Sure that Jaelle was right behind him, Breth fought for the high ground immediately, needing to see just how big the battle was. He made it to the top of the hill and peered through the rocks — and saw a swath of Gaels. They were overrunning the ten clans, there were so many Gaels.

He fought his way down the hill, still sure that Jaelle was close behind him. She wouldn’t dive for cover the way the non-fighting women were trained to do at the first sign of trouble. He cut down first one Gael —a woman on his right— and then another —a man on his left— as they straggled up toward the sacred grove.

Jaelle should be at my side by now. Did she fall?

He looked up the hill he had just fought his way down. The way was clear, and so he ran back up there. Looking down into the thick trees, he didn't see her. She wasn't coming up here.

Should I go after her?

No, no. Warrior’s Code: Don’t get separated in battle, but if you do, then stay separate. Don’t lose your head trying to rejoin your partner.

She would be all right, or she wouldn't. It would be foolish for him to try and do anything about it right now.

It seemed like it took him forever to turn back. He ran over the hill and began his way down into the broch valley where all ten clans were fighting for their lives, save for the few who may have made it into the broch. Everyone would have an honorable death at least.

The gatherers huddled in the middle of the carts where they had been trading, visibly losing hope at being defended from the outside and just waiting until they were taken over. Determined to save them or die trying, he ran.

And then out of the cloudy Highland sky, Drest’s strange sword reflected a stray ray of sunlight as he led his band of renegades in a mad charge from the field to the left of the broch. With a loud whoop and holler, they crashed into the backs of the Gaels who had surrounded the carts.

For a few moments, all Breth could hear was the ringing of swords and spears and shields.

Drest had even more fighters than the Gaels did. With one clash from his forces, the tide of the battle had turned. Now the Gaels were the ones being overrun and outnumbered.

Breth hacked and slashed his way down over the next hour, but he didn't even make it to the carts before he saw the last of the standing Gaels. The battle was over. The vast majority of the Gaels were running back over the hill and down to the river and away. If they’d had tails, they would be between their legs, they were running away so fast.

Drest may have been brash and crude and presumptive, but he was quite the battle commander. The ability to command so many ragtag men with no clan loyalty was a feat that in Breth’s memory no other had accomplished.

Every year a few single men left the clan, dissatisfied with the leadership and wanting to run things their own way. Most were never heard of again, but some came back when they were old, begging their way into the clan’s protection. Some even succeeded at this, and Breth had heard the stories they told. Without exception, life on their own hadn’t been as they’d imagined, but they’d been too stubborn to come back until they couldn’t manage on their own.

And Drest commanded a thousand such men who were yet young. Incredible.

Brude, Leo, Ru, and Cal had all made their way over to Drest and were patting him on the back and then shaking forearms with him — pledging themselves and their clans under his protection.

Before long, those surrounding the small brown man with the odd sword had taken up a group cheer usually saved for drunken nights around the Beltane bonfire.

“Rrr rrr rrr rrr!”

A spontaneous party was breaking out, complete with musicians playing and people dancing and hugging each other. Morna had rejoined the gatherers, who had opened up the carts and were tossing bags of rations to Drest’s men, some of whom had already been to the broch and  carried out kegs of ale.

Breth couldn't shake off the awe that had overtaken him on seeing the Gaels dispatched so quickly. He’d never seen them run away so scared.

The fighter celebration was in full force by the time Breth arrived. Even Father was there. He caught Father’s eye, and a look passed between them.

"I know I said we should maintain our independence," said Father’s look, "howsoever, you saw what happened here. We’re in a vice grip. We have the invaders from the south on one side and the Gaels on the other. We need this alliance. I was wrong. We’re going to backup Drest. We’ll join with him."

"Are you sure?" Breth asked Father with his own look. "We can still leave, move on to the next broch." Breth looked over his shoulder toward Broch Seven, where they’d been headed.

"No," Father said with not only his eyes, but also with the firm line of his lips pressed together and the squareness of his shoulders in the Warrior’s stance. “I can admit I was wrong. I can't keep on the wrong path once I've seen the right way to go, and we’re making a turn here."

Breth held up his hands in the oldest sign of surrender known to man. He smiled a grim smile at Father and shrugged a little in acquiescence.

"You are the clan chief. I defer to you."

Drest and his top ragtag men had been hoisted up on the shoulders of men who were still loyal to their clans. Men who had deserted were being lifted up as heroes. Perhaps just one mistake  didn't mean a man's life was over and irredeemable. Perhaps they were now on the right path, helping.

Breth met Father’s eyes again and nodded in the direction of their saviors.

Father nodded and gestured.

“Yes, we should go over and join in on the back patting and the general festivities.”

So they did. And before long, everyone was relaxing around a huge bonfire topped with the clothes of fallen Gaels — who had been conscripted as slaves, very few being dead.

Drest got up on top of a mound of rocks that his men had assembled for his small stature. He stood up there turning around and around slowly, waiting for everyone to quiet down so they could hear him. Finally, when only the flapping of the flames in the wind competed with his voice, he spoke.

“We will be staying here and fortifying the area. It is the best place from which to stage raids on the wall. We will leave the broch’s roof un-thatched against future fire attacks, and we will all be safer because of our great numbers."

The cheers started low, but then twenty more people joined in and thirty others until gradually it  became a call of war that could doubtless be heard by their retreating enemies.

Breth looked around for Jaelle, but he didn’t see her.