WORKING MOST OF the day alongside his men gave Brennus the opportunity to calm their agitation. As they cut each other’s hair with Kanyth’s shears, he answered their questions about Althea honestly, but also carefully. Volunteering such details as the old Roman word she’d called herself—doctor—would only alarm the clan. He also didn’t reveal her powerful ability or that she had been taken from a distant future.

Leaving her alone in the eagalsloc had taken all of his resolve, but it was the only place in the stronghold from which she couldn’t escape. Ruadri had helped lower them both into the pit and then hauled Brennus back out once the chieftain had settled her. He’d grown angry only when he saw he’d cut the rope ladder.

“Are you crazed?” the shaman had demanded. “None can climb out of a fear pit. She’s wounded and helpless.”

“Hurt, aye, but not helpless,” Brennus said and shook his head. “Time in the eagalsloc ’twill do her no harm. I’ll fashion another ladder and bring food to her after sunset.”

Ruadri’s mouth tightened as he stared down at Althea. “She belongs with her tribe, no’ here.”

“She claims no tribe and denies she’s druid kind. She swore to me she wouldnae stop trying to escape.” When Ruadri would have argued Brennus lifted his hand. “Her power destroyed the bodies of two famhairean with a touch. She can do the same to our brothers.”

“So into the fear pit, where she cannae touch anyone,” Ruadri gave him a narrow look. “What of you? She put hands on you, and naught happened.”

If only the shaman knew, Brennus thought. “’Tis done. Until I decide what to do with her, she stays in the eagalsloc.”

Ruadri had stalked off after that, and for the rest of the day avoided Brennus. Being at odds with the shaman didn’t sit well with him, nor did the tangle of his thoughts. By her own admission Althea Jarden didn’t belong in this time. She should be returned to her own by the druids. But could they be trusted to do so? As powerful as she was, Brennus knew Althea couldn’t destroy all the famhairean at once. Any attempt by her to return to the mountain and confront her captors would end with her dead.

The chieftain refused to sacrifice his clan again, but he could not stomach the thought of Althea dying either. By day’s end he knew he would have to seek direction from the one source he trusted without question. He headed to the clan’s caibeal. The small chapel lay in Dun Mor’s lowest level at the far end of the passage leading to the eagalsloc. The chapel’s door, hand-carved by the clan’s quarriers from a single slab of granite, swung inward without resistance. It had sealed the inner chamber so well that the only sign that twelve centuries had passed was the tiny piles of dust that had once been watchlights.

Brennus placed his torch in a stone bracket by the entry and walked through the outer cross slabs to the center, where the largest stood. Hewn from a giant morion, the blackest of crystals, it depicted a raven at rest, its head turned to watch its back.

Seeing once more the image of his battle spirit made Brennus cover his right shoulder with his hand. Beneath his tunic his skinwork began to move, stabbing into his flesh like the gouging of a sharp beak. He knelt before the stone and spread his hands.

“I dinnae ken why I live, only how I must,” he said, pulling his tunic over his head to bare his chest. “’Tis been many lifetimes since last I came to you, but I ask now for your guidance. I owe a life-debt to Althea Jarden. I owe my loyalty to my clan. I dinnae ken which path to take.”

The pain in his shoulder went deeper, but Brennus ignored it and kept his gaze on the stone raven. He knew he did not possess Ruadri’s unwavering faith in the gods, but his battle spirit had been a part of his flesh and heart since boyhood. It had never once abandoned him, although now it seemed to be boring a hole through his body, while the raven stone remained cold and dark.

“I didnae ask for death, nor this awakening.” He rose as the ink writhed on his shoulder like a living thing. “But your warrior shall I ever be.”

The torch suddenly extinguished, and the skinwork on his chest lit up with a dark blue glow. All around him the air moved, thick with unseen spirits. Yet when the torch flared back to life Brennus found himself alone, and unanswered.

“Naught, then.” All of the anger he’d held back since returning from the grave broke free. “Fack you for it.”

His curse rang out in the caibeal, but before he could stalk out shadows rose from the raven stone. Taking on the shape of his battle spirit, they flew in a tight circle just above his head. They swooped to attack him, their sharp beaks hammering into his scalp, shoulders and arms. Brennus batted them away from his eyes, but he refused to cower. If the raven spirit wished to devour him alive, it had better be very hungry.

A sharp cry scattered the spirits, and Brennus echoed it as Althea came running toward him.

“Stop it.” She rushed toward Brennus, waving her arms in the air to ward off the ravens. The moment she touched one it hurtled up to join what rapidly grew into a seething cloud of darkness. “What are these things?” She lifted her gaze and went still. “Oh, no.”

Brennus eyed the huge raven shape, which began descending toward them. “My thanks, lass, but you must go. Quickly now.”

Instead of obeying, Althea put herself between him and the battle spirit.

“Leave him alone,” she told the enormous raven as it hovered before her. “That goes for me too. I don’t know what you are, but that’s like everything here, so fine. Go beat the crap out of someone else. I suggest you start with those crack-faced mutant things that dragged me back to this godforsaken time.”

The huge raven surged forward and, though she flinched, it perched on her shoulder. She didn’t move. “Or you could just not beat anyone. How’s that sound?”

The manifestation of his battle spirit spread its wings wide, and then curled them around Althea, who gasped. A moment later the raven dissolved into smoke, and Brennus caught her before she hit the floor.

“I’m okay.” She extracted herself from his arms. “Don’t tell me what that was, please. Just don’t.” She frowned and lifted her hands to inspect them. “Wait a minute. This is weird.”

Brennus saw the dried blood on her hands but no wounds. “You’re hurt.”

“I was hurt. Climbing out of your oubliette gave me a bad case of rope burn.” Althea rubbed her palms together. “They’re gone.” She reached down to pull away the bandage on her thigh. “My legs are healed, and I think my back is too.” She moved her shoulders as if uncomfortable. “This shirt is a bit heavy, is all.”

Brennus reached out to touch the black crystal. Battle spirits held sway over the flesh of those Pritani they chose, but he’d never heard of one healing druid kind. He’d asked for guidance, and it had been clearly given. The raven had chosen to help Althea. So, too, would he.

“My thanks,” Brennus said to the stone before turning to her. “Forgive me, my lady. I shouldnae have denied you. I’ll take you to the great hall, where you may speak to my clan about the others, where you were kept, and anything you ken about your captors and their camp. Then we shall plan how to free those still held.”

“Finally,” she exhaled. “Thank you.” She turned to go, but stopped and glanced back at him. “You cut your hair.”