Cru's eyes bored into Padrec. Dorelei's husband alone knew recklessness was no part of her decision. Whatever magic the priest might call up, his wife's desperation needed no name. They were both much older for this hard year. He'd seen the girl-fun dim in Dorelei, flashing only now and then under the cloak of her responsibility. She would not make a foolhardy show of power or risk their well-being. She was terrified when she went to pre-

pare and pray to Mother, trying to hide it even from him.

As the rain began, thin and sleety, Cru saw Dorelei walking her pony down the slope. She paced it slowly over the heath and halted a little way from fhain.

"Padrec! Tell thy god that Gern-y-fhain comes!"

Dorelei dismounted and let the pony's reins dangle, her shoulders straight as she moved to Cru. She spoke in a low murmur. "If this magic turns on me, thee was the finest man a woman could find."

"Nae, stay." Cru caught her in urgent arms, feeling her determination in the resistance. She would not be stayed. "Must do this?"

"To be free of Blackbar. Be worth the hazard." Her expression altered subtly. "In this magic, Padrec puts a's life beside mine." Her glance slid to the priest. "See a keeps that promise."

"If thee dies, think a will live? A will be barrowed at they feet. Thee was mine when did first follow Gaw-se's ponies. Dorelei, will thee for once bow to husband? Be time to stop this."

"Time to do't."

"Be mad, wife. Cannae fight Blackbar."

"Cru . . . stop. Oh, why not Neniane born first? Fhain thinks me to have all answers when would give anything just to bear wealth with thee." Dorelei stroked the loved plane of his cheek. "Did run all our lives from this, Cru. Be time to stop. If Mother takes me, Neniane will be gern with thy wisdom to help." Dorelei drew his mouth to hers in a lingering kiss. "Padrec waits. And dost rain on us."

Still Cru held her. "Do trust Padrec that much?"

"Nae so much as do trust Cru to do my bidding. Let me go, husband."

Reluctantly Cru freed Dorelei to do what she must. She walked away to face her people, standing between them and Padrec. Deliberately she removed the tore, undid her cloak, and laid them on the ground. She held out her bare arm. "Salmon fhain, Blackbar marked your

gern. Now see how thy gern answers it. Nae wasting spell upon Naiton, nae gort a bhaile to a's fields or flocks, but battle with Blackbar itself." Dorelei whipped her bronze knife from its sheath and held it out to Lugh Sun hidden behind clouds and pelting her with needles of freezing rain out of spite.

* k Do draw this knife in battle as Mabh did. Padrec, tell Blackbar that Gern-y-fhain comes against him."

To her confusion, Padrec only shook his head, coming to her with the iron arrow on its broken shaft. When he was at her side he hurled it to the ground.

"In nomine Patri et Fili et Spiritus Sanctus. I bless this water and this holy circle." Padrec swept his arm in a wide loop over the arrowhead. "I abjure and cast out any spirit sent by Taixali or by Satan in aid. Be gone. Come, let fhain aid in this. Do not fear, this ground is blessed. Cru, Drust, all of you. Make a circle, help thy gern."

With rising fear, they did as Padrec bade them. The freezing rain pelted them harder now, driven by a wind sprung up from nowhere.

4 'Look," Guenloie shivered as she and Neniane emerged from the folds of the cloak. "Mark how trees do bend to it."

'The circle is blessed, Guenloie," Padrec said again. "Wherever we gather in Jesu's name, there He is also. We begin the magic by giving the evil its rightful name. Call it up, Salmon fhain! Let it hide no more in the shadows of your own fear. In Jesu's name. Iron! Let Gern-y-fhain say it."

Dorelei swallowed hard and framed her lips to the fearful sound. "Ir-on."

"Let all have the courage of thy gern. Call the iron!"

"Ir-on. ..iron! IRON!"

About to speak again, Padrec saw the wide-eyed horror in Neniane, head turned to her sister and transfixed. Dorelei was rigid, staring into the distance, the wind whipping her hair in wet, black ropes from her shoulders.

"Dorelei?"

No, Padrec does not hear them, he can never hear them. They come. I feel their footsteps falling like those of giants over the heath. The rain all but shows them to me, rolling from their crooked backs. Iron spirit, Taixali evil, all together. I have woken them like hornets to sting me. la! Mother! Help me. . . .

The heavy footsteps thudded closer, their vibration shaking Dorelei to her soul. The very trees bent and brushed aside under the fury of their approach. Her fhain shifted nervously. Guenloie trembled. In a moment one, then another would run away. She must hold them.

"Be not afraid, my people," she said, wanting to run herself. "Padrec's magic enfolds us."

"None can prevail against that which Jesu has blessed," Padrec said. "Come, Dorelei. Let the rest of fhain remain safe in the circle."

