by Hazel Hunter
They expected her to kill someone for their weird ritual, which decided things for Rowan. She’d disabled enough of the totems to give the Skaraven a fighting chance in the coming battle. It was time for her and Taran to get out of Dodge.
“Dinnae be squeamish, Sister,” Murdina scolded. “When we finish the reckoning all mortal and druid kind shall be gone from this world. Only you shall remain to witness the rebirth of our caraidean.”
“Yay, me,” Rowan managed to say and swallowed some bile. “Okay, so show me how this works.”
The druidess described the altar they would assemble from druid-carved stones and sacred oak, and showed her the ceremonial steps to reopen the solstice ritual. All it required was setting some symbolic items in a certain order, so that presented no problem. Then she recited the actual spell, which she had Rowan repeat several times until she had memorized it perfectly.
“You’ll be obliged to cast it before you make the sacrifice, so that the blood spills as the old magic ends,” Murdina said, drawing her finger sideways across the front of her throat. She then used it to point to the sky. “Once the shroud vanishes, life shall return, restoring our lands and…all things,” she tacked on quickly. “Thus ’twill be as ’twas in our mortal lives.”
So, it would restore something else that the mad druids wanted to keep under wraps. Seeing as it needed a living sacrifice, it probably wouldn’t be rainbows and unicorns, and that made her think of what would be worse.
“I’m not going to have an army of killer Romans or a tribe of freaked-out druids fall out of the sky onto my head, am I?” she demanded. “Because if I’m bringing back your homies and the guys that killed them, you’ll just end up with a retake on the original blood-bath.”
The druidess sniffed. “’Tis no’ a bone-conjuring. That evil I leave to that shrew-faced slut who ever chases after Hendry of late.”
“You’ve got a bone conjurer running around here?” Rowan asked as she followed Murdina from the clearing.
“An acolyte who claims as much, but Flen fed her too much before she ended him. She’s too plump and lazy to run.” An unpleasant smile stretched her lips. “Come. You must finish the totem carvings in the barn to make space for more wood. Hendry needs many.”
Now Rowan knew who had been sleeping in the barn: Oriana Embry. The murderous acolyte just might provide the distraction she needed to get Murdina out of her hair.
“Hang on a minute. Oriana told you and Hendry that she killed Bhaltair Flen?”
The other woman stopped and glared at her. “Aye. She shot him in the gut with a poisoned arrow during the siege of the McAra stronghold.”
“No, Murdina, she didn’t. My sister foresaw it and warned the old man first. Bhaltair was wearing padding under his robe. He isn’t dead.”
Murdina’s head shimmered, and a glimpse of her wrinkled, furious features showed plainly beneath the younger face. They turned a splotchy red before the illusion covered them again, and she grabbed Rowan’s arms in a vicious grip.
“Say thus to me again.”
“Bhaltair Flen is still alive.” Rowan glanced down at the mad woman’s white-knuckled fists. “Now would you mind letting me go before you break something?”
The dream Taran had shared with Rowan gave him much to think on, not that he could. As soon as she left with the strange druidess he waited and listened for her voice. Then he stood and tried to see through the nearest cracks in the walls. Finally, he paced back and forth, as far as his chains would allow him to go. Another hour passed before he felt his skin prickle with the awareness he felt only with Rowan.
He sat down, assuming a neutral posture as he listened to Rowan ask Murdina for food and washing water before she came in. Relief flooded him as soon as he saw that she appeared unscathed.
“That was fun.” She came over and released his shackles. “I just got a crash course in druid magic. Looks like I’ll be the star of the show when it comes time to renovate the place.” She glanced back at the door. “Now come over here and get that arm we were working on yesterday.”
As Taran obeyed her he noted the pallor of her face, and the faint tremor of her lower lip. She looked ready to empty her belly on the ground. Her hands also shook, enough to make her thrust them in her pockets to hide the fact. Murdina hadn’t harmed her, but she’d frightened her badly. He lifted the half-finished arm onto the table and took up the position where he’d worked yesterday.
