Moriath could not have known, for no matter the gains to be had, the witch would not have sanctioned a betrothal between Ceridwen and her mother's murderer.

He lifted his head to look at Ceridwen. She was still entranced, still working her magic upon the gate.

Christ, Ceraunnos save me. He'd thought he'd lost her.

Ceridwen knew of Dain's pain, had felt it as it had washed through the weir. She had heard his cry and could feel his tears as if they ran down her own cheeks. He was a part of her, as was the gate and the creatures and the place beyond. She had put her hand upon the emerald surface again and felt not heat, but oneness. The warmth of the whole had lain up against her like the softest coverlet, molding itself to her, to every part of her body, and through its touch, expanding her existence beyond the boundaries of her skin. Then she'd brought the whole of it inside herself.

Her lips were curved by their own accord in a smile. Pure light radiated from the center of her being, the bright core pulsing. The Mother Goddess heart.

Rhuddlan removed his hand from Dain's shoulder, knowing there was no more to be done. Nemeton's and Rhiannon's deaths had initiated the weir's existence. The vision that relived those moments had been the key to unlocking the ether's hold-that fateful wash of life's blood brought forth by Lavrans's gift.

And Ceridwen had proven him somewhat wrong. She was quite capable of bringing about and containing the gate's destruction. The dismantling had already begun, with one opening where Dain's hand had been and another where the gate symbol had burned hot in the maid's palm.

He shifted his gaze to Ceridwen, and for her sake was grateful she was no more than she was, surefooted in the mists, a good tracker, and, in the end, strong enough to yield herself to the heart of the Mother Goddess. Without the gift of deep sight, though, she would be useless in the gateway of time; yet the lack had spared her from seeing her mother die. He wished another could have been spared.

He did not need to see Moriath's tears to know she was crying. That one always saw too much. She was her father's daughter and would have claimed a place as Magus Druid Priestess at the scrying pool, except for Rhuddlan himself denying her. She had been bound to him as the Beltaine goddess in her seventeenth year, and he would not see her bound to another for any reason, with or without the magic of sex. She was a weakness he would not renounce, and in the end, his patience would outlast her stubbornness.

For certes she'd saved the mage. Lavrans suffered from a strange malady beyond Rhuddlan's experience, but Moriath had recognized it and known enough to intervene.

A fresh wash of opalescence cascaded through the weir gate, causing it to lighten and thin, and he felt a familiar restlessness begin deep in the earth. Rhuddlan smiled. 'Twouldn't be long now. Dain reached for Ceridwen as the first tremor hit, pulling her close and bracing himself against the stone surrounding the gate. Her eyes opened with a slow sweep of lashes, and though the ground shook beneath their feet, she appeared profoundly calm.

"It's time to leave," he said, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. He felt sick, shaken, but was still of a piece. The gate was ripping in places, starting to shred and tear, and the holes they'd made were growing larger. Their work was done. He made to turn back to the mists and was stopped by her hand taking hold of his.

"Wait," she said. "I would see."

He had no time to ask her what it was she would see, for they came then, up from out of the abyss with furious speed, streaking across the other side of the weir as dark shadows, making the earth tremble in their wake.

Pryf.

Larger than he had thought.

Much larger.

The size of castle towers, but alive, serpentine worms of the highest order.

Their keening cry resounded against the back of the weir, and where the seal was broken, a hot, gushing wind poured through, smelling of rich earth. The first worm rolled into a turn behind the gate, its body sliding across the emerald surface, twisting in a tight curve and heading back down into the bore hole.

The second worm was bigger, its sheer bulk causing a collision with the weir. The force of the crash knocked both him and Ceridwen over as the ground lurched underneath them. The seal bulged out with a stretching, tearing sound, nearly touching Ceridwen where she'd fallen.

The thing would not hold under another onslaught, yet another would come, for through the gaping emerald holes, he could see tens and hundreds of the giant creatures, their bodies slickly black with a deep green cast, a clew ofpryf-prifarym, the Quicken-tree had sung-twisting and spiraling up and down the whole interminable length of the abyss.Born of the froth of a thousand serpents tangled in a frenzy beneath the stones of Domh-ringr.

