All four were driven to their knees as the ancient tree gave voice, the ravens sheltering in its branches lifting away in panic. “Mortals. You dare to come to my realm.”

“We are your humble servants Lord Fagus, of the Clan of the Raven. We have served and worshipped you for centuries and humbly ask that you help us against the darkness of the Morrigan, who even now attacks our home and kills our children. I…”

“Enough little druid, I know what goes on in your world.” The tree paused and glanced around the group. “You are doughty warriors all. You do not need my help. My daughter will provide the answer. My wife will continue to persecute you all until she finds a suitable way to punish me for my indiscretions.”

“The Morrigan?” Dresta stood and drew his sword, his face as dark as storm clouds above. “You cannot control your own wife? What sort of pathetic little godling are you? We come here for help and you give us excuses. You tell me why I shouldn’t chop you down?” This is…”

The others looked around at Dresta as his tirade abruptly halted. His eyes were bulging from their sockets and his sword clattered to the rocks as his hands scrabbled at his throat. His feet lifted from the ground and his dying body hung suspended, drifting slowly toward the great tree until Dresta hung a few feet from the ancient being.

“Feel pain little mortal.” Dresta’s mouth opened in a silent scream and his back arched.

“My Lord Fagus, please.” Steren stood, her eyes wide with horror. “Please, he is just trying to help our people.”

The God’s wooden eyes flicked to the woman and, without looking back at Dresta, the warrior’s body slumped to the rocks, hoarse breathing filling the air as the warrior gasped breaths into his oxygen starved lungs.

“Begone.”

In a blink they reappeared in the Circle of Badb, and Culhain helped Dresta to his feet.

“Brave Dresta. Stupid, but brave.”

Dresta brushed off the man’s hand and gestured at the harpies who still screeched at them from outside the circle. “So what do we do now?” he said hoarsely.

“We leave before…”

“Before what little druid?” said the Morrigan stepping into the circle from behind the largest of the stones, her lithe body moving almost snakelike as she faced the group, long legs pale in the cold of the winter.

Steren nocked an arrow to her bow, drew and released in one smooth movement, the barb whipping across the circle. The Morrigan lifted a hand and the arrow embedded in the flesh of her palm, the bard poking bloodless from the far side. There was a hissing noise and two wyvern coiled into existence behind her as grey smoke boiled from the ground, darkness spreading around the ring. With the palm still lifted, she hissed and the arrow burst into flames dissolving into ash, no mark marring her pale skin.

“You dare to attack me? Are you as stupid as this one trying to attack Fagus?” she glanced at Dresta who glared at her and hefted his sword.

The Morrigan gestured suddenly and a globe of green light sped toward the woman who dodged and nocked another arrow to her bow.

“But wait, what is this?” The Morrigan tilted her head in puzzlement for a moment and then smiled evilly. “You do not know. How interesting…”