“It’s going to be pretty awesome, slave,” Rowan said, but winced as she gripped the wood, and channeled her power into it. “There’s even going to be a human sacrifice. Can’t finish the ritual and restore my tribe’s lands until I spill lots of blood.”
She sounded hearty, almost cheerful. Likely only he could detect the slight strained sound to her voice, and it gave him a little hope. Rowan could not kill. Of that he was sure. She used her hostility and aggression to shield herself, not to harm others. What she said now reminded him of the confrontation she’d had with Brennus over Perrin, when she had been truly enraged. She’d turned her power on a table rather than hurt the chieftain.
All of this had to be a lie or—he glanced at where the guards might be listening—was she somehow trying to warn him?
“Hey. Pay attention.” She pushed a chisel into his hand. “Aw, you don’t approve, or did you have something you wanted to say? Go ahead, tell me what you think.”
“’Tis why Hendry spared me,” Taran said. “He needs my death. I’m to be the sacrifice for your ritual.”
Rowan stared at him as if he’d struck her in the face. Her lips turned white, and her hands gripped the wood so hard it began to crack.
“I think you didnae ken this,” he added. “’Twould serve some purpose of his to conceal it from you. Mayhap he intends to test your loyalty with a blade and my neck.”
“You’re smarter than you look, Horse Master.” Her expression emptied until her face resembled a mask. “Yeah, it makes all kinds of sense, because really, why trust me? I have to prove myself. Good thing cutting your throat won’t be that much of a chore for me. Unless he gives me a rusty knife. Then I might have to saw a bit.”
She spoke of killing him as if it meant nothing. Perhaps it didn’t, and he’d seen in her what he’d wished rather than what was truth. Taran had given her every reason to despise him. But the bond between them transcended feelings and flesh. They shared a connection so direct it felt as if they might only be whole with each other.
“You should consider what ’twill do to you to end me.”
Rowan shrugged. “I get to save the day and see you dead in the process. Win, win.”
Taran had never told her what he’d discovered about himself when he’d opened the portal by Dun More.
“’Tis something I should tell you–”
“Shut up. I’m tired of listening to you yap.” She lifted the wooden arm and used her gift to blast it across the barn. It collided with the side wall, making the entire structure shake. “You really think you can beg for your life after the way you’ve treated me? You took away my free will. You worked me like an animal. You never trusted me, and you made damn sure no one else in the clan would. You turned everyone against me. Because of you keeping me locked up in the stables my sister died. She was all I had left in the world, you bastard.”
Taran frowned. Once more she’d made it impossible for him to speak, or he’d remind her that he’d treated her well, and Perrin was very much alive. Either Hendry had cast some sort of spell over her to confuse her thoughts, or she was pretending.
With one arm Rowan swept the wood fragments from the table. “Maybe I should thank you for treating me like dirt. Because of you I listened to what Ochd had to say. Now there’s a guy who really cares. While you’re rotting in the ground he and I are going to have front row seats in the new world order.”
He reached out to touch her, only to have his hand slapped away.
“Don’t you dare try to suck up to me now,” she said, and glanc
ed at the barn door before she turned away from him. “Even if I did let you talk, nothing you could say will change anything. I’m done with you, Taran. You just keep your mouth shut and make yourself useful until it’s time to die.”
Chapter Fifteen
CADEYRN ROLLED UP the scroll map of the western territories and glanced across the table at Bhaltair. The old druid had hardly rested since arriving at Dun Mor, and only picked at his meals. He had offered much useful strategy, and never once complained about the lateness of the hours they had been keeping.
“’Tis near midnight, Flen,” he told the old man. “Go and sleep.”
“Soon I shall. If we’re to find the ideal place for our plan to work, it seems we must eye every loch and river and spring in Scotland.” His tired eyes shifted toward the pile of scrolls they’d not yet examined. “Would that the Gods no’ have created quite so many. ’Tis as plaguing as seeking a black cat in a deep mine.”
