long. And a good thing. The way the
Picts swung their clubs they might just happen to knock a few holes in
the hull. Gaar breathed easier when the last of them went down.

"Now," he said. "Maybe we can talk some sense to them."

Vornung had taught him as much as he could recall of the language of
the Picts. With a silent prayer that Vornung's memory had been good in
at least this one respect, Gaar hauled a swarthy, bowlegged fellow to
his feet.

"Look here. Can you understand me?"

Then the sun came up and the Pict got a look at the man who held him.

"I understand you." His words came through chattering teeth.

"Good. Don't be afraid. We mean no harm."

So Vornung hadn't been completely wrong. Gaar talked, keeping his eyes
glued on the man before him. The fellow knew what he was talking
about. Mention of the girl who slept brought a secret gleam to his
eye. What about all the others? What about the priests?

"_The Druids._" It was a whisper.

"Is that how they are called? How far to this land?"

Gaar saw there wasn't going to be any answer to that. The Pict was
scared. He was shaking his head. Some of his friends were coming
around and they'd heard too. They were all turning pale around the
gills.

"Tell him we'll hold his head under water until he speaks up," Asgar
suggested.

Gaar hesitated. Fighting was one thing, torture another. It was all
right to cut a man to pieces as long as he had a chance to do the same
to you.

Maybe threats would do the trick. He told the Pict what Asgar had
suggested and the man licked his lips. The rest of the Picts were in a
panic, babbling among themselves.

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 h