AT DAWN AFTER a long night’s ride across the highlands, Hendry reined in his horse and gazed down at the druid settlement. Mounds of earth erupted on either side of him as the caraidean rose from their tunnels. They shook off the dirt clinging to their body wards as they gathered around him. Aon came forward, and breathed in the air.

“’Tis the stench of the Dawn Fire,” he said.

As always, mortals could be depended on to betray their betters, Hendry thought as he dismounted and tethered his horse. “My friends, this day we take justice for what was visited upon us. We punish those who sought in vain to thwart us. At long last, we triumph.” He gestured at the settlement. “Kill everything that moves, but bring Flen to me alive.”

Aon barreled toward the druid’s cottages, and the giants hurtled down the slopes after him. Hendry moved to a higher spot in order to watch. Maintaining a distance during the first wave of slaughtering allowed him to keep his robes clean, and he took great pleasure in seeing the caraidean at their work. Later, he would describe every moment to Murdina while he pleasured her. His recounts always made her climax until she wept.

Minutes passed, and while the giants smashed their way into the cottages, none emerged with helpless, writhing victims to tear asunder. Hendry strode down to the center of the settlement, where by now there should have been a pile of druid carcasses. Not a single body had been brought out for him to admire. Aon came to him, his eyes glittering with unreleased rage as he hurled an empty cooking pot into the dead ashes of the ritual pit fire.

“Gone.”

“All?” When he nodded Hendry cast a seeking spell, which returned to him with nothing. “It cannae be. The mortal swore that he delivered doves to them no’ threeday past.” This new betrayal made him clench his fists. “We shouldnae have killed him so quickly.”

“Cold hearths, empty rooms, larders empty. The Dawn Fire have fled.” The giant shouted for Dha, who stumbled over to them. “Tell the others to smash their things. Leave naught sound.” To Hendry he said, “Flen heard we ended his old friend. He didnae trust in his silence.”

“How sad he shall be when I tell him that Gwyn Embry bit through his tongue in order to hold it.” He looked around them, furious that his wily old enemy had eluded them again. “Aon, we must find them. We cannae begin to remake the world as long as the Dawn Fire breathe. As long as that old bastart might interfere.”

The giant shrugged. “Use the female.”

“I cannae risk her.” A throbbing set in at his temple, as always when he thought of her. “She must remain protected.”

“Aon.” Tri jittered in front of him, his damaged face filled with confusion. “No druid or beast. Naught to kill. What do now?”

“Find pretty,” Aon said. “Make ugly.” Once Tri scurried off the giant glanced at Hendry. “You dinnae like Tri.”

“’Tis no’ a matter of liking but needing. We shouldnae bring him with us,” Hendry said, as kindly as he could. “He becomes muddled and distressed.”

“Tri doesnae much understand human words. They split his mind when they put him in the henge.” He watched the other giant rooting through a flower bed. “Still he remains loyal to me. Like your lady, Wood Dream.”

“Aye.” The reminder made Hendry’s anger roil higher. He could not return to the encampment with nothing to show for their journey. Murdina would be livid. Nor could he go without feeding his own rage fire a sacrifice. “Show me Flen’s hovel, please. I want to search it.”

“Aon,” Tri called to him, sounding excited. “Come see pretty. Come see make ugly.”

Coig kicked over a pear tree in front of the house Aon identified as Flen’s, and prepared to ram it through the front entry.

“No’ this one,” Aon said. “Go help Tri.”

“Aye, please.” Hendry glanced over at the damaged giant, who had dragged a basin out into the sunlight. Orange light fountained up at once, spilling over itself back into the basin. “And take that away from him. ’Tis a torch fount.”

Just as the words left his lips Tri thrust his hand into the light, which changed to flame on contact and raced up his arm. Shrieking, the now-flaming giant ran around waving his arms and showering the cottages with fiery embers. Thatching caught light and began to burn. Coig hefted the pear tree under his arm and trudged after him.

“By the gods, so he can be useful.” Hendry picked up a bruised pear and entered the cottage.

Inside the air reeked of calming herbs and benevolent spells. The old druid had lived there so long he’d tainted every object and furnishing with his personal stink. Hendry breathed it in deeply, feeding that much of Flen to the grinding, tireless furnace in his chest. When he checked the spell chamber he found only bare shelves where there should have been a treasure-trove of crystals and talismans. The cabinets, trunks and baskets in the adjoining bed chamber stood open and empty.

Aon ducked his head to look in at him. “’Tis a message left for you in the cooking room.”

