by Hazel Hunter
“What do you say?” Galan said in a raised voice and stared at him. “No. No’ the Skaraven. Tell me you didnae awaken them from their graves.”
Galan’s expression made Bhaltair consider casting a protective body ward over himself, but he felt sure his old ally wouldn’t attack him. Almost sure.
“The famhairean escaped the henge in the future and returned with the quislings to our time. The conclave agreed to awaken the Skaraven to immortality, that they might again protect mortal and druid kind.”
The headman closed his eyes. “You brought back Ruadri.”
“I couldnae leave your son in the ground while awakening the rest of the clan.” He rubbed his stiff knee. “He hasnae asked after you, Galan. Indeed, the one moment he mentioned you was to advise me to bring my tribe here for sanctuary. You never leave this settlement, so unless you send word to him your paths shall never cross.”
Galan brought two cups to the table, and filled them with a strong-smelling, scarlet-colored liquid.
“We make this from pine. ’Twill burn a hole in your old belly.”
The tall druid filled and drained his cup before adding more of the spirit.
Bhaltair had never known the big druid to take to drink. “’Tis no’ a cause for recklessness, Brother.”
With narrowed eyes the headman regarded him “Since Ruadri fell in battle I have never taken a mate, nor sired another bairn. Do you ken why?”
He felt the question like a thousand arrows pointed at his chest. “So that you might live in peace, and thoughtful contemplation, surely.”
Galan laughed bitterly. “How polite you prattle. I cannae fack. No’ since my love died whelping that monstrosity you call my son have I been capable. My cock remains as soft and useless as my life.”
“I havenae taken a lover in many incarnations,” Bhaltair admitted. “But I feel your pain.”
“Do you indeed? Have you sired a son who tore apart his mother so badly that she bled to death in seconds after his birth? Did you watch it happen, and ken yourself useless to her? Did you listen to her final scream of agony? Does it haunt your dreams? Does it come back the moment you lay eyes on any wench?” Galan stared down into his cup, his eyes unfocused. “And you bring him back, this monster of my loins, and give him eternal life.”
“Brother,” Bhaltair said, reaching to touch Galan’s twitching hand. “Ruadri didnae intend to kill his mother. A newborn can do naught but come into the world. ’Tis tragic that you lost her so cruelly, but the lad–”
“’Twas no’ his birth or watching her die, you old stirrer. A mortal Pritani cannae reincarnate. I loved her more than my own life, and he saw to it that she shall never return to me. He took her from me forever.” Galan met his gaze and Bhaltair startled when he saw something murderous. “You will bring Ruadri to me directly. As his sire I shall see to his future.”
He couldn’t fathom the vehemence in the headman’s tone. “But you trained the lad, and taught him to keep watch for us.”
The headman’s lips stretched into a ghastly grin. “I did train him. I beat our ways into him, and burned my spells into his flesh, and caused him pain whenever I could. If he’d failed, I’d have happily sent him to the well of stars. Only he wouldnae. He’s like a plague with no cure.” All the emotion fled from Galan’s expression. “Bring him to me. He may pay his debt to me by serving as my slave for eternity.”
“I cannae,” Bhaltair said gently. “The death of the two tribes freed the Skaraven from their indenture. He will never again wear the yoke of a slave.” And now he understood why Ruadri felt such loathing toward his own people. “Galan, ’tis unlikely you should ever again lay eyes on your son. If you cannae forgive him, then you must forget this. Seek peace in what you have with your tribe.”
“Peace, when I cannae sleep or think or breathe without memory of her.” Without warning he took his cup and threw it into the hearth, making the fire flare up with a roar. “Get out of my sight.”
Bhaltair quietly left and hobbled along the path to the back of the settlement, where his tribe now dwelled. They came from their new tree homes, greeting him with sober smiles veiling their relief. Bhaltair noted Domnall and his defenders watching them as he gathered with the elders and retreated into one of the hollowed dwellings.
