AFTER BREAKING THEIR fast Althea accompanied Bhaltair out of the Skaraven stronghold, and walked with him down to the river crossing. The courtesy gladdened him, but he hadn’t expected it. Rowan had left the great hall soon after Taran’s abrupt departure. The other ladies had all visited dark looks upon him during the largely silent meal that had followed.

“We could send one of the guys to collect whatever you need, you know,” the lady told him. “It’s been a tough morning, and you look exhausted.”

“’Tis best I absent myself from Dun Mor for a time while the clan prepares.” He regarded her. “Veiling what we do and ken in secrecy, ’tis ever the way of druid kind. I’ve ever practiced such discretion. ’Twas never meant to inflict harm as I’ve done on the clan, Mistress Thomas, or the horse master.”

“You may never be very popular with the girls or the Skaraven, and I suggest you steer clear of Taran for a while. But you should know that you’ve earned my trust, and my husband’s.” She glanced back at the stronghold. “Don’t make us regret that, Master Flen. Pay your debt to the Skaraven.”

“I shall endeavor to, my lady.” He bowed deeply before bidding her farewell.

As Bhaltair crossed the frozen water and made his way to the hidden sacred grove, he thought of his friends Fingal and Cora Tullach, and how they had lived dozens of lives as soul-mates. Would that he could bring them together with Taran and Rowan, so that the young lovers might come to better understand their eternal bond. He doubted the horse master would permit it, however. Simply learning of his druid nature had pushed Taran near to murder.

What Bhaltair had told the horse master had not been all of the truth.

When Taran had been born with different coloring compared to the other bairns they’d bred, the Pritani had summoned the druids. Bhaltair himself had examined the wee lad, and noted the strange hues of his hair and eyes. Both, he recognized, were known to be druid traits.

He himself spoke to the tribeswoman who had birthed him, and during that conversation had felt the tingle of awareness of her druid blood. Taken in as a young foundling by her tribe, she’d never known her birth people. She also had no desire to take back her son, whose sire belonged to the other tribe intent on breeding indentured warriors.

My mate shall never accept the lad, the woman had told him. Could I persuade him, with that pale hair and strange eyes he shall still be made outcast among our people. The younglings of our tribe are strong and dark.

Bhaltair had also spoken with Taran’s sire, who felt the same as the mother, and then tried to advocate for the lad himself. The elders overseeing the training of the Skaraven had also denied Bhaltair’s final request to remove Taran from the Skaraven so that he might be raised by druid kind. They had felt with two Pritani parents the lad had but a distant kinship with their people, and no particular worth. Bhaltair’s own doubts had convinced him to accept their ruling.

He’d said nothing to the horse master or Rowan, but after being in their presence he suspected Taran’s soul to be one of the most ancient among druid kind. It was even possible that he and Rowan might be reincarnated from the very first druids that had chosen to be soul-mated.

Never again shall I accept what I ken to be wrong, Bhaltair thought, and I will cease meddling in that which I cannae change.

“Master Flen,” called someone from behind him. Before he even turned he recognized Perrin’s sweet voice. “Before you go…”

He smiled as he turned, but his face froze when he saw who was there.

“Oriana.”

He’d no time to duck as the branch in her hands collided with the side of his head, and the ground rushed up to meet his face. All Bhaltair could do was blink as blood pooled in his eye, and he saw her lift the branch higher.

He closed his eyes and gave up thanks to the Gods for his long incarnation, interrupted only by a blast of tremendous pain, and the dreadful sound of his skull cracking.