A few weeks later

The northern slope of Earl's Seat was easy enough to climb and the Autumn Equinox half-moon gave more than enough light for Rowan to clearly see where he was going. Adjusting the sword tied to his back, he continued up the faint animal trail that seemed to head to the top.

Earlier, he had slipped out of the Castle, leaving the Order members waiting for his return in various states of anxiety. While preparing for his mission, he had quickly decided against anything fancy, so he had gone for practical; grey cargo pants to go with his trusty Doc Martens and a dark-green Gore-Tex jacket.

His wardrobe was still quite limited, so even if he had wanted to dress according to the etiquette for a meeting with a duchess, it just wouldn't have been possible. Besides six or seven pairs of black jeans – one of them made into cut-off shorts – a few cargo pants, sweatpants, casual jackets and his gi, his choices were actually more than just limited.

He knew he could go to any of the tailor shops owned by retired Watchers in Balfron, Killearn and Stirling to get himself fitted at the Council's expense, but, so far, he hadn't found too much interest in formal wear. But maybe before he left, he would think about getting fitted for a few bespoke suits, just in case... There was also a tailor in Stirling specialising in leather articles, which gave him much better ideas to spend Travers' money on.

Half-way to the top he heard a brief flutter of wings and then something landed on his shoulder.

"Hello, Big Berry Dark Skin," a high voice chirped cheerfully in his ear.

"Leafwhisper," Rowan smiled without turning his head. After a bit of adjusting, he felt the small fairy take a comfortable seat on his shoulder with a hand gripping a lock of his hair. "So, this is what you were referring to when you left last time."

"Yas, told ye'd meet the Queen soon."

"Did you come to show me the way?"

"Ye-es," Leafwhisper answered. "And show everyone you can pass."

"Is that so?"

"Uh-huh."

"In that case, I'm grateful."

They climbed higher in companionable silence for several minutes until Rowan felt Leafwhisper tug his hair a few times.

"Need to take the other path from here," the fairy told him.

There was only the same animal path winding up the hill. "Which other path?" Rowan queried.

"Need to look closer, Big Berry," he heard Leafwhisper chuckle in his hear. "Otherwise, yer not going to get there."

Rowan concentrated briefly on Earth and immediately "saw" it. A much older way – centuries, maybe millennia older – once trodden by people and beings long since gone to hiding to keep the old ways alive through the winds of change. Without hesitation he turned away from the visible path and continued upwards on a diagonal angle.

After only a few steps in the new direction, a faint mist appeared and wrapped him gradually in its damp embrace. Also, little by little, he started hearing whispered voices all around him. Some sounded suspicious, some filled with awe and some dismissive. There were also brief flashes in his peripheral vision as small auras popped swiftly into view and then disappeared just as quickly.

Unperturbed he continued forward, until he realised that he should have already reached the top a while ago. Stopping in his tracks, he glanced at his companion who just grinned cockily and pointed onwards.

Gradually the all-encompassing mist thinned again, and he could see the top with a squat, round tower on the summit, maybe thirty feet in diameter and twenty tall. On top of it stood a large, high-backed seat carved out of what looked like a single stone. The structure hadn't been there when he still followed the animal trail.

"Stay," he heard a disembodied female voice command him. The voice was quiet but projected well-exercised authority. "This is holy ground, stranger. Leave your sword there; I give you my word no one will touch it."

With a few swift moves, Rowan took the sheathed sword off his back and propped it against a large rock. Leafwhisper had taken flight when the voice first told him to stop.

"I'm unarmed now," he called out.

"I highly doubt it," came the dry reply. "But by rules older than myself which I am honour-bound to obey, you are free to enter."

Rowan started approaching the tower slowly with a relaxed-looking step that belied his readiness to jump into action in less than the blink of an eye. He was maybe twenty yards away from it when a hooded figure stepped into view from behind it.

He stopped in his tracks in shock. If the figure was who he thought it was, he shouldn't be able to see the aura...

"You are...!" he managed to gasp.

"Ehwaz!"

The single word hit him like a shock wave, freezing him in place. Regardless of his mental readiness, he was in all aspects rendered helpless.