“Brothers, I’m in dire need of your counsel,” Bhaltair told them as they gathered chairs and sat in a circle. He related what he and Oriana had discovered at the Wood Dream settlement, and produced the cuff. “This ornament retains visions of their final day. Their end proved ugly and violent, but so did that of the Romans who murdered them.”
“The invaders also died there?” one of the conclavists murmured.
“They became the famhairean’s first victims. We didnae find bodies because they devoured their remains.” He scanned the troubled faces around him. “That isnae the worst of it. The attack prevented the Wood Dream from completing their ritual that day. The magic remains unfinished and has tainted the land. No’ a living creature goes near it. I think it must be part or all of what empowers the giants.”
“’Twas tribal magic used for the ritual?” another elder asked, and when Bhaltair nodded he paled. “Then a member of the tribe must complete it.”
Bhaltair sighed. “Of the Wood Dream bloodline, only Hendry Greum and Murdina Stroud remain.”
That revelation caused the elders to begin talking all at once, each putting forth their opinions on how the quislings could be compelled to remove the taint. Bhaltair listened, but nothing they offered could be attempted with the giants still guarding the lovers. One by one the old druids fell silent, watching him as he turned the cuff in his hands.
“My thanks for your wisdom,” Bhaltair said slowly. “I shall meditate on it. The other matter we must discuss is how long we Dawn Fire may abide with the Moss Dapple.”
The elders exchanged telling glances but held their silence.
“Their headman is the newest incarnation of Galan,” Bhaltair informed them. “He is the sire of Ruadri, our Skaraven Watcher.” As the other druids reacted in shock he held up one hand. “’Tis no’ that he despises his son. ’Tis how he governs this tribe. I ken that you have noticed the changes among the people here. The overseer, Domnall, and his men in particular. To my eyes they resemble warriors, no’ druids. I sense a strangeness about them as well. I believe Galan responsible for this, in some fashion. I would remain, and investigate, but I must go and meet with Ruadri in Aviemore.”
The druid sitting beside him put his hand on Bhaltair’s arm. “Do you reckon Galan has bred these defenders to be so, as you once did the Skaraven?”
“I cannae tell you yet. I dinnae ken if ’tis even my concern. But ’tis disturbing.” He rubbed his eyes. “Any message sent from here shall be first read by Galan’s overseer. You mustnae write or speak of this where your words shall meet unfriendly eyes or ears. We have taken sanctuary with the Moss Dapple. Until the lovers and their giants are defeated, the Dawn Fire must remain here in peace and gratitude.”
Bhaltair ended the gathering by joining hands with the other druids and entreating the Gods to watch over their people. When he came out to seek a place of rest, Oriana stood patiently waiting for him.
“Master.” She offered him her arm. “You must be hungry and tired.”
“Never more so than tonight, my dear one.” He tried not to lean on her too heavily. “Now, take me to the tribe’s messaging place. I have many scrolls to write.”
Chapter Ten
AS THE NIGHT deepened Cadeyrn waited at the door and listened for any sound to indicate the druids or their giants still roamed the mill house. He could hear only Lily’s breathing, soft and quiet, and the scent of their ecstasy still lingering in the air. She had shown him delights he’d hardly imagined. He smiled a little at the memory of her finding her own bliss, and the wonder of knowing he could give that to her. The fact that Hendry had listened to them didn’t trouble him. He was used to the tribe’s shaman standing watch wh
en he’d been with a pleasure lass.
Cadeyrn’s smile faded. What gnawed at him were the wings of scars now etched on Lily’s arms.
He’d accepted his solitary state long before he and his clan had died. Since boyhood he’d always remained a little apart from his brothers. He’d even taken some pride in his reserve, for it gave him a sense of guardianship over the Skaraven. Never would he have to divide himself between care and duty. It had made him a canny warrior, and quickly elevated him to war master.
What he didn’t know was how to be a mate. What was he to do with one chosen, not by him, but by the very spirit that had set him apart from his clan?
“Anything?” Lily whispered as she came to stand beside him.
He looked down at her. “I think they’re all abed now.” He saw the rags she’d torn earlier that now bound her feet. “You need boots.”
