Winter's Shield (Daughter of Winter, Book 3)

1. Tritus - 3rd Century BC, Ancient Scotland

As Cailleach’s form disappeared from view, Talorgan taunted softly, “She can run, but she can’t hide, and I will enjoy the chase.”

Tritus stiffened, all thought for his own life evaporating in a mist of fear. Ignoring the threat that Talorgan posed, ignoring the magic the Druid exhibited in his right palm, Tritus’s only thought was for the protection of his lover and his unborn child. With a roar that was ripped from his very soul, Tritus gathered his magic in a wrench of power.

The earth quaked, the ground beneath his feet undulating. The campfire spluttered, the logs shifting and sparking. Tritus lost his balance and fell to his knees, but never once took his eyes off his nemesis. He watched as Talorgan staggered from side to side. The Druid managed to keep his feet, but the magic in his palm was snuffed out like a naked flame in the wind.

Taking his chance, not bothering to come to his feet, Tritus thrust his hands into the earth and called upon his birthright once more. There came a loud rustling noise as if a multitude of tiny feet scurried among the leaves and dirt. Tritus urged them to move faster, to attack his enemy, and even before he’d finished demanding this of them, thousands of insects began to converge on Talorgan. They rushed forward in a frenzied charge, crawling into the Druid’s red robes. Talorgan’s face twisted. With a howl, he slammed his hands frantically against his body.

Not losing momentum, Tritus pushed to his feet and took a step forward. But the reprieve was over, for Talorgan threw his head back and roared to the heavens. With his other hand, he wove a rune in the air with sharp, jerky motions. A cloud of black and red smoke roiled in a thick fog around him, covering Talorgan within the next breath.

Before Tritus could rush toward the Druid, a loud bang rent the air. Then there was silence—the rustling sound of insects vanished.

Tritus staggered backward, groaning as he cradled his head. He was oblivious to the black smoke that his enemy began to twist into a deadly arrow. But a sixth sense warned him to look up, and as he fixated on Talorgan, that dark arrow hit him squarely in the chest. The inevitable collision threw him backward. Tritus slammed into the trunk of a tree, a rib audibly cracking. His legs crumpled beneath him. Gasping, shuddering, his back and chest screaming in agony as he slid to the ground, he could do nothing but stare helplessly at the Druid.

Heart beating fast, Tritus strained to latch onto the blurred visage of his enemy as Talorgan began to move toward him. He could just make out the snarl on the Druid’s face, the blue facial tattoo on Talorgan’s left cheek contorting into a queer etching. Tritus urged himself to fight. His mind screamed at him to move, but even though his will was strong, his body was beaten. His fingers twitched uselessly by his sides, and all he could do was watch as his enemy drew ever closer. The campfire cast ominous shadows over the robed man, flashes of blood red coming ever closer, and with every step, Tritus’s fear increased.

Cailleach! He screamed desperately down their shared internal line. Run, my love! Hide!

A surge of stark fear traveled back to him. Tritus also felt anguish and a loss that was as crippling as the physical pain in his body. He understood his lover’s emotions because he shared them. Tritus did not want his time with Cailleach to end, for she was his and he was hers. The hands of destiny had brought them together, and to be separated from each other was inconceivable, as unbelievable as the seasons no longer turning.

Talorgan’s voice cut through his torment, his tone taunting. “Look at you! One shot, and you’re finished!” He stopped in front of Tritus and cocked his head to the side as he continued almost conversationally, “This won’t do. I’ve waited too long for the retribution I’m owed to have it taken away from me so quickly. You will rise and face me, Gaul. You must atone for your sins!”

Tritus gritted his teeth, fighting the darkness crowding his mind because to lose consciousness was a noose that would prolong the torture Talorgan so clearly had in mind. Better that he die a swift death now than at the hands of this madman. But, taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he had to prevail, to offer as much time as he could to Cailleach and his unborn babe. His voice was raspy as he forced out between clenched teeth, “And precisely what sins have I committed, Druid?”

Talorgan snarled. “You know exactly what you have done!” His robes swirled around his ankles as he gestured to the night sky. “From our very first meeting, I warned you of the fate that would await you if you did not heed our people’s ways! Yet you still refused to bend to our gods—still refused to follow our path. And now I find that you have committed the worst sin of all—fornicating with a goddess!” Talorgan spat upon the ground. “You are a mortal, and a poor one at that. You had no right to take the bounty she offers, no right to claim the Winter Goddess!” Talorgan stalked up to Tritus’s slumped form, and this time spat in his face. “You. Are. Unworthy. And the bairn you have created is devil spawned! Your actions have defiled not only Cailleach but all the gods. Your child will have no purchase in this world; I will see to it myself.”

