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finely-worked and figured bronze and the drag of it was shaped like a serpent's head with its mouth wide open to show its fangs. Its hilt was beautifully fashioned of ivory and wood with a pommel and guard of enameled bronze.
    Calgaich stepped back and withdrew the iron-bladed sword from the scabbard with a crisp hissing of the metal. The long, leaf-shaped blade of polished gray iron reflected the dancing firelight like the sun shining on swiftly running water, so that the blade seemed like a tongue of flame itself.
    There was a look of sheer ecstasy in Calgaich's eyes. Cairenn watched fascinated as he swung the heavy, balanced blade in slashes, thrusts, parries, crosscuts and a curious weaving pattern that was so swift in its execution she could have sworn she saw the reflection of the blade tip still hanging in the smoky air even after it had passed on.
    The sweat of exertion broke out on Calgaich's face and flew from it with his rapid movements. It was almost as if he were repeating his recent battle with the Picts. Now Cairenn knew why Cuill had once spoken of Calgaich with awe and deep-seated fear. “Don’t you know who he is?” he had asked with astonishment, when she had inquired about her new master. “ Calgaich the Swordsman! One of the wild Novantae from southwestern Caledonia who have no peers in the red wet work of the blades! Calgaich, son of Lellan, who is lord of five hundred war spears and the deadliest of all enemies to the Romans! Calgaich mac Lellan, grandson of Evicatos the Spearman! Calgaich the Swordsman! Cairenn knew now who Calgaich’s true gods were—weapons and red battle!”
    Calgaich lowered the fine blade and ran a thumb along both edges. He tested the point, the heft and balance of the sword. He studied the finely figured metal of the blade, which had been cunningly inset with fine gold wire in the symmetrical, intertwined patterns that Celts loved so well. He snapped the nail of a first finger against the metal and then quickly raised the blade to his ear as if he were listening for something within it. He raised the sword and tapped it against the low stone ceiling so that it rang musically, then quickly placed it next to his ear again. A strange and faraway look came over his face.
    "Does it speak to you, fian?” Cairenn asked in an awed voice.
    He stared at her across the blade. It was almost as if she were looking at a stranger, so different was his expression. "Aye, woman,” he replied softly. "There is a spirit guardian within all master blades.”
    "Who is the spirit guardian of that blade?”
    He grinned at her like a hunting wolf. "The wolf howls within the blade. It is a good omen for Calgaich, for the wolves are my foster brothers in spirit.” He held the awesome weapon out toward her. "See here? The mark of a master smith.” He tapped a finger on the blade just beneath the cross guard. She leaned close to it and saw the punch marks of the smith—an oval stamping of two gaunt wolves with their forepaws resting against a bell-shaped stone tower while their heads were held back with open jaws as though they were howling. Under the stamping were some cryptic symbols.
    She looked up into his shadowed face. "What does it mean? Who was he?”
    "Examine the blade of my war spear,” he said quietly. He looked toward the wall of the chamber but it seemed to Cairenn that he was looking far beyond the wall of the barrow at something she could never see and would never understand.
    She took the heavy war spear and turned it so that the firelight shone on the base of its blade. The same design she had seen on the sword blade was also punch-marked into the base of the spear blade. A strange feeling ran through her hands. She quickly leaned the spear back against the pillar and returned to sit near the fire.
    "The war spear was that of my grandfather—Evicatos," Calgaich quietly explained. "He was the greatest war leader of all Albu in his time. Long ago he led the People of the