The War Master silently agreed. Locating the necessary body of water and with a clearing that would suit their purpose had proven not their sole hindrance. They had yet to fathom that which would lure the druids and their giants to the place, or how they might prevent the clan from sharing their fate once the trap had been sprung. The old druid would also need the use of a sacred oak grove within sight of the battle. Since the groves had never been mapped, Bhaltair had to study each scroll and recall if any were near the most promising locations.
Still, the old druid had other wellsprings of knowledge that he might tap. “Could your druid elders advise us?” Cadeyrn asked.
“I sent a dove with the same request to the conclave twoday past.” The old man sighed. “They havenae answered as yet. Mayhap hiding under their beds keeps them much occupied of late.”
A sentry appeared, halting at a respectful distance until Cadeyrn gestured for him to approach.
“War Master, the eastern patrol has recovered a stray mare,” the sentry reported. “Saddled, but carrying no rider. She’s weary and hungry. No’ one of ours.”
Since the nearest mortal settlement lay three days walking distance from Dun Mor Cadeyrn frowned. Normally he would summon Taran to examine the mount and use his centaur power to determine from where she had come.
“Take her to the stables and attend to her.” He glanced across the hall, where Brennus and Althea sat talking by the fire. “I’ll inform the chieftain.”
“I’ll accompany you, if I may,” Bhaltair said, and after a nod followed him to the hearth.
Brennus listened as Cadeyrn reported, frowning at the sentry’s description of the stray. “’Tis unlikely ’twould wander so far from a settlement,” the chieftain said.
“Not unless it’s a masochistic horse,” his wife put in. “It’s been so cold these last few days she would have had to keep moving or freeze to death. I’d pick a nice warm stable over that any day.”
“Unless the mare ’twas prompted to come here,” the old druid said. “Your missing clanmaster, ’tis within his power to command all horses.”
Brennus stood. “Now I wish to see this mare.” He glanced at his wife, who was wrapping herself up in his tartan. “Althea.”
“My uncle had horses on the farm, you know.” She tucked her slim hand in his. “And I’m just as worried about Taran and Rowan as you are.”
“If ’tis been bespelled by the quislings or Oriana, I’ll ken,” the old druid said, glancing at Brennus.
“Cease your timorous looks, tree-knower,” the chieftain advised him drily. “Had I wished to toss you out into the snow, I’d have done that the morning you came.”
Cadeyrn led the small group to the stables, where Manath had taken charge in Taran’s absence. They found the flamekeeper in a stall with the unfamiliar mare, where he worked at rubbing her down with warmed cloths.
“Chieftain.” The flamekeeper offered Brennus a respectful nod before emerging. “She’s timid but no’ surly-tempered. I’d guess she’s traveled for some days.” He pointed to her right flank. “She’s old blood splatter on her hide.”
Cadeyrn examined the saddle Manath had removed from the mare. Beneath the worn, soft hide covering lay hard, pale wood with broad graining.
“’Tis been fashioned from ash,” the war master said, “no’ oak.”
“Easterners use ash wood for saddle-making,” Brennus said and frowned as Bhaltair entered the stall. “What see you, old man?”
“A curiosity.” The druid took hold of the mare’s bridle and stretched out the torn reign strap. At the ragged end a knot had formed around a piece of twig. “There are teeth marks on the leather. ’Twould seem she broke her own tether.” He extracted the twig and brought it out to examine it by the nearest lantern.
Cadeyrn saw the wood fragment crumble into dust, and the bleak look that came over Bhaltair’s face as he shook it from his fingers.
“What more?” the war master asked.
“This wood has been dead for centuries. Inside a bespelled place ’twould be held together by magic. Outside, it reverts to what it should have become, long ago. ’Tis only one such spot in all of Scotland held in the grip of such: the settlement of the Wood Dream.” Bhaltair nodded at the mare. “I reckon your horse master directed her come here.”
Brennus peered at him. “Rather much to assume from a bit of old wood. Hendry might have sent the horse as a lure.”
“Hendry still doesn’t know exactly where Dun Mor is,” Althea countered. “In fact the only person out there who could have compelled this horse to come to us is Taran.”