The Doom Rings of Judgment. Dain looked at the rim of rock encircling the weir and again into the worm-hole, to the chaos at its core, and knew he dared not be judged here.

A bolt of purple light crackled in the center of the clew, and a singlepryfbroke free to make its run.

"Now, Ceri!" he yelled above the growing rush of wind and cries, tightening his hold on her. "We must leave now!"

Aye, he was right, she thought. Theprifarymwould break through soon, some to slide into the deep caves of the Canolbarth, others-the pale, silvery-gold ones farther down than she would ever see-to continue their swirling patrol of the abyss...infinite chasm from whence came the world.

And a few, like the one heading straight for them, the undulations of its young body propelling it up the shaft, to make their way out to the open sea. Dain swore, scrambling to his feet and dragging her up with him. She cast one last glance at the giant creature closing in on the weir-its featureless face into the wind, the single-mindedness of its purpose like a shield before it-then with a sweep of her arm, she parted the mists and turned into the opening with Dain at her side, bringing them both back to the cavern of the scrying pool.

Moriath was there, reaching for her as the steamy clouds sank back into the pool.

"You have done well, little one," the older woman whispered, and gave her a serenely pleased smile.

Rhuddlan echoed the sentiment with his cool, gray gaze and a slight nod that implied both gratitude and dismissal.

Exhausted-and aye, she could feel Dain trembling at her side-they were taken to a part of the cave far from the pool and made to rest on soft piles of rugs, where Aedyth and Moira tended to them and brought them honeymead and seedcakes to refresh their spirits and bodies.

Chapter 27.

Caradoc stormed into Balor's keep, the pain in his leg and his limping gait adding to his rage. His captain, Dyfn, flanked him on his left, keeping a goodly distance between himself and his master's sword, but by the gods, even at a distance, Caradoc could cut him down before the man could dodge. The only thing that stayed his hand was the battle they faced.

The first sortie had been lost. The pit guards had been found dead, one of them with his throat cut and two others pin-stuck with black-feathered arrows. Dyfn had taken thirty men into the boar's maze to rout Dain and his companions, but all they'd found was Old Groaner with his head cut off and tracks heading into a wall of rubble. 'Twas beyond the rubble that the true depth of their dilemma had become clear. The friggin' caves, deserted for all these years, were overrun by an army the likes of which Caradoc had not seen since he'd fought by his father's side for Carn Merioneth, an invisible army made up of men hiding in the dark, their presence marked by flashes of cold steel and strange blue light. "The wild ones," his father had called them, and as they'd been defeated before, Caradoc swore he would defeat them again.

He stepped up onto the dais at the end of the hall, then reached down with both hands to lift his injured leg. The little bitch had nearly castrated him with her bolt, and for that she would pay.

"Bring me the hairless leech," he gritted from between his teeth, limping to his great chair. Dain Lavrans had chosen his side badly in this fight. Years ago, Gwrnach had allowed the survivors of the battle for Merioneth to escape. Caradoc was not so softhearted as his father. He would lead the full force of Balor into the caves and crush every living soul who dared to trespass beneath his keep-except for one, Ceridwen ab Arawn. He would kill her separately, with Helebore at his side to catch her blood.

With the ending of the ceremony, those of the Quicken-tree who could fight had gone into the tunnels oftheLightCaves with the Liosalfar to help man the defenses. Scouts had reported a marshaling of the forces in Balor after Rhuddlan's first rout, and another attack was expected.

For himself, Dain had decided to make for the surface. He'd gotten what he'd come for; Rhuddlan could fight his own battles.

"Moira is sending over seedcakes for our journey," Ceridwen said, coming up beside him where he knelt by their supply packs. The dogs were with her and began sniffing around, seeing what was what. "And two thick rugs for our pallet, a pot ofrasca, four gourds of something she called catkin dew-though it's hard to imagine collecting dew off catkins-and seven ells, a small fortune, in Quicken-tree cloth. She said Rhuddlan got far more than his hour of magic."

