Nothing moved but the feeding birds.

/ am not mad. They are there.

Malgon'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 kilted 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 womanish prettiness. And something else.

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

"Nae, Padrec!" Malgon faced the youth, whose whole being was focused not on them but on the watch-

ing riders. In the silence he grated a name.

"Belrixr

"Reindeer!" Padrec jumped from the saddle 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."

The unnatural cold went deeper into Padrec's senses. No man of Reindeer, no slaughter of men, no scavenger birds disturbed the summer heath. Wind stirred the moor grass with its fresh promise of rain, nothing else. The hilltop beyond was bare. Padrec shook his head to clear it. "No woman but man."

"Was Bruidda, Padrec."

"Thee's daft, I saw him."

"Was Bruidda."

"Nae, did speak."

"Speak?"

Padrec considered a moment. ' 'A kind of name. Bel-rix."

Malgon seemed more frightened by the portent than the vision itself, the naked fear in his eyes fueling Padrec's own.

/ am gone from God now, and hell knows it. These visions are of that place. Different or no, we both saw them.

His hands trembled as he gathered his reins.

Malgon roused himself, vaulted his horse from a dead run, and lashed it toward Cnoch-nan-ainneal.

From the edge of the stone circle, Padrec could see the Venicone stockade in the distance.

"Was here Dorelei and Cru found me when Vaco

broke my legs and I believed in no magic but God's."

"Were ravens then, too," Malgon reflected. ''And now a come again in dreams."

The first drops of rain spattered them. They led the tired horses toward the rath and byre. Both were obviously deserted. Prydn would have shown themselves to their own kind long before this. They rubbed down the horses with moss and then ventured into the disused rath.

Disturbing: from the signs scratched on the hearth stones, a clear record of habitation could be read for many seasons past. Newest of all was the curved line of Marten fhain, some of whom must have lingered at least part of the summer. Padrec had to interpret for himself, bemused Malgon only nodding absently at this or that observation.

"Rath poles be good, skins whole."

That added to the mystery, as did the iron cooking utensils abandoned. No fhain left good skins, which were considerable work to obtain and used until they wore out. Marten had gone in haste.

Padrec made a small fire and boiled some tea from their provisions. They shared a supper of bread and cheese, listening to the sound of the rain. Malgon stared into the fire, silent. Finally he spoke, not in Prydn but the army-learned jumble of Cumbric and camp Latin. "Padrec, what is it that I am called in your tongue? Have no word for it. He who speaks in pictures?"