Frozen in place like a statue, Rowan tried to will his limbs to move as the hooded figure approached him and stopped a few feet in front of him.

"How did you know...?" Rowan started. It was difficult to get his jaw muscles working.

"I think you need to be quiet," the figure told him speculatively. "Ansuz."

Rowan found himself unable to utter a sound. He still had access to the elements, but...

"None of that, now. Nauthiz."

Before he could even attempt an elemental connection, it was cleanly severed away from him.

Slender hands pulled back the grey hood, revealing a young woman with a wavy dark hair, sparkling green eyes and sensual, full lips. Under different circumstances she might have been called attractive but as it was, that was perhaps the last thing that would have come to an observer's mind. What would have stopped them first was the absolutely regal way she held herself; as if there was no way she could be regarded as anything but royalty.

"Now that we have established some ground rules, I think we can get to know each other," the woman told him in a flat voice. "You are free to move but only when I move. You will speak only when spoken to. You will not make any threatening moves, physical or mental. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Rowan growled through clenched teeth.

"Oh, no, no. That will not do at all," the woman shook her head. "Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," Rowan forced out of his mouth. He had to keep calm, get more information. 'Adjust and adapt.'

"Hmmm... better. I will not degrade you further provided you remember to keep a polite mouth. It is a pretty mouth, and I would hate to have to damage it. You may speak."

"Thank you, Mistress."

There was a familiar flutter of wings and Leafwhisper landed on the outstretched hand of the woman.

"I brought him to you, Great Lady, as you instructed," the small fairy told the woman enthusiastically.

"You have done well, Leafwhisper," the woman addressed the fairy surprisingly gently. "Tell me what you think of him, little one."

Leafwhisper turned around on the woman's palm and looked at the still Rowan speculatively for a long minute.

"Him nice," she eventually announced. "Called me 'big one' and said him do no harm. His name is a tree, tree with berries."

"I see," the woman nodded after Leafwhisper had finished. "You may go," she told the fairy and raised her hand over her head. The fairy took flight and promptly vanished.

"Interesting," the woman murmured to herself. "This alters things a little bit." She turned once again to face Rowan. "You may speak and move freely. The prohibition to harm my person is still in force. Nor may you leave this place without permission."

With some difficulty Rowan managed to centre and calm himself. Everything had been turned on its head.

"The Futhark... It shouldn't have been poss...," Rowan started and then an awful realization hit him.

"Yes, I see you understand now," the woman nodded in satisfaction. "Did you really think the First gave you all that knowledge out of the kindness of its non-existent heart? It told you it would 'even out the playfield', remember? That meant balancing other aspects as well. Without this little safeguard you would be too unpredictable, too... uncontrollable to suit its needs in this time and place. Let me demonstrate. Borley!"

A short, stocky creature with a long beard suddenly appeared in front of the woman, bowing deep. "Your Majesty called Borley?"

"Yes. Give your dagger to our guest."

Once again bowing deep the 4' tall gnarly creature offered a knife to Rowan hilt first. He didn't make a move to take it.

"Hagalaz! Now, take the knife and bring the tip of the blade against your right eye."

In sudden sweat, Rowan gritted his teeth as his hand holding the knife rose inexorably, eventually bringing the tip a mere millimetre away from his eyeball. Try as he might, he couldn't budge his arm an inch.

In front of him, the woman watched him with her head tilted to the side a little and a contemplative look on her face.

"I wonder if I could thwart the prophecies by making you drive the dagger to your own brain," she mused almost to herself. "But no, I do not think I will risk that. The short-term gains are not enough to outbalance the inevitable repercussions, and there are too few of us already as it is." She nodded her head once. "You may give the knife back to Borley now."

With a still shaky hand, Rowan did as she had requested. It was a long time since he had been so out-of-balance.

"Leave us, Duergar," the woman told the short creature once he had re-sheathed the dagger. With a final bow he withdrew.

"You have planned to have me come here for a long time, Your Grace," Rowan told the woman after a few calming breaths. "Why this crude show of dominance?"

