He could only be a man and hold the open wound of Padrec close to him. "Sochet," he murmured, "I can't presume to speak for Christ, but I know something of the men who give Him their lives. No wonder you admired Augustine; in that much you are still like him, a blunt fist, a battler. You've not left God. You couldn't. He'd have to draw you like an aching tooth, roots and all."

"Come, Padrec," Malgon said, haii turned to go in the doorway.

"Aye, Mal. Farewell, your grace."

"Will you not wait at least a little?"

"There's my family. I must find them." Padrec turned absently and genuflected to the Chi-Rho. Meganius smiled.

"You stil! have at least the habit of God. That will have to do for now. Some men never have any more than that. I suppose you should know; Germanus has nomi- nated you bishop to the Contani. Something of an honor, I suppose. He was your mentor once."

Padre(..said something in Prydn to Malgon; their laugh- ter was a snarl. "Shall I suggest what Germanus do with his biscopric?"

"Good Lord, no."

298 "I don't think I could quite find the right words. On the other hand, perhaps I could."

"I'll convey your regrets."

"Thanks. Are the horses ready, Mal? Farewell, Cai."

"God's blessing on you. And will I see His toothache

3".

again.'1

"I don't know." He gave the bishop a lopsided grin.

"Hast nae heard? Holy war be over." Padrec didn't kiss the ring, merely embraced his friend-"But 1 will miss Cai meqq Owain"-and tollowed after Malgon.

They had two fine army horses; swords and shields, and a bow and army arrows for Malgon. That Meganius knew where to procure them quickly was a measure of his awareness. That Ambrosius personally supplied them at no cost commented, perhaps, on a peripheral sense of guilt. The bishop sent a formal note of gratitude.

There were no prayers on the road. Malgon did not ask them, Padrec didn't offer. They followed the army road north to the Wall fort at Camboglanna.

"Brigantes call it Camlann," Padrec waved ahead across the undulating moor. Maigon knew it, a British village cut from Britain when the Wall veered south of it. Deserted now, used as a casual resting place by traders and hunters.

To the east, tucked among the hills, was Vaco's stockade and Cnoch-nan-ainneal.

Some time after crossing the Wall, the fort well be- hind them, Malgon drew up, alert. It seemed odd to Padrec: the horses would have sensed any real danger first, but they were oblivious.

"What is it, Malgon?"

Malgon listened for a space. He studied the milky sky and then the hilts ahead. "Ravens."

Padrec saw nothing. "Where?"

Malgon's visage contorted with the mystery. Padrec sensed a sudden distance between himsetf and his fhain brother. Malgon's eyes were clouded with something when they moved on. Padrec read nothing in the sky but com- ing rain, probably before night. They skirted south of Vaco's stockade, then northeast toward Cnoch-nan-ainneal to spend the night in a known crannog. The few shep-

299.

herds they glimpsed were tallfolk, and none of their own long-haired sheep. Malgon's tension began to infect Padrec, licking about the edge of his senses. They walked their horses slowly across the level heath toward the hill of the stone circle. Suddenly Malgon threw his leg over and dropped to the ground to pause with the feraT stillness of his kind. He handed his reins to Padrec and walked for- ward, searching the ground.

As Padrec watched him, he was also aware of pro- found silence. There'd been an east wind before. Nothing now. The world had gone mute, leaving them in the wash of eerie quiet. The grass and flowers about them might have been painted by an uninspired artist unable to con- vey even the suggestion of life.

"Padrec, save us!"

"Mal. . . ?"

The horror was already bright in Malgon's eyes. He raised his hands to the sky and down to cover his face in the death sign, sinking to his knees, and Padrec went cold to the bone as the sky darkened rapidly, far too rapidly for any natural element, from milk to gray.

Malgon moaned and covered his head, rolling into a small defensive ball on the ground. Padrec felt his skin crawl in the charged, unhealthy hush.

No, not hushed. Shadows that were not of clouds rushed over the ground-faint at first, then louder and nearer, a sound grown too familiar in places like Churnet.

Fighting men. The air sang with the whine of arrows- The whine deepened to a roar topped with terrified voices, the scream of a dying horse, all battering against Padrec's ears. Even as the darkness grew, the tumbling shadows were darker still, racing over and around them, the shapes of men-running, stricken, falling, panicked horses. Padrec covered his ears against it, squeezed his eyes shut against the shadows.

// is not real. Or 1 am stone mad.

For the ravens were there on the ground, more swoop- ing from the sky. Stretching away around Padrec and Malgon, the heath was littered with arrow-shot knights, each with a blazoned shield askew on a dead arm or lying near. Queer armor covered the bodies: not leather or

300 scales but flexible coats of minute metal rings looped and sewn together.

Nothing moved but the feeding birds.

/ am not mad. They are there.

Maigon's dark head lifted to the top of a low hill just beyond them. Against the skyline three riders looked down on the slaughter.

Malgon got up carefully. "Stay, Padrec."

The two of them seemed ghostly intruders on the reality of the carnage, the watchers on the hill, and the gorging ravens. Padrec found he'd stopped breathing.

Then a slight movement to one side . . .

The young Prydn stood in the middle of the bodies, his gaze Fixed on the three men watching from the hill. A handsome youth, his body rose from kitted waist to naked, scarred shoulders in proportion that might have been sculpted by a Greek. Only the face marred it somehow;

not a male handsomeness but subtler, a deceptive, woman- ish prettiness. And something else.

Whatever sorcery gripped this place, Padrec knew the marks of Reindeer fham. "Mat, it's Reindeer. Yah!"

"Nae, Padrec!" Malgon faced the youth, whose whole being was focused not on them but on the watching riders.

In the silence he grated a name.

"Belnx."

"Reindeer!" Padrecjumped from the saddle and strode toward the man. "Be Salmon fhain."

The youth turned on Padrec, his smile malignant as the eerie light over them all. Padrec faltered, feeling as if he'd moved into a clammy room. The youth's beauty was that of a twisted angel nourished on hate. Then suddenly Malgon was between them, blocking Padrec's way.

"Be nae woman there, Padrec."

"Woman?"

"See."