"No more certain a death than awaits you if you don't talk," Gaar said.
He narrowed his eyes, made them as cruel as he could. He drew the sword from his scabbard, ran his finger along the edge.
The blood was hammering at his temples. That dream wasn't so crazy now. He could see her as though she were before him. Black hair hung about alabaster shoulders. Lips as red as ripe berries, lips that had waited a thousand years for his kiss.
"Wait," Gaar whispered. "Not much longer now." His sword glinted in the sunlight, hovered at the man's throat.
"I will tell you all I know," the Pict said.
he inlet was a perfect hiding place for the ship. There were enough branches about to screen it from distant eyes. And yet Gaar had the feeling that they were being watched.
He swung around suddenly. Nothing to be seen except the gently waving branches. A harmless scene, the dancing waters of the inlet and the serenity of the woods, and yet terror lurked there.
Considering the fact that their knowledge was only from hearsay, the Picts had directed him well. Down the coast of this great island, they had said, and then through a long channel. And then you sailed around the southern end and to the westward. There was a smaller island and a smaller channel.