Padrec led her to the water and stepped into it. The brook bottom slanted deeply from the bank, immersing him to the waist in four strides. "Come."

Shuddering as much from cold as fear, Dorelei waded into the water to reach his outstretched hand.

"Thee's the bravest woman I've ever seen. Any man would love thee."

"D-do nae hear them c-coming as I do?" She quavered through chattering teeth. "Do nae feel them about us, the ones without names?"

"Nae, they cannot harm you, Dorelei, daughter of Gawse, of the people of Mabh, do you accept Christ as your savior? Do you trust His magic to vanquish the iron?"

She tried to keep from shivering uncontrollably in the freezing water. "A-aye, Padrec."

"Christ said thee shall be reborn in Him. Newborn, will need a new name."

Dorelei's eyes were glazed with cold and fear; she felt the spirits pressing against the wall of magic, leaning over it, looking for one small weak point to batter through. "Quickly, Padrec. What name?"

His red hair and beard were wet-plastered against his head, but Padrec's eyes were kind and sure. "Be only one to fit thy courage, Dorelei. Come."

One arm about her waist, Padrec raised his voice to the people on the bank. "Salmon fhain, thee has a gern to sing of. The magic of Christ is only strength added to her own. Let all see."

Holding her small shoulders supported by his hand, Padrec bent Dorelei under the water, immersing her for an instant, then lifted her gasping from the waves. "In the name of God and His only begotten Son, I christen thee Dorelei Mabh. Amen."

He gave Dorelei no time to think about it but led her out of the water to her waiting people, catching up the discarded cloak and wrapping her in it. "Now let Gern-y-fhain take up the iron."

Shivering, miserable, she thought: / believe in him. Let iron do what it will. Cannot turn back now.

Dorelei bent to the iron and lifted it.

Nothing—no pain, no magic coursing its evil into her flesh as when Naiton laid it on her. She opened her hand. Only cold metal smeared with wet rust.

"See . . . see," she said giddily, thrusting it out to her folk. "Nae, see! Be dead!"

"Iron is beaten," Padrec said in a low, strong voice. "Iron can only be the servant of fhain now. Thy gern has accepted Christ, and her fhain is in His hand. Yah! Dorelei Mabh!"

"Yah!"

"Padrec, take me to the water," Drust beseeched. "Let me accept Christ as well."

"That can come later, my David." Padrec gripped his shoulder. "As Jesu crossed into death and returned from it for all men who believe, so Dorelei Mabh gives this gift to fhain. Pass the iron among you. Feel the truth of it."

Dorelei held the iron out to Cru, knowing what he fought and conquered in taking it.

"See! Feel!" Padrec shouted against the wind. "Has not fhain beaten it?"

The iron passed more quickly to Neniane, who peered at it in her unmarked hand. ' 'Be just.. . cold. Here, Art-cois, feel."

From Artcois to Bredei and through the ranks of fhain. Guenloie spat on it before passing it to Malgon. His artist's curiosity turned it this way and that to see how it was made before passing it to Drust, who held it high overhead, exultant.

"Yah! Lugh Sun! See! Do love thee but will nae be ruled."

"Nae more!"

"Iron!" Drust sang out. "Iron!"

"Iron be servant now."

Padrec stood aside as they began to circle the iron where Drust hurled it into the mud. Iron ... iron ... the defiant chant grew in power against the rain lashing about them harmlessly now, turning to snow even as they whirled and leaped in the jubilant dance of their victory.

The dark came early this time of year; the blanketing whiteness of the fresh snow gave an eerie quality to dusk. The world lost its eye for color. There was nothing but white and black and shades between. The stockade gates had been barred this hour as the houses within. The Taixali village was so silent that Leogh, the blacksmith to Naiton, standing on the parapet, was glad to see smoke rising from roofholes as a sign of life.

Rain changed to snow some hours before, and then the wind suddenly dropped to nothing. The falling snow only floated down from a leaden sky as if Lugh had opened all the feather pillows that ever were and wafted the innards to earth. Leaning over the palings, Leogh couldn't see a bowshot beyond them. Gray-white heath blurred into dark sky in profound silence.

Nothing moved on the heath. Nothing. He was sure of that. He tried to remember that later.

Leogh stamped his feet, blinking a snowflake from the corner of one eye. When he looked to the east again, the gasp of surprise exploded from his throat.

The riders were there, an unmoving line of them. One, two, three, four—eight of them behind a ninth, sitting their shaggy ponies in absolute stillness. Leogh fingered the bone charm at his throat and thanked his gods the gate was barred. The figure in front of the line snaked a bare arm from beneath the muffling cloak and pointed at him. The motion of that arm was like a missile hurled, like Fate itself choosing out Leogh for death. He felt it as if the arm had struck him.