" 'Tis true," he said, tying down a strap with a quick jerk. He could not be gone soon enough. Unlike the Quicken-tree, who were contentedly overjoyed at the prospect of winning back Carn Merioneth in mortal combat, he had no desire to fight again. Lady Rhiannon deserved avenging; he felt that need down to his core. But just as surely as he felt it, he knew another would come to do the deed. A remnant of the weir sight, mayhaps, or his own gift, it did not matter. Caradoc's death was not to be his.

And the worms. Thepryf. Was he the only one concerned that the creatures were free and making their way into the Canolbarth and could soon be at the great cavern itself? Rhuddlan had assured him that 'twas not the season for thepryfto rise above the midland caves, but given the speed Dain had seen, he feared thepryfwould rise whether the season be right or nay.

The Quicken-tree leader had promised them a guide, a Liosalfar well versed in the ways of worms and skilled in their handling. Dain had scoffed. The creatures he'd seen were far too large to be handled by even a skilled man. They made elephants look no more than rats, and he'd thought to never see anything bigger than an elephant, not on land.

"And Moriath gives you these," Ceridwen said, holding out a pair of leather pouches.

He glanced at them before continuing with the packing of their supplies.

"Don't you want them?"

"No." God only knew what was inside.

"But you don't even know what they are."

His point exactly. The witch had seen him on his knees, the worst of his needs stripped bare. He wanted no gift from her.

"This one is from Edmee." The larger of the two pouches dangled into his line of sight, extended from Ceri's fingers.

His hands stilled in mid-tie, and his gaze lifted to her face.

She was looking down at him with a challenging tilt to her head, her brows arched in curiosity. He had not forgotten that she'd seen Edmee on her knees, with her sweet needs bared. Nor, it seemed, had she forgotten.

He rose to his feet and took the pouch. He did not hesitate in opening it, but shook the contents directlyinto his hand. There were six linen packets, each one small though not all the same size, and each one embroidered with fine green thread worked into the leaves of a plant: valerian, chamomile, dill, hawthorn, balm, mistletoe.

A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She's a practical girl."

"A pharmacopoeia?"

"A receipt for headaches. We had talked of adding hawthorn and balm to the infusion. The mistletoe is her own touch. She must fear that you are going to be hard on me." He glanced at Ceridwen. "A bit of prescience, mayhaps?"

"She but cares for you"-Ceridwen's brows arched a fraction higher-"in her own way."

"In her own way," he agreed, his grin broadening, "though not as much as it may have appeared."

"It appeared to be a substantial amount."

He could not argue the point. Neither was the time right for explaining it, though he tried.

"When Edmee chooses to love, she will give of herself far more completely than she ever gave to me, Ceri."

"Then I wish her love," she said, her smile growing mischievous as she offered him the other pouch. "This is Moriath's gift. Dare you open it?"

Moriath. Madron. She had saved his life. He had watched her father die.

"You," he said, coward that he was. He nodded at the pouch she held, while he repacked Edmee's herbals.

She did as he asked, loosening the drawstring and pouring what was inside out into her hand. "It's a rock," she said, nonplussed.

A rock? He looked over at the small stone in her palm and felt his heartbeat quicken. No mere rock, this. 'Twas red, as all the writings had said the Philosopher's Stone would be, but not the red of cinnabar.

Its color was clearer, yet 'twas no crystal like ruby or garnet. There was a transparency to it, though, for below the surface he could see crackling striations of a deep saffron color.

"Or glass," she said upon closer inspection. "Mayhaps it's another charm like Brochan's."

"No Ceri. 'Tis Nemeton's Stone." The bard had known the secret. Dain reached for the long-sought magisterium medicine, worker of wonders, healer of souls, and took it in his hand. No bolt of lightning struck him down, no sudden realization came to him. 'Twas not heavy nor light, not hot nor cold, but moderation itself. Yet he knew the gift for what it was.

