Gaar understood enough of what they were saying. They were pointing at the sun. What the devil? Was this going to turn into one of those things? Were the Druids some sort of gods who lived in the sun? No, that wasn't it either. The Druids were real enough. But they had some power that came from the sun, that could turn a man to cinders. To speak too much about them would mean death. "No more certain a death than awaits you if you don't talk," Gaar said. He narrowed his eyes, made them as cruel as he could. He drew the sword from his scabbard, ran his finger along the edge. The blood was hammering at his temples. That dream wasn't so crazy now. He could see her as though she were before him. Black hair hung about alabaster shoulders. Lips as red as ripe berries, lips that had waited a thousand years for his kiss. "Wait," Gaar whispered. "Not much longer now." His sword glinted in the sunlight, hovered at the man's throat. "I will tell you all I know," the Pict said. * * * * * The inlet was a perfect hiding place for the ship. There were enough branches about to screen it from distant eyes. And yet Gaar had the feeling that they were being watched. He swung around suddenly. Nothing to be seen except the gently waving branches. A harmless scene, the dancing waters of the inlet and the serenity of the woods, and yet terror lurked there. Considering the fact that their knowledge was only from hearsay, the Picts had directed him well. Down the coast of this great island, they had said, and then through a long channel. And then you sailed around the southern end and to the westward. There was a smaller island and a smaller channel. And now it would be overland travel. Not far, the Picts had said, and they had wondered at these men who had the daring to sail through strange waters to certain death. There was a plain rising from the coast. Somewhere on that plain Gaar would find what he sought. "I have a feeling," Asgar muttered. He was as blond as the rest, but a foot shorter than Gaar and with a chest that threatened to burst through his breastplate. "So have I," Gaar admitted. "In my bones." And out of the plain to the north came a scent like an opened grave. They walked through the forest with their hands on their swords, these men of the North. A long twilight here, a twilight that brought shadows that could deceive a man. A strange land this, where Spring came early and where the air was soft. Swords were worthless here, the Picts had said. A man's strength meant nothing. A voice whispered to Gaar's mind that the Picts were right. But there was another voice, a voice that had grown stronger night by night as he sailed southward. This was a voice that came from long dead lips, but lips that retained their freshness. "I hear something," Asgar whispered. "I hear something inside my head."