Tritus saw red. They were his, Cailleach, and the child, and no one, not even a twisted, vengeful Druid, would destroy them. Without any thought to the pain, without any thought to the consequences, he launched himself at his enemy. He heard a surprised grunt as his shoulder slammed into Talorgan’s torso. Then the Druid was falling, hitting the ground in a flurry of limbs, but his surprise was shortlived, and before Tritus could find the energy to continue the fight, Talorgan was rolling him onto his back, fists pounding into his head. Tritus felt his arms and legs go slack, his vision receding as the blows threatened to knock him senseless.

Talorgan was snarling above him, grunting obscenities and insults with every hit, lost in his hate, lost in his revenge. Tritus tried to shield himself, but his actions were ineffectual. He had no energy left to lift his arms, not even the chance to catch his breath. The only thing keeping him conscious was the fact that every second he occupied Talorgan was another second that Cailleach could run, another second that she could hide.

A fist connected with his right eye, and Tritus felt the surrounding flesh immediately bloom and swell. His hands clutched at the dirt as he urged himself to fight, to hold onto consciousness. Talorgan didn’t seem to notice the lack of retaliation, and his blows did not relent, falling in a never-ending cacophony of torture.

Tritus felt his consciousness begin to drift, a memory of Cailleach appearing in his mind’s eye. She stood before him in her long white dress, her hair coiled across one shoulder in its usual thick braid. She looked as she always did, desirable and gorgeous, vulnerable but all-powerful. But she moved agitatedly, her hands clenched by her sides and her body taut as a bowstring. Instead of the coy smile that usually tugged at her lips, her features were anguished, and she was urgently screaming at him.

Tritus stirred, groaning as a fist again smashed into his face. He tried to replace the vision of Cailleach with a softer one that was more to his liking, but no matter how much he tried to change her countenance, the image would not budge. He felt dangerously close to drifting under. It was then that Tritus felt another sharp, inner tug. He tried to concentrate on that internal link, to reach out and respond to his lover. His desire was rewarded when he felt an inner twinge, as if their connection had strengthened further.

“Fight, Tritus!” Cailleach was screaming at him. “Fight for me! Fight for your child!”

He jerked as understanding slammed into him. It stirred a tremor of willpower, but as another of Talorgan’s fists connected with his cheek, Tritus was once again lost in a sea of agony. Knowing his lover and child relied on him, he tried to lift his arms, but all he could manage was a slight curl of his fingers. The damp debris of the forest floor rubbed against the pads of his thumb and forefinger. The tactile connection was a homecoming—it parted the veil of confusion, and a desperate plan arose from this connection to his birthright. Tritus didn’t hesitate to give effect to it; time was of the essence. Pressing his fingers against the earth, he closed his mind to the pain that assailed his physical body and called out to it once more.

Nothing happened.

Another blow landed, this one to his chest. Tritus heard and simultaneously felt the crunch of bone, knew that Talorgan had broken another rib. The agony shattered his concentration, and he once again drifted, close to oblivion.

Cailleach’s voice screamed at him once more down their internal shared line. “Fight, my love! You must fight! Do not give up, Tritus!”

Her voice broke at the end, his name a wail of anguish. Hearing that emotion was a lever that effected change. Not wanting to let her or his child down, Tritus called upon the gift he had inherited from his father, called for it to serve him one more time.

And this time, the earth responded.

There came a loud groaning as if a thousand trees swayed heavily under a gusty wind. Before Tritus could question what it was that had responded to his desperate call, he witnessed it firsthand. An expansive hoard of mountain brambles surged forth in a frenzied attack, lashing their long, thorny branches around the Druid. Talorgan froze, then emitted a bloodcurdling scream as the thorns ripped ruthlessly into his skin. He threw himself backward, scrambling away from Tritus as he tried to tear them off. But they didn’t stop their relentless torture, continuing to viciously twist all the way down to the Druid’s ankles.

Tritus lay on his back, breathless and broken. He watched, unfeeling, as his nemesis struggled against the bonds.

Talorgan’s left eye was a starburst of hate, swirling with a maelstrom of violence as he cut his gaze to Tritus. “You think to hold me?” he roared. “Me? A Master?” His blue tattooed face was now livid, the skin mottling a dangerous shade of purple as the brambles tightened even further around his torso. “You know nothing, Gaul! You are still as ignorant as you were when you first arrived on our shores. I am the favored disciple of Arawn—he has granted me unlimited power and dominion over all!”

Holding that hateful gaze, owning everything it entailed, Tritus opened his cracked, bleeding lips and rasped in a voice that was just above a whisper, “Your threats are empty. You should not have come near me or mine. I told you before that if you threatened my family, I would kill you.”

Talorgan ground his teeth. “You forget that you cannot kill me!” He looked disdainfully at the brambles wrapped around his robed body. “This inconvenience is temporary. You are just delaying your death.”

Tritus blinked. He’d forgotten that a shield was erected around the Druid’s form—a shield that would protect him against any killing blow. Then a thought came, a lifeline in the fumbling haze of pain that Tritus floated on. “Makes no difference,” he forced out in return. “You can rot, trapped. The outcome is still the same.”