Sweat beaded on his brow as he came out of the room. Hendry had been careful to ward the encampment and the caraidean against far-seeing, convinced that would blind any attempt to find them or learn of their movements. Had Bhaltair somehow guessed they would be coming for him, even before the mortal told them of the settlement? Had he set a spell trap to imprison them for all eternity here?

In the kitchen, flour had been spilled all over the table, providing the canvas for the message. It had been written in a script so ancient only he or one of the giants could have deciphered it.

Too late.

Hendry’s hands balled into fists and his jaw tightened.

A heavy hand clamped on his shoulder before Aon left.

The druid stood beside the table, unable to look away from the taunt Flen had left behind for him. Pride, the one weakness the old meddler had never overcome, must have spurred him to write it. To gloat from a safe distance over the triumph he now anticipated.

Through clenched teeth Hendry said, “I am no’ yet defeated, old man.”

With quaking hands, he scraped and shoved the flour into a rough mound. Though he’d been imprisoned without his focal stones or crystals, his spellwork was the match of none. Shutting his eyes tight he summoned the most powerful of viewing spells. He muttered the words, over and over, his voice growing louder with each incantation. Though the veins in his temples throbbed and his heart pounded in his ears, he said it again, and then again. Slowly he opened his eyes to a swirling ball of crimson sparkles that hovered over the table. With a mighty breath, he blew the flour into it.

Though some of the flour hissed and popped out of existence, enough remained swirling in the viewing ball. As Hendry watched, two indistinct forms coalesced. The short one he didn’t know, but the other he knew too well.

“Flen,” he muttered.

“Master,” said the short one. Hendry bent forward to hear the dim voice. “Should we no’ be making haste?”

Hendry watched as the old druid spread the flour on the table.

“The Skaraven serve us again,” he assured her in his aged voice. “We’ve some time yet.”

“But–”

“Calm yourself, child,” he said, regarding her. “Soon our allies ’twill go to them by water. With the aid of the druidess who possesses the touch of ice, victory ’twill be ours.” He stood back to survey the table and put a gnarled finger to his chin. Then he crooked up a corner of his mouth. “I have it.”

As he reached to the flour, the vision suddenly ended and the globe of sparkles winked out. The flour it had suspended drifted back to the table in long tendrils as Hendry stumbled back and sat down hard on a stool. Breathing deeply, he put a hand to his chest.

“Gods,” he gasped. “The conclave has gone mad.”

To be brought back to life he knew the warrior-slaves would have been made immortals. Such a precious gift would render them almost impossible to kill. In the first century the clan had been menacing. Now as enemies they would rival the giants—no doubt exactly what Flen had intended. He had personally overseen the training of the Skaraven, and likely had tamed them with obedience spells and controlling wards as soon as he woke them from their graves.

That the warrior and the escaped female had disappeared into the lochan now made more sense. Flen must have used the Dawn Fire’s magic to give the clan the ability to somehow use rivers and lochs as portals. Such would permit them to move in water as the giants did through the earth.

Hendry felt a plop of wetness fall on his hand and looked down to watch another join it. He touched the streaks on his face, and thought of Murdina pacing in the farmhouse, awaiting his return with Flen. He’d promised her that the old fool would die by her hand. He’d hoped that a long and satisfying bloodletting would help restore her to sanity.

Now Flen’s escape might push her over into the abyss.

But at least his vision spell had salvaged a sliver of hope. He glanced at the table and permitted himself a smirk. Yes, pride had been the old man’s weakness. Some things didn’t change.

The scent of burning pine made Hendry stand as flames erupted from beneath the old druid’s table. It crawled through the flour, blackening it and the hateful message. He swept his hand to one side, and the table fell over to let loose the fire on the worn floor planks.

The Gods had not released them to return to their deaths, Hendry thought calmly as he left the burning kitchen. He took a bite of the browned pear and savored the taste of its overripe flesh. Such a pity the giants did not eat. When he took Flen from whatever hole he had crawled into, he might have fed him to them, one chunk of flesh at a time.

Hendry emerged from the cottage to see the rest of the settlement now merrily burning. Aon stood with the other giants on its outskirts. They watched as Coig used an axe to chop the pear tree into a new form for Tri. Beside it his blackened remains streamed white smoke into the air.

No more shall we suffer. No more shall we submit. ’Tis time for the reckoning.

Hendry closed his eyes as his power burst out of him, and Flen’s cottage exploded, hurling burning debris in all directions.