"Calling it a 'test' would be too obvious, A'Rowane Than'Shea – would you not agree? Let us just say, I am still considering my options as it comes to you."

"I'm no-one's plaything, Morgaine of Cornwall," Rowan snarled, angrier than he could remember being in a long while.

"That remains to be seen. Now, follow me."


When the First had contacted Morgaine after a really long stretch of silence and requested that she assist Roger Wyndam-Pryce in destabilising the Council, she had agreed almost immediately, seeing how it would advance her own plans. Of course, the insignificant little commoner himself had no idea what he was in for. He was firmly entertaining the delusion that he was actually trying to save the Council from itself – with himself as the hero and future leader. Joining forces with the High Priestess had to be really chafing the man, but he must have convinced himself in his head that the end justified the means by a margin. Like the fool he was, he was certainly going to ignore the "truce" after he had solidified his position and turn on her.

She believed in many things but not coincidences. When she had gotten word that a Lehaïr of all beings on this plane was to be a guest of the Council, with the First breaking its long silence almost simultaneously, she knew without a doubt that something much larger was unfolding in the pattern of fate.

Also, the few little facts the First had divulged to her about the Lehaïr – almost as a bait – had made the game suddenly much more interesting.

As they started walking around the tower in silence, still keeping their distance from it, Morgaine allowed herself a small, secret smile. The currently seething Lehaïr was definitely no fool, as she had already predicted – the silence confirmed that beyond any doubt. She knew, and she knew that he knew, that both of them were trying to play the situation to their advantage and plan every possible move, gesture, comment, argument, counter-move, etc. several steps ahead.

Halfway around their tour, she turned to address Rowan. "Let us climb the tower. The view from the top is magnificent." When Rowan didn't move, she surprised him by sighing. "That was a polite request, not a command."

The thick wooden door to the tower opened on its own as they got close to it. The interior of the tower was hollow and empty but a spiral staircase along the wall led to the top where a trapdoor lay open, letting in moonlight. Rowan was the first to climb with Morgaine following him a few steps behind.

The top of the tower was flat with a low parapet circling it. In the middle stood the large stone chair, practically a throne, with its high backrest. Once they had both stepped onto the platform, Morgaine surprised Rowan by holding out her hand. "Here. Take it."

When Rowan hesitantly touched her palm, the Priestess suddenly squeezed his hand hard enough to grate the bones together. "Algiz!", she spoke firmly, and a heart-stopping power surge, like an electric charge, went through him.

"You are now temporarily shielded against compulsions utilizing your ancestors' little 'back-door'. You are also under my guardianship, so my subjects will not knowingly harm you until I decide to revoke my protection."

When Morgaine released his hand, Rowan practically collapsed to the ground to lean against the stone chair, gasping for breath. The Priestess herself remained standing. "I took you to this holy site since its ancient magic prevents the First from scrying it. I let it see what I wanted it to see outside the wards, but now, with you protected, we can speak more freely."

With shaky legs, Rowan forced himself to his feet to face the woman. "Morgaine of Cornwall, High Priestess of Britain. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm in your debt."

"Yes, yes you are," the Priestess nodded in acknowledgement.


It was maybe an hour later, and Rowan stood at the parapet with his foot on top of it looking unblinkingly into distance with his arms resting against his raised thigh. Behind him, Morgaine sat on the stone chair with her legs crossed and occasionally tapping her nails against the armrest. Leafwhisper was perched on top of the tall backrest, chirping something like a bird song to herself.

"It's beyond comprehension," Rowan muttered with a shake of his head, trying hard to keep calm and focused.

"They were desperate," Morgaine spoke from behind him. "The eagle had flown away and then Rome itself fell to the barbarians. Christianity with its suffocating morals was gaining ground, forcing those who worshipped the Goddess and followed the Old Covenant into hiding."

"How did the druids know what the Shadowmen had done? It happened so long ago that it was ancient history even back in my time."

"They took their secrets with them when they left these islands."

"But a shard of an Old One's spirit instead of a Shadow Demon... The required precision, the bindings..." All his instincts screamed at him to attack the Priestess and free the spirit of his ancestors within, but he could make no moves against her, his guardian in this place.