Talorgan snarled and made as if to attack him again, but the brambles only tightened further, the thorns extending even longer. The Druid’s face contorted with rage, as though he’d been conceited enough to believe that Tritus could not best him. Then, surprisingly, Talorgan let loose a mirthless laugh. It was so unforeseen that Tritus froze.

“You are a fool!” Talorgan sneered. “Did you really think I would come unprepared? That I would be willing to let you win this fight?”

Tritus felt a whisper of unease ripple over his skin. Pushing it aside, he said slowly, “There’s nothing you can do, Talorgan.” He looked pointedly at the Druid’s trapped hands. “Your magic is bound.”

“That is where you are wrong, Gaul!” yelled Talorgan triumphantly. “I have grown in power. You have no idea what I can now control, and you made a huge mistake leaving one outlet unbound!”

Before Tritus could determine what he meant, black and red smoke erupted from Talorgan’s open mouth. The haze was agile and sinuous, and Tritus could do nothing but watch as it exponentially grew into a large, roiling mass that surrounded the Druid’s form. From that darkness, Tritus heard Talorgan’s voice. The Druid was muttering in a series of guttural words, a language Tritus hadn’t heard before. The words were twisted and encumbered, and a shiver raced across Tritus’s skin as he felt a presence that caused his body to break out in a cold sweat. It felt otherworldly, yet familiar, strangely similar to that of his lover.

Tritus realized he had to do something, but all he could do was push himself into a sitting position. The world tilted sickeningly, and before he had time to struggle to his feet, Talorgan fell silent. In the next second, the smoke vanished, and Talorgan stood before him, free and unfettered, the mountain brambles in broken pieces at his feet.

Tritus thrust his hands back into the earth and tried to call upon his gift again, but it didn’t respond. His energy reserves were depleted. He had nothing left.

Talorgan sneered. “Your magic is finished. You are weak—as weak as your own gods! My god is all-powerful; his gifts are greater than any other on this earth.”

The acknowledgment was confirmation of what it was the Druid had done; Talorgan had chosen to follow a god not of this world. And now that Tritus thought about the change in this man, the color of his robe, the acrid stench that was on the air, he understood what had been in front of him all along. Talorgan worshipped a Dark God.

Tritus’s heart pounded as he realized the extent of the Druid’s power. “I don’t believe it!” he forced in gasps. “You have broken the Druidic code by embracing the darkness. You were an apprentice to the light. How could you?”

Talorgan smiled cruelly. “Quite easily. I am stronger and more powerful than the Masters. What challenge was there to continue my previous path? I excelled at every level of Druidic lore before I’d even come close to finishing my initiation. That was the first clue that I was made for greater things—things not of this world.” There was a malicious glint in his unfractured eye. “The second was meeting you. Our paths were meant to cross, for you led me to Cailleach. We were always meant to meet on that fateful hunt.”

Tritus inhaled sharply. “You are blind, Druid! You have given no thought to others’ paths, only your own. I know for a fact that Cailleach did not choose you, nor was she ever meant to.”

Talorgan snarled. “You know nothing! Your mind cannot fathom what destiny has in play. You were always supposed to be my enemy. Your actions forced me down this path. And even though my god resides in the Underworld, he has more power than any other on this earth. He needed a disciple, someone who was strong enough to sustain a link to this world. I was always destined to be that person, just as I was also meant to take the Goddess of Winter for my own—just as you were meant to die!”

Tritus blanched as Talorgan’s ambitions were finally revealed. He knew that there was only one outcome to this altercation, and he would postpone his fate for as long as he was able. Even though fury and fear fought for equal supremacy, Tritus knew that rage would not help his lover or his unborn child. The only path he had before him was to prolong his death, for that alone would give his family the best chance of escaping Talorgan’s clutches.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Tritus opened his mouth and rasped out, “You have one hole in your plan, Druid.”

Talorgan sneered. “And what would that be? That you will kill me?”

“No. You have forgotten that Cailleach follows no one. She chooses her lovers; they do not choose her. And clearly, you were not chosen.”

“You are wrong!” Talorgan roared. “Our destiny is yet to come. With you gone, she will see the error of her decision. After all, you are no match for a goddess; you do not know our ways. I am better suited than any other on this plane.”

Tritus knew then that Talorgan couldn’t see past his own desires, that he refused to consider alternatives to what he thought was his chosen path, and he understood that arguing with the Druid was pointless.

Talorgan must have seen something in his expression for his voice came again, soft and taunting. “I see that you recognize your time is near, that my destiny cannot be denied.” He took a menacing step forward. “Besides, I grow tired of this conversation. Watch closely, Gaul, and know true fear!”

The Druid murmured a few words under his breath that Tritus couldn’t catch, then he drew a rune in the air and released it with a flourish.