His whole body shuddered. ’Twas the strongest taste of them he’d gotten yet and it was so revolting that, had his hands been free, he suspected he would have clawed at his head in a futile effort to gouge them out of his skull.

He realized two things then: the sect of the Draghar was more advanced in Druidry than he’d thought, to weave such a powerful spell into cold iron, and they’d given him something besides a mere tranquilizer. They’d given him some kind of drug that was impairing his ability to control the power within him. He was like a man who’d consumed too much whisky, who could, intending a gentle caress, lash out with a killing blow, out of sheer sloppiness.

And he had no doubt that such a blow would turn him fully dark.

He inhaled shallowly, forcing his senses outward, away from the chaotic buzzing in his mind. He tasted the air, trying to envision the shape of the room from the echo of conversation. It seemed to be low-ceilinged, and long, and there was a faint odor of moss on stone. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He was fair certain he was in the catacombs beneath the building.

What a fool he’d been, barging in, underestimating his foe! He’d acted rashly, driven by impatience and a desperate need to protect those he loved. Not once had it occurred to him that the sect of the Draghar might have people watching him, reporting his every move. Apparently they had, for they’d certainly been ready for him. What was their plan? To use this deadly drug to force his transformation?

“He’s coming around,” someone said.

He would have preferred they continue to think him unconscious, buying precious time for the effects of the drug to diminish, but evidently, though he’d remained motionless, he’d given himself away somehow. Mayhap his chest was rising and falling more deeply. He opened his eyes.

“Ah, there you are,” a tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair said, moving to stand before him. The man looked at him for a long moment. “I’m Simon Barton-Drew, master of the sect. This isn’t quite how I’d hoped to meet you. My apologies for the restraints but, for the time being, they are necessary. I assume Trevor is dead?” he inquired politely.

“Trevor lives,” Dageus said, modulating his voice carefully. He would betray no sign of his inner conflict to the man. “Unlike your Order, the Keltar do not take life without cause.” No matter how much he would have liked to.

Simon circled the stone column. “Nor do we. All we’ve done was necessary to serve the purpose of restoring our rightful powers. To fulfill our destiny.”

“They were never your rightful powers. They were given by the Tuatha Dé and they were the Tuatha Dé’s to reclaim when it became evident man would abuse them.”

Simon gave a short bark of laughter. “Thus speaks the man who broke his own oaths. See it as you wish. No matter, you will lead us.”

“I will never fulfill the Prophecy.”

“Ah, so you know of it. I wondered if you did. When did you find out? Did Trevor tell you? Not that I blame him, for I know what you’re capable of. It’s all here.” He swept an arm behind him, at piles of manuscripts and texts stacked carefully on dozens of shelves. “All that the Draghar can do. All they will teach us. The power to move through space and time, the power to open the realms.”

“The Draghar you worship nearly destroyed the world once, trying to open the realms. What makes you think that once they’re free, they won’t again?”

“Why destroy the world when they can rule it?” Simon countered. “I believe we can determine what went wrong the last time they tried to go after the Tuatha Dé. Our world is far more advanced now than it was then. And there are so many faithful followers waiting to welcome them.”

“What makes you think they have any intention of becoming part of your little Order? Why would they remain with you?” Dageus goaded.

“What do you mean?” The briefest flicker of unease flashed across the man’s lean face.

“If they can travel through time, what is there to prevent them from returning to their own century? What do you think they want more than anything?”

“To reclaim their power. A chance to live again, to rule again. To take their rightful place in the world.”

Dageus tsked mockingly. Though he couldn’t understand their language and didn’t know what the Draghar’s intentions were, Simon didn’t know that. Sowing doubts could be a useful weapon. If he could keep him talking long enough, mayhap enough of the drug’s effects would pass that he could risk probing Simon’s mind. “They want bodies, Simon, and they will have the power to return to their own. Once you release them, how will you stop them from going back? You won’t be able to control them. They may destroy your Order the moment I change. What use have they for you? They’ll return to their century, keep the war from happening, and utterly rewrite the past four thousand years of history.” Dageus laughed. “Like as not, none of us will ever even be born by the time they’re done changing things.”