IN THE LAIR of the undead the light of day was never welcomed. But the sun’s warmth soaked into the earth above, and crept into the caves and tunnels to warm the frigid air. Mist drifted and swirled near the roofs of the caves as the sun rose. As day dawned outside, the legion retreated to their stone chambers. There they slept without dreams, while the sentries and guards braced themselves at their posts and closed their black eyes.

Cailean Lusk bent down to look through the wooden grate covering the entrance to the holding pen. There were two Romans standing watch.

“The undead are no’ moving now, Master,” he said and squinted. “I dinnae think they are breathing.” He grimaced as the horrible smell of the pen filled his nostrils. “I wish I dinnae have to breathe either. Gods, this place reeks.”

“When the sun rises, it may leech away the life they steal from mortal blood,” Bhaltair said. “Then they would have to spend the daylight hours in stillness, like the dead that they are.” He grunted as he knelt down beside him to peer out at the motionless guards. “If only we could reach one of those swords.”

Behind them one of the tormented souls giggled. “If you touch them, they wake up, and they are very angry. They chop off your fingers, or your hand, or they drag you out and drain you until you are as a worm shriveled in the sun.”

Cailean shuddered. “Perhaps no’ quite as still as the dead then.”

The old druid scuttled backward and stood, helping Cailean to his feet. “We should capture one of these fellows and study him. We could learn much.”

“Or he could get loose and kill everyone in the conclave,” Cailean said. “We need to discover where they took all the children before that cold-eyed one carries out his threat.” He tried lifting the grate. “I am no’ strong enough to dislodge it by myself.” He turned to the other captives. “Is there anyone who will help me?”

“No.” A pale, thin female covered in bruises cringed away from him. “They will hurt us. They will eat us.”

The terror that the blood thralls felt frustrated Cailean. For him and Bhaltair, and all of druid kind, death was simply a journey to their next life. It was true that after rebirth they had to wait some years until they grew old enough to communicate, declare their identities, and practice their crafts, but that was the cost of reincarnation. Death, while sometimes unpleasant and painful, was never the end for them, so they did not fear it.

The mortals imprisoned with them might have attained the same enlightenment, had they been born to druid kind. Their ignorance and superstitions made them impossible to trust, much less teach. But they were terrified, and he should not judge them. He’d been a captive for less than a day and already he wanted to kill himself.

“I see some movement,” his master said, and stood on his toes to look through one of the vent holes that allowed air into the pens. “’Tis that woman taken with us from the village, and the McDonnel seneschal.” He frowned. “An odd alliance.”

“’Tis what our brothers and sisters have always said about us,” Cailean said.

He didn’t want to risk waking the slumbering guards by calling out to them. Instead Cailean got on hands and knees and shove his hand through the grate, waving it as best he could.

“You’ll wake them,” the woman behind him whimpered. “Stop.”

“Master, these poor folk are very frightened. ’Twould help if they were to pray for our safe release.”

“’Twould be better,” Bhaltair grumbled. He turned and began tapping the mortals one by one. “You will pray now. In silence. Without fear.” The soporific tone to his voice made their eyes half-close as his touch-charm went to work on them. “Pray. You will pray now.”

One by one the captives dropped on their knees and clasped their hands together.

Two big hands gripped the bottom of the wooden grate and began to lift it. Two smaller, feminine hands reached for Cailean’s and helped him as he crawled through and stood.

“Master Talorc,” Cailean whispered. “Mistress Marphee. You are a welcome sight.” He turned and bent to help his master out. “How did you free yourself, Mistress?”

“I was never a captive. I have been a spy for the legion,” Fiona told him bluntly. “I am no more now, and I am sorry I brought you to this.”

“Quickly,” Cailean whispered, gesturing to the mortals still in the pen.

Coaxing the prisoners out took precious minutes, but when the last came through Evander replaced the grate. As they made their way into the tunnel one of the women slipped and fell heavily, crying out as she looked down at the broken bones under her.

The nearest sentry sleeping at his post snapped to attention, saw the woman and bared his fangs.

“Escape!” he shouted. “To arms, to arms!”

“Run,” Evander bellowed as he snatched up Fiona.

As the undead swarmed around them, Bhaltair murmured under his breath, releasing the mortals from his calming spell. Seeing the guards rushing into the tunnel sent all the mortals fleeing after Evander and Fiona. Cailean quickly worked a light spell, creating the illusion of a wall of sunlight, from which the undead staggered back. It lasted only a few moments, but gave them time to herd the mortals after Evander and Fiona into an empty passage with daylight at the end. As they staggered out, the captives from the pens embraced each other, fell to their knees or simply stood and wept in the daylight.

Cailean asked Evander, “You didnae find the villagers’ bairns?”

The highlander shook his head. “We found you first.”

The ovate regarded Fiona. “Where would the undead take them?”

“The tribune turns mortals in the Temple of Mars, beyond the great cavern. ’Tis what he means to do to the bairns.”

Horrible snarls came from deep in the tunnels. Grim-faced, Evander drew his sword and made to enter, but Fiona clutched his arm.

“You cannae, my love. They have awakened now. They will kill anyone who goes inside.” She turned to the druids and told them how to find the Temple of Mars before she added, “We are outlaws now, and can stay no longer. You must ask the clan to help you rescue the bairns.”

Cailean eyed the highlander. Evander looked frustrated, and strangely ashamed.

“We will send word to them,” Cailean said. “Where do you go now, Mistress Marphee?”

Fiona looked up at Evander. “Far from here.”

“Ovate Lusk,” the highlander said. “If you hurry, you may find the laird in the grove of the old Pritani stones. We saw him go there before we came for you.” Another, more intense flash of guilt shone from his eyes before he took hold of Fiona’s hand and led her away, disappearing into the trees.

Cailean felt a tingle of premonition. What good Evander Talorc had done to balance the weight of Fiona’s evil, he suspected, was not enough. The pair might have their freedom, but the gods were not finished with them. He did not envy them their lot. When the gods decided to punish those who transgressed, they could be very cruel.

Bhaltair spoke with two of the mortal men who seemed sanest, and instructed them to take the other thralls to the nearest town to seek shelter. He and Cailean backtracked to where they’d tethered their horses and rode to the sacred grove. Lachlan, his bodyguard and a golden-haired woman were just leaving it. All three of them seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“My lord, are you hurt?” Cailean said and he dismounted and hurried over to them. But he stopped when he realized what radiated from them was not light but time magic. “You have crossed over.”

Bhaltair stared at the woman. “She has, and taken them with her.”

“Aye, and brought us back again,” the laird said and inspected them with a frown. “Why are you in such a state, Master Lusk?”

“We were lured to a burned village, and there captured by the undead.” He quickly related their rescue by Evander and Fiona, and the ultimatum issued by the tribune. “My lord, we cannae permit the legion to turn so many innocents. You ken what bairns who are made undead are like.”

“Aye, as rabid dogs,” Lachlan said.

“I saw the little ones before we were penned,” Bhaltair said. “They took more than fifty, and near half of them babes that cannae walk. They will have to be carried out.”

“But how can we save them before they are turned?” Cailean demanded, and then said to the laird. “To go back in those tunnels now is suicide, and as soon as the sun sets, the rest of the legion will wake. When you dinnae surrender, they will turn the little ones.”

“We don’t go in after the legion,” the woman told him before Lachlan could reply. “We make them come out to us.”