Lily moved her shoulders. “I also need tea and biscuits, a jolly good soak in the tub, and a month in bed, boyo. Maybe two months.”
Without thinking he moved to put his arm around her waist, and then let his hand fall. Since they’d made love, as she put it, he’d discovered that he could not be near Lily without wanting to touch her. She’d bespelled him with her lithe body and candid desires. If he wasn’t careful he’d make himself her pleasure lad.
That he thought of having her again instead of escape made Cadeyrn wonder if she hadn’t used some of her druid power on him. She might have pushed all the sense out of his brain. If he didn’t dispel some of this wanting for her, he’d surely get them all killed.
“What I truly wish,” Lily said, “is that Hendry had given us one more night together.” She slipped her hand in his, weaving their fingers together. “Ready, then?”
“Aye.”
Cadeyrn watched her face as she used her power to lift the bolt bar. When he felt the door shudder he opened it and stepped out into the passage. A quick look either way revealed no one to stop them. He kept hold of her as they went to the kitchen.
He hadn’t misread the shift in her expression every time she used her talent, nor that it caused her headaches. She might have druid blood, but using the tree-knower powers caused her pain.
In an hour she shall never have to use them again, he told himself.
The diversion they had decided on depended much on the lamps and candles inside the mill. Cadeyrn took two watch lights and thrust their greasy ends into the bright embers still glowing in the hearth. When they flared, he handed one to Lily, who used hers to light every candle and lamp in the kitchen. Cadeyrn took kindling and dried moss from a covered bin near the hearth and portioned it in small mounds directly beside the candles and lamps. For the final touch Lily laid a trail of watch lights from the hearth across the floor and into all the passages, where Cadeyrn placed rags he smeared with butter. He took another moment to barricade all the entries before he rejoined her in the kitchen.
Lily led him out of the window and took him to the edge of the withered garden beyond it. There he saw the famhairean positioned around the mill and granary, their eyes closed and their crackled faces still. Each held a club and a sword, which tempted Cadeyrn, but he wouldn’t risk waking even one of them simply to arm himself.
Lily moved, and he followed her across the yard and behind the granary, where she looked out before she pulled him close and put her mouth on his.
Cadeyrn kissed her back, hard and fast, and then caught her face between his hands. “Burn it down, my lady,” he murmured.
Lily’s eyes turned black, and this time he felt the brush of something unseen and huge. It rushed away from them toward the mill. The muffled sound of things falling and crashing started. Soon smoke poured out of the windows, where orange-gold flames roared high.
The famhairean woke all at once, and when the nearest guards tried to enter the mill they found themselves locked out. Cadeyrn watched with Lily as they pounded on the doors and shouted for Hendry and Murdina. Lily made for the granary, but Cadeyrn held her back.
“No’ yet,” he told her in a low voice. He waited until the other giants rushed from the woods toward the mill. “Now.”
They ran in opposite directions, Lily to the granary while he made for the wood shed behind the mill. On the wide wood door an iron latch was secured with a heavy lock. Cadeyrn cupped his hands at the door’s edge.
“Perrin,” he called quietly, trying not to draw attention. “Are you there?”
“Yes?” came a tremulous voice.
“Stand back from the door.”
He called on his battle spirit and examined the entrance, but not the latch or the lock. His attention was immediately drawn to its tired hinges. Though sturdy nails held them to the shed, they were but nails. He backed up two paces, seeing the weakest ones as though from up close. A blow to the door planks, in just the right spot, would cause them to wrench free from the wood. He lowered his shoulder and ran. Splinters flew and metal squealed as the door broke free of its top hinge. Cadeyrn’s momentum carried him through the entry, his boots snapping the wood around the bottom hinge. The remainder of the door swung wildly by only the useless latch and lock.
A thin, young lass with eyes like a frightened doe stood trembling in the corner.
“I am Cadeyrn,” he said and held out his hand. “Lily sent me. We must hurry.”
Though she slowly extended her hand, he didn’t wait for her to cross the room. In two steps he’d swept her up in his arms and sprinted for the granary. The millstone was laying on the ground and Lily emerged with two other women.
