not of age, and then of the King of Dal Riada in Alba when he was exiled from Eirrin’s shores, and then riever or reaver: pirate, and then Champion of Eirrin welcomed home by the High-King on Tara Hill and then captain of this expedition on behalf of Samaire and her royal brother; finally it was Cormac mac Art who had somehow conquered the unconquerable, slain again the dead men raised by Thulsa Doom-and at last he had conquered the undying wizard himself.

Brian I-love-to-fight saw Cormac as the man he hoped to emulate though knew he could never equal; Cormac mac Art saw Brian as the youth he had been, before the years had laced him, body and mind, with so many scars. Brian of Killevy was glad and proud to know the man and be in his company, for surely Art’s son of Connacht had been Eirrin’s great hero of old, the legendary Cuchulain himself of Muirthemne.

Samaire looked asea and pensiveness was on her. Loyal, she had said, but it was more.

Though it was companion she called herself, and weapon-companion to Cormac mac Art she was, she loved the man. Too, she knew that the words of Bas were true. Sureness was upon her that she had known Cormac in a life or lives lived out before this one. Though actual memory was not there, certain knowledge was.

Cormac glanced up at the mast. Thulsa Doom was there once more, and the eye-spots in the deeply cratered sockets glowed rage-red. Almost, Cormac smiled. Then he directed his gaze at Bas.

“Bas-what have you done? We’ve seen your powers prevail over his, in the matter of the wind and clouds. What know ye now that we must needs know?”

Bas’s black hair blew in the salted breeze. “I was able to protect us all during our waking hours. And Quester and all aboard, despite Thulsa Doom’s wizardry. For it’s of Eirrin this ship is, and my own powers are strongest on our own soil and with those that were born there, human or no. And… there are other things. Let me keep that knowledge. The telling of them will avail ye naught and may weaken me-and empower him.”