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 that 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.

Knowing Cadeyrn had likely scouted the encampment by now, Brennus quickened his step. When he reached the clearing that the old druid had described he saw it lay close enough to the loch to serve as the field for the final battle. He surveyed it closely until he spotted a low crescent of worn stone tops that spread into the distance. Flen’s claim that the clearing had once contained a sacred grove also proved out. He had said ’twas the very first grove portal, and through it had come all the oaks in the world. Brennus wondered what spending centuries imprisoned by an unfinished spell had done to it. He turned his head and saw a long line of giant wooden totems stretched along the other side of the glen.

Fack me.

Now he understood why Hendry had needed Rowan. Most of the towering carved statues had been greatly refined with jointed limbs, feet and hands. Each had been hewn from ancient oak so thick the weight had sunk them into the ground by an arm’s measure. If they were brought to life to fight alongside the famhairean, the Skaraven could never prevail.

Brennus didn’t want to believe the dark lass would do such to help the mad druids. Yet the work had been done with such skill he doubted even Hendry’s most powerful magic could have achieved the same.

On his way back toward the druids’ camp Cadeyrn emerged from the deep shadows to intercept him, and signaled for him to follow. From there the war master led him along a path that avoided every tree between them and the ruined settlement. He didn’t understand why until they passed close enough to one for him to see that the tree’s trunk and branches covered the vague shape of an oversized warrior.

Hendry had disguised the giants to make them seem nothing more than ordinary oaks.

Once Brennus and Cadeyrn had slipped past the sleeping giants, the war master led him to a barn on the edge of the ruins. Brennus peered into one of the wall cracks and saw the silhouette of a body under a blanket. Silently lifting the bolt bar, he eased the door open just enough for them to step inside.

Brennus approached the crude bed, and reached down to draw back the blanket. His mouth flattened as he saw Taran chained to the wood. His horse master opened his eyes and looked up at him before eyeing the gaping door. When Brennus touched his arm, a breath escaped him.

“Close it,” Taran murmured.

Cade went to ease the door shut while Brennus released Taran’s shackles and helped him to his feet.

“Wounded?” the chieftain asked lowly.

Taran shook his head. “The rest of the clan?” he whispered.

“At the stronghold,” Cadeyrn said quietly as he returned.

Brennus could see the disappointment in the horse master’s face.

“Bhaltair and Cade have a plan that ’twill put an end to this. There’ll be no half measures this time, Tran. We’ve come for you both.”

Though Taran’s jaw worked silently, he nodded toward the back of the barn. Another blanket covered the dark lass, who lay sleeping in a mound of straw. He walked over to her, and saw she had not been chained down.

Brennus tightened his grip on his sword. He’d never killed a woman, but after seeing what she’d created in the clearing he had no choice. With her power she could create a vast and unstoppable army of totems to serve Hendry and Murdina.

Taran came to stand beside him, and put his hand on Brennus’s sword arm. He shook his head when the chieftain offered him his blade, and instead knelt down beside the lass.

Cadeyrn came to watch as the horse master wrapped the blanket around Rowan tightly, covering her up to her chin. When she opened her eyes and gasped he gripped her throat through the wool, applying enough pressure to her veins to render her unconscious. He then rose and regarded Cadeyrn.

“Carry her,” he said, his voice a thin rasp. “I willnae touch her again.”