Irish chop chop.
A bit of history for the young Cormac, as he gets to do the warrior thing without running into too much in the way of magic.
Large collections of Irish warriors with booze can get nasty.
So, at the end :
"'Art's son of Connacht is dead, Captain.'
'Aye. So too is Othna's son of Ulster. I never saw either of them, but have great feeling for them both. So too is Calba's son of Athaircthech dead, off a fever in the bloom of manhood. My son.'
'Sadness seems to rule the world, Captain, not kings and not justice.'
'Aye, philosopher. An it's a name ye'll be needing in Alba, it's mac Calba ye be welcome to call yourself.'"