“Perrin,” said the dark, sturdy one, as they all hid behind the granary.
“Ro,” the thin lass said as Cadeyrn set her down. Though the two embraced, Cadeyrn saw that it was more that the taller one supported Perrin, lest she fall.
“This is Perrin’s sister Rowan,” Lily said. “And Emeline.”
Emeline regarded Cadeyrn. “Thank you for helping us.”
“Quit chatting with the hot guy, Florence,” Rowan said, her voice tired. She knelt in front of her unsteady sister to take her on her back. As she stood, she circled Perrin’s thighs around her waist and gripped them from the bottom. “We need to blow this place right now.” Her speckled eyes shifted to Cadeyrn. “Are you our hero? Never mind. Let’s get to the portal.”
Cadeyrn tried to take her burden from her, but she shrugged him off and took off at a trot. He nodded, but when he saw Emeline was falling behind he snatched the nurse up in his arms.
“Hold onto my neck, my lady.”
Her crystalline eyes glowed brightly blue as she smiled up at him. “You’re my hero, lad.”
When they reached the oak grove, Lily came to an abrupt stop, and as Cadeyrn set down the nurse he saw why. A mountain of millstones had been piled in the center of the grove, completely covering the portal.
Lily swiped at her ear as she marched up to the stones, and focused on them before she closed her eyes. The heavy rock wheels shook, some dislodging to slide a few inches, but none of them moved.
Falling to her knees, Lily clutched her head, and then gave him a desperate look. “I can’t budge them. It’s like they’re glued together to the ground.”
“Hendry was out here today with Aon and Dha,” Rowan said. “They must have blocked it with the stones and used his mojo to seal it off.” She looked back toward the mill. “We can’t go back there and pretend like nothing happened. We’ve got to run.”
“No,” Lily insisted. She trembled as she stood and dragged in a deep breath. “I have this.”
Before anyone could stop her Lily’s eyes blackened as she used her power on the stones, which rumbled before blasting out a wave of their own dark power.
“Lily,” Cadeyrn yelled and ran to her. He caught her as she crumpled and went limp.
“Let me see her,” Emeline said.
She touched her fingertips under Lily’s jaw and drew them back wet and red. She tilted the unconscious woman’s head to the side, revealing a thin trickle of bloo
d inching down from her ear.
“Gods above,” Cadeyrn muttered as his gut clenched. “Her power makes her bleed?”
“Aye, sometimes from the nose. Never from the ear until now. Lily.” The nurse repeated her name several times as she gently pushed up her eyelids and peered at her darkened eyes. “I dinnae ken how badly she’s hurt, but she’ll likely be unconscious for a time.”
“We are out of time,” Rowan said. She adjusted her sister on her back. “Cade, right? We need to get the hell away from here, right now.”
He lifted Lily in his arms and surveyed the horizon beyond the forest. “I need water—a loch, a river, even a stream will do.”
“There aren’t any lakes for miles,” Rowan told him. “Ochd told me that they dammed the one stream that was close at its source in the hills. I think it’s why Hendry chose this place—so you guys couldn’t use the water to get at him and Murdina.”
His jaw tightened, and he looked to the east and north. If he’d been with his brothers they could run for hours until they reached safety. Even if they could rouse Lily and Perrin, four battered, starved lasses would never keep up with him. “Then we’re for the hills. Follow me.”
Cadeyrn held Lily close while they made their way through the trees. Deliberately avoiding the old farm trails, he led them in a scattered pattern that would help confuse any giant that picked up their trail. He also left passage markers only another Skaraven would recognize, so that if by chance the clan tracked them to the mill they would know where he’d taken the lasses.
Rowan proved to be as strong as she looked, and even carrying her sister kept pace with him. Emeline had to trot to do the same, and quickly grew breathless, but did not complain. Cadeyrn couldn’t carry two women to safety with any speed, so he stopped at the edge of the woods.
“We’ll rest here,” he said.
“Thank you from the bottom of my feet,” Emeline gasped but didn’t sit down. Instead she came to look at his lady. “Has she opened her eyes yet?”