“’Twould make sense of her journey here, Chieftain,” Cadeyrn said. “The mare likely passed dozens of crofts and villages between here and the ruins. Despite the cold she yet persisted until she reached Dun Mor. These beasts wouldnae do such for anyone but Tran.”
“As for Hendry, if he needed to hide out somewhere,” Althea said, “going where no one would ever think of looking for him would be smart. He’s a jerk, but he’s not stupid.”
Bhaltair nodded his agreement. “Some weeks back I visited the place. Everything there has been held by a shroud of unfinished spellwork since the Wood Dream massacre. ’Tis an ungodly place, but Hendry and Murdina could abide there with the famhairean.” He stiffened and stared at Cadeyrn. “War Master, the clearing there where the Romans attacked the tribe, ’tis but a stone’s throw from their loch—and a sacred grove. Since the enemy already occupies the place, it could serve.”
“Before you send us into battle, Flen,” Brennus said, his tone hard, “we shall pay a visit to the settlement and retrieve Taran.”
“But surely ’twould be safer for the entire clan to go?” the old druid countered.
“Safer for us,” Cadeyrn said, “but no’ for Taran. Already in their possession, he’d make a fine hostage or, worse yet, a body to hide behind.”
Brennus nodded. “We’ll have him back before we attack.”
“And Rowan,” Althea told him flatly. “I know that girl, and so do you, Bren. She’s no more a traitor than I am.” As the chieftain frowned she held up her hand. “Whatever you believe, it’s a tactical error to leave her behind. If he has her, Hendry will use her against us.”
“Truth,” his war master added.
“Aye, so we shall retrieve them both. Cade, you and I shall water-travel to the Wood Dream’s loch now,” Brennus said. “If the famhairean occupy it, they shall be in their sleeping state, and we may approach their settlement unnoticed. ’Twill be easier to rescue Tran and Rowan under cover of night as well. We’ll endeavor to make it seem as if they escaped. If we find naught of them or the druids, then no harm shall come of it.” He eyed Bhaltair. “Gather my people and finish plotting your scheme, old man. The time to use it fast dwindles.”
The druid gave him a grim smile. “Aye, Chieftain.”
Chapter Sixteen
AS SOON AS he and Cadeyrn entered the loch beside the Wood Dream settlement Brennus tasted death in the water. All the currents they had ridden fell still. Depths t
hat should have been teeming with life lay cold and inert around them. Forcing back his revulsion, he remained in his water-traveling form as he surfaced beside his war master. Once they had both scanned the empty shore Cade indicated the spot that would afford them the best cover.
They submerged, obliged now to change into their human forms so they could swim through the stagnant waters to the shallows. Once they found their footing they slipped from the loch and concealed themselves within a wiry cluster of dead vines hanging from brown-black firs.
Brennus smelled wood smoke, and felt his battle spirit awaken. Flattening his palm over his skinwork, he silently beseeched the raven to remain dark, and saw Cadeyrn do the same with his owl ink.
They listened for any indication their arrival had been heard before they drew their swords and moved in parallel paths to flank the ruined settlement. They had decided before leaving Dun Mor that Brennus would go and inspect the clearing while Cade entered the camp and located their people.
As he made his way through the ice-bound forest Brennus smelled rot so old it had almost poisoned the very air. The forest had become an immense tomb of trees, some still bearing the blackened stains and hack marks left by the massacre. Unmoving moonlight silvered bone knobs protruding from the thick carpet of dead leaves here and there. It made no sense to the chieftain until he gazed into the empty eye sockets of a smashed-in human skull.
Of all the ghastly crimes the mad druids had committed this seemed the most pathetic and detestable. How could they not honor their dead? With his own hands he had helped carve the fox stone to mark Ailpin’s grave. Every day one or more of the clan yet visited the sheltered spot where they had laid their brother to rest. So they would, Brennus suspected, for as long as they breathed.
Hendry and Murdina sought vengeance for a tribe they had left to rot where they had fallen.