He looked into her eyes. "It's going to be hard to know each other that
way."
"You can't stay here, Hugh Starke. The people would tear you to pieces
the moment you went into the street. They may even storm the hall, to
take you. Look here." She set the candle down and led him to a narrow
window, drawing back the hide that covered it.
Starke saw narrow twisting streets dropping steeply toward the sullen
sea. The longships were broken and sunk in the harbor. Out beyond,
riding lights flickering in the red fog, were other ships. Rann's ships.
"Over there," said Beudag, "is the mainland. Crom Dhu is connected to
it by a tongue of rock. The sea-folk hold the land beyond it, but we
can hold the rock bridge as long as we live. We have enough water,
enough food from the sea. But there's no soil nor game on Crom Dhu.
We'll be naked after a while, without leather or flax, and we'll have
scurvy without grain and fruit. We're beaten, unless the gods send us
a miracle. And we're beaten because of what was done at Falga. You can
see how the people feel."
Starke looked at the dark streets and the silent houses leaning on each
other's shoulders, and the mocking lights out in the fog. "Yeah," he
said. "I can see."
"Besides, there's Faolan. I don't know whether he believes your story.
I don't know whether it would matter."