“I don’t understand,” Bran said slowly. “It was my race who doomed your ancestors thus. By all logic you should hate us-yet you claim to seek alliance with Pictdom.”
Atla laughed. “Not so, king of Pictdom! You forget your own oft-repeated wisdom. Rome is the common enemy of all Britain!”
“Witch! You know full well I meant only the tribes of man!”
“Here speaks the king of fools!” Atla shrilled. “His own people murmur against him, a world-spanning empire sends its might to destroy him-and now, too late, he scruples over weapons and allies!”
Bran Mak Morn ground his jaws to master his rage. “You waste my time. Skim away this dross of lies and trickery! What mad scheme is this to align the People of the Dark with the armies of man?”
“No treachery, Black Bran! For Rome is the common enemy. You have seen how Rome has scourged the Druids from the forests of Gaul-slaughtered their priests and cut down their sacred groves. Rome cares nothing for the liberties and beliefs of its conquered peoples. Rome is an all-devouring leviathan that has ground uncounted tribes and clans under its iron-shod advance. One day there is a land peopled with many clans, each cherishing its age-old customs and individuality. Then comes Rome, and another day that same land is peopled only by Romans and those who so relinquish their heritage as to boast of their Roman citizenship.”
Atla paused. “But who am I to say these words to Bran Mak Morn-when they are the very words that the king of Pictdom has so often spoken to rally the tribes of Britain to his banner.”
“My words were for the hearing of men, not for those who listen from below!”
“But true words nonetheless,” Nero said with heavy irony. “Pictdom alone cannot halt the advance of Rome. No nation has been able to conquer Rome. The emperor will come with his legions, and Bran Mak Morn and his brave Picts shall be one with the armies of Cassivellaunus and Caratacus and Boudicca and Calgacus and all of Britain’s other dead and defeated heroes. Roman villas will spring up among the Highlands of Caledon, and Picts shall till the fields of their Roman masters. And in a few generations Picts shall dress in togas, speaking Latin and claiming Roman citizenship, as do the conquered Britons of the South.”
Bran sat his horse, dizzy with the hot blood that roared in his ears. “Such a doom has not yet befallen Pictdom-nor shall it so long as I live.”
“Which will not be long if you face Rome alone.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“You throw away that chance.”
“Witch! Do you think my warriors would fight alongside creatures who stink of the serpent!”
“Once Pictdom sacrificed upon the altars of the Serpent!”
Bran choked on his anger, for Atla spoke the truth. “That was in another age. The temples of the Serpent are deserted now, nor does the white god of the Moon feast on man flesh. Once Pictdom seemed destined to sink into such degraded savagery, but I have given over my life to leading my race on a path upward and away from such degeneracy.”
“And in doing so you have brought down the might of Rome to crush Pictdom,” Atla hissed. “Do not think, Bran Mak Morn, that your people thank you for forcing your ideals upon them!”
“Such is a matter for men to decide among men. I do not seek the counsel of serpent-spawn.”
“Your dream is about to be snuffed out by the power of Rome,” Nero promised. “We would change that.”
“You would change that dream into nightmare.”
“Rome will destroy the dream.”
Bran grew tired of argument. “And what do you seek to gain?”
“Our lives. Rome will seek to destroy the Children of the Night even as the legions butchered the Druids and poured salt on the ashes of their groves. Together our armies will be strong enough to repel Rome’s advance. Once we have driven the Romans from our shores, there shall be a return to the old ways. The villas and towns of the Roman shall be burned to the ground, their roads and walls torn asunder stone by stone. The tribes of Britain shall be free of Roman ride and Roman taxes.”
Atlas voice became insinuating. “If it is your will, Bran Mak Morn shall be king of all Britain. Pictdom shall emerge from these bleak Highlands to reclaim those lands the Celts stole from them centuries ago. Pictish lords shall rule the land…”
“And what of the Children of the Night?”
“An end to persecution. Freedom to dwell as they will in their burrows beneath the earth. The People of the Dark have no longer any yearning for the world of men.”
Bran made a sarcastic sound. “And how is it this proposed alliance shall be carried out?”
Claudius Nero spoke with deep pride. “We have given you compelling proofs of what the Ninth can do. For reasons that should be obvious to you, we cannot attack by day. Further, our numbers are limited. My proposal is to coordinate our armies to mutual advantage. You and your Picts shall take the field by day and provide the main thrust of arms. The Ninth shall strike terror by night-nor shall any Roman wall or fortification stand against our onslaught!
“Let Severus come with his tens of thousands!” Nero exulted. “By the autumn nothing of Rome and its legions shall remain, and all Britain shall hail Bran Mak Morn as deliverer and king!”
“And the old days shall return?” Bran suggested. “Yes!” Atla smiled. “The old days, the old ways…”
“And with it, the old gods!” Bran laughed mirthlessly. “You fools! Did you think to gull Bran Mak Morn into some unhallowed pact with bright promises of glory and power! Go back to tell your hidden masters that the king of Pictdom is no thick-witted barbarian lout to leap and dance as their dupe! Did you really believe me such a fool as to trust the venomed lies of the Worms of the Earth!”
“You have no choice!” Nero warned. “We have your sister.”
“True enough,” Bran agreed evenly. “You have Morgain. And I most assuredly have you!
“Ho! Picts! To me!” Bran shouted suddenly. Wheeling his horse between the startled pair and the barrow entrance from which he had skillfully lured them, the Pictish king gave a wild cry and swung free his sword.
From the darkened copse came answering shouts, the crash of many bodies rushing from concealment.
“While we had our little council, my men took position about us,” Bran told them. “You’re surrounded. Stand where you are and you’ll not be harmed!”
“Fool!” Atla hissed. “Morgain…”
“Your lives hang on her safe return!”
“Have you forgotten Titus Sulla?”
Bran’s voice rang with menace. “Morgain shall be returned unharmed-or you’ll learn at your leisure that Picts are not without some knowledge of the refinements of torture!”
“Fool!” Ada shrieked.
But Nero spat out a stream of sibilants that no human throat could have uttered.
A sudden tremor gave Bran scant warning. Then the earth buckled and heaved apart in a rending cataclysm-as the summons was answered from below. His horse screamed and plunged in a violent somersault through the blackness. Flung over the beast’s neck, Bran flailed through the riven air and tumult of exploding earth.
He had one fleeting glimpse as serpentine horror reared colossally out of the sundered earth to affront the spinning stars. Then the ground smashed against him, and Bran saw no more, nor heard the doomed cries of his men.