“I’m Fael,” the girl announced, her high nasal voice setting Gywn’s nerves on edge. Tall and reed thin with a mass of fiery red curls framing a pair of hard, green eyes, she leaned into her words as if to add weight to everything she uttered. “I’m the oldest and I’ve apprenticed longer than the rest of you.” Her Clan Hound tattoo appeared to be a recent addition to her pinched face.

“Well, I’m Gywn. I had no idea length of apprenticeship meant anything . . . really.”

Turning, Gywn glanced over to the other two girls and caught flickers of amusement before both smothered their smiles behind serious glowers. “Have both of you been . . . wandering long too?”

“I’m Finley,” the older of the two answered. Witty, gray eyes gleamed from behind her Eagle tattoo. A wiry build hid none of the strength that showed in the tight muscles rippling across her bare shoulders and scarred arms. She wore her clan’s tattoo with the confidence of experience – real, fighting experiences that matched the well worn leather of her shortsword’s grip hanging at her side. “This is my little sister, Caelyn.”

Gywn caught the youngest girl’s infectious grin and found herself smiling back.

“Thank Bran and Morrigan.” Caelyn’s eyes danced. “I’ve finally got some company.”

Gywn’s eyebrows rose, but before she could ask her question, Finley rolled her eyes and laughed.

“And thank dear Bran for that.” Seeing Gywn’s expression, she shook her head and gave her sister a rough cuff on her shoulder. “Caelyn was sure you’d have your clan’s mask and leave her as the only one without. She’s really a very bloody minded little vignísh. Would rather plan a raid than do her lessons. Wants to be a war druid, not a singer.” Finley reached out and tussled the girl’s red-blond hair, cut short even though she hadn’t earned her mask yet.

“Well, Sword Girl,” Caelyn ducked her head and spun away grinning, “when I turn you into a rock toad, just remember who warned you. Steel is good, but a druid’s spell is better.”

“See?” The older sister rolled her eyes and turned to face Gywn. “Try doing even your first level lesson with this crazy wizardess on the loose.”

Gywn broke into laughter. “Sword Girl?”

“Aye.” Finley shrugged. “I was just beginning my training . . . with a talon, when my bloody song grabs ahold of me. So I end up a bloody apprentice instead. Late to the calling, ma says.”

“And not just any talon,” Caelyn added proudly. “Ta – ”

“Hush, Cae!” Finley growled. “Tis no account now.”

“Taeg’s Talon,” Caelyn blurted, ignoring her sister’s glare. “Taeg himself selected her to join his talon.”

“Gods, Cae.” Finley shook her head.

“You should be proud,” Gywn said in a quiet voice. “And thankful.”

“Thankful? And just how is that?” Finley gave her a sharp look.

“I . . . I met Taeg before I left Lost River Caer to come here. Taeg, Tammy, Arawn, Wren . . . and Caille’s son, Dylan.” She met the other girl’s gaze and continued in a soft, level voice. “To have been so chosen, and to have been trained – even for a short time – with such warriors can only have given you skills which will help in your song’s journey. We struggle, we fight, we . . . we battle every bit as keenly inside of ourselves as any fiana does against Krîll steel and muscle. Our daemon’s realm is as deadly in its own way as fighting the Empire’s legions. We train our minds,” Gywn glanced pointedly down at Finley’s short sword, “to become as sharp as your sword, and as deftly wielded.”

A tight smile pulled at Finley’s mouth as she met Gywn’s serious look. “True and well said. I’ve never thought of it in that way. Thank you.” She inclined her head in a shallow bow.

“Well,” Fael’s grating whine cut in,” we all know how difficult and dangerous a singer’s journey can be. I’ve been . . . battling, if you want to call it that, for four years longer than the rest of you. Much longer than you, Gywn. And I can tell you, only the strongest and the best minds, not fighters, survive this long.”

The three other girls shared a quick look among them, shrugged, and then turned to walk back towards the caer’s shadow shrouded entrance. The sun’s orb was just breaking over the mountain’s crest; soon its harsh glare would begin baking the western slopes as it already did the broken wastes stretching into the haze smeared horizon.

“We’ll meet here again at first dark,” Finley said as the narrow passageway’s gloom engulfed them. “We’ll each need three days food and water to reach Flat Sands Caer.”

They walked single file in silence and darkness. After a hundred paces the faint glow of a globe touched the close walls, its warm light reflecting from crystal fragments in the stone. Here and there a jagged vein of obsidian caught the light like a ribbon of gold and black glass. Arriving at an intersection of four passageways where the lightglobe hung gently floating in the cavern’s draft, they split up, Gywn taking the left opening while the two sisters continued walking straight and soon were climbing a steep rampway into the warren of corridors closer to the mountain’s surface.

Fael found herself abandoned by her sister novices, and with a haughty sniff entered the dim passage Gywn had taken. Her thin shadow was quickly swallowed in the deepening gloom. She almost called Gywn’s name, but pride clamped her jaws tight and she made her solitary way down the tunnel thinking even darker thoughts about her three Eagle companions. Northern clans! Just as Megan warned me. Dense, self-centered, and stubborn. Danu spare me the patience but this is going to be a trying journey with the likes o’ them needing my experience and guidance.
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