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.”