He looked up, searching the cavern for Moriath and finding her by the pool speaking with Aedyth. She turned when his gaze fell upon her, and for an instant they were back at the weir gate, with her eyes shining green and fierce, full of power and knowledge beyond his ken, her hair flaming in auburn tendrils about her face. 'Twas what had saved him, her fierceness, and with the look she took due credit for his life. Pretty thing, she thought, and he heard. She lowered her gaze to the Stone in his hand, then looked back up at him.Use it as you may, or use it nay, mage. It matters not.

He closed his fingers around the Stone, holding it dear, and a smile crossed her mouth. With that, she turned away.

Quicken-tree and Ebiurrane laughed nearby, their lilting voices sounding like clear water tumbling over rocks and down hillsides.

"Elves," Ceridwen said, looking to where the fair, wild folk sat around their fire, sharpening their daggers and filling their quivers.

"Aye. Elves." But not Moriath. His glance strayed back to the witch. She was as human as he, mayhaps more so.

He and Ceri had just finished capping their last water gourd when a commotion from above drew their attention and sent a hush rippling through the cavern. Dain's first thought was thatpryfhad been sighted, and he made to grab Ceri and run-he would not face those beasts unleashed, Quicken-tree or no Quicken-tree-but Wasn't a cryof pryfthat echoed off the cave walls. 'Twas a cry of Balor.

He swore. The Quicken-tree line had not held. Those who had been in the Light Caves came pouring out of the upper tunnels. Dain drew his sword and told Ceridwen to ready her Damascene.

"Cut quick-"

"And deep," she finished for him.

"And stay here," he ordered, then looked to the hounds and gestured for them to do the same.

The Quicken-tree were taking up arms and rushing to their comrades' aid, some to archers' positions high up on the walls. Dain knew his height and weight would better serve on the floor of the cavern. The foreign elves were not as tall as Rhuddlan's Quicken-tree, and the Deri elves had not his weight. Morgan and his band had realized the same, for even the youngest, Rhys, was bigger than the wild ones. The Welshmen fanned out, adding their strength all along the line.

Hand-to-hand combat resounded throughout the great cave, the clash and scrape of metal mixing with the cries of men. With the influx of fresh fighters, the Quicken-tree rallied long enough to halt Balor's crushing advance.

"To the Canolbarth! To the Canolbarth!" The command went out, and Dain immediately understood.

Within the dark, winding shafts, the advantage of Balor's numbers could be overcome.

He finished his last Balor guard with a quick cut above the man's hauberk and raced back to Ceridwen.

Rhuddlan was with her, giving orders. "Go with Llynya. If she can get you out to the mountains, she will.

If not, she will fight by your side."

It would be fight, Dain thought, wiping the sweat from his face.

"What of the Liosalfar guide?" he asked. "The Liosalfar are soldiers first. I need every one to fight in the Canolbarth, enough to lure Caradoc into the maze, and enough to trap him from behind."

A good plan for the Quicken-tree, Dain thought; mayhaps not so good for him and Ceri. He looked at the sprite making her way toward them through the confusion of the retreat. Morgan was at her side. The Welsh prince was always an asset in battle, but Llynya was no Liosalfar, and Dain doubted if she knew a damned thing about handlingpryf.

"Where is she, leech?" Caradoc demanded, holding Helebore by his throat next to a bubbling, steaming pool in the torchlit cavern they had won. Throbbing pains shot from his wounded thigh up into his groin even as a fresh stream of blood ran down. The whole lot of the enemy had bolted into the tunnels honeycombing the far end of the cave like rats down a hole. But which one held Ceridwen ab Arawn?

The leech gurgled a reply, scratching at the Boar's ever-tightening hands.

Caradoc released him with a curse and a command. "Speak up, man."

"The middle caves," Helebore rasped. "I have been there, and if you had but let me have her blood, I could find her."

"And without her blood, you cannot?" When next he had the chit, he'd gut her himself to get her blood.

"Aye. I can."

"Then show me the way." He turned to his captain. "I'll take eight men down the hole of the leech's choosing. Take the rest into the other shafts and fight to the end of it. Slaughter all of those who dared to trespass in my domain."

Dyfn nodded and lifted his sword for Balor's men to follow.