pressed, deciding to contemplate the title of guard later.

“I’ll go myself,” Keegan told him. “I will feel better if I am there to tend the horses, and because I don’t trust the three of you and am still not sure I believe your story. When do we leave?”

Ronan stifled the urge to pull the sword back out and slice off the man’s large head. “First light.”

Ronan watched the woman shake something that looked like a dried up foot at him. Ula had insisted that they do some kind of preparation ritual the night before they were to leave. Ronan wanted no part of it but the woman was unrelenting and Ronan finally gave in just to cease her rattling.

Now he and Arien sat at the table watching Ula move around them as she chanted words of a foreign language. The toes of that foot waved dangerously close to his face as she passed and he leaned away, glancing at Arien’s expression. The boy was terrified. He couldn’t blame him.

Finally she halted at the end of the table and retrieved a red ribbon from inside her pocket. One end was tied to a large brown rock. She dipped the rock into a bowl of saltwater and then swung the rock over her head, wailing like a harpy. She shook the foot again.

Laughter bubbled up abruptly and he lifted his fist to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his humor. She looked like a mad woman and he couldn’t be sure if she wasn’t truly half crazed anyway. One look at Arien and he found the boy was struggling in his own battle against hilarity, his earlier fear completely erased.

When Ula threw back her head and wailed, Ronan gave up the battle and bowed his head as he laughed aloud. Once he finally got a hold of himself he looked up to find tears rolling down Arien’s cheeks as he clutched his stomach, laughing so hard that he shook.

Ula grew still and frowned at them with disapproval. “This is serious business.”