"They experimented long and hard with lesser spirits until they had perfected the ritual. Then it took them almost 12 years more to locate the shard."

"The spirit they merged with you. Which...?"

"That I will not tell you, not yet at least. As you know, names carry power."

Rowan nodded to himself. It had been an ad-hoc attempt anyway to gain the upper hand with no real chance of succeeding.

"But they couldn't make the binding absolute by itself, could they?" Rowan asked sharply and turned around to face the Priestess. "They couldn't use just the Shadow ritual, so they had to interlace it with the vampirism curse and modify that to take a much stronger spirit into account. Hence the requirement for blood. Why royal blood, though? Or is that just a red herring?"

"They were traditionalists, like it is said I am," Morgaine shrugged. "It was the final binding clause and, yes, nothing else will do. The druids believed, with absolute certainty, that Sang Real truly is something special."

Rowan narrowed his eyes. "Sang Real? Really? Were they total idiots? San Greal, the Holy Grail?"

"You are starting to meet my expectations, A'Rowane Than'Shea," Morgaine nodded approvingly and stood up. "Our time is growing short, but before we leave this sacred place, there is one more thing to discuss."

"It's been mostly your pleasure, Your Grace," Rowan deadpanned.

A secretive smile briefly touched Morgaine's lips as she came to stand next to Rowan at the edge of the tower. "Maybe. Do you know the history of these lands?" she indicated the moonlit vista around them.

"Not really," Rowan shrugged.

"A millennium ago, the direct vassals of the King of Alba were called mormaers. The province around us belonged to the Mormaerdom of Menteith which later evolved into an Earldom. The line of the Earls is long extinct which makes it a perfect choice for me to grant the title to you."

Rowan looked at her like she had grown a second head. "You want me to accept a title of nobility from you?"

"Yes."

Rowan shook his head in disbelief. "I can't think of even a single reason why you'd offer such an... honour to me or why I should even entertain the absurd notion of accepting one."

"Fair enough, but there is more. I will give you three."

With that Morgaine once again took a seat in the stone chair, like a Queen on her throne.

"First and foremost, you and I are in all aspects immortal," Morgaine started simply. "There are not that many of us left on this plane, not those who matter, at least. For example, the Slayers and pointless power struggles have reduced the number of true Master vampires to only a few. Only recently Maštrović – or 'The Master' as he liked to be called once he assumed the rulership of the Order of Aurelius – ceased to exist as did Póntos Inachos – or 'Kakistos' as he vaingloriously renamed himself when the physical transformations started."

'Póntos Inachos?' Rowan wondered, trying to suppress a laughter. 'Wait until Faith hears of this!'

"Besides myself, Prince Vlad and Countess Karnstein there really are none who deserve to be called Masters," Morgaine continued. "Angelus had potential before the Romani curse effectively castrated him. I had hopes for Maštrović's other progeny as well, but Darla is gone, Drusilla is borderline insane and William... well, Angelus, the other Slayer and you made sure that it will take some extraordinary efforts until he is back on track. Whether he ever will be is yet to be determined.

"About others... You have read the laughable little biography the Order has compiled about me, so you know the names of some of the most prominent of them. I addition to those I already mentioned, Bhartari Raja, Marquess of Wilde, Comte de Saint Germain and Vicomte de Cluny all have substantial titles as does Baba Yaga, the only woman to hold the title of Knyazhna in her own right."

Rowan snorted. "You are descended from high nobility, Your Grace, so you feel more comfortable associating yourself with similarly titled people. I guess they were right after all. You are a traditionalist, through and through. The rest, the riff-raff, don't matter to you, I suppose. But I'll humour you. What's the second reason?"

"If we were to stretch the truth to its limits, it could be said we are related – distant cousins by spirit. As a Queen and the fount of honour, is it too far-fetched to believe I want to bestow gifts on my relatives?"

"If you really believe that, you're a fool, Your Grace."

"Maybe we both are. The offer still stands, though."

"And the third?"

"You are in my debt."

"Fair enough, I'll bite. What's the catch?"

"When you are within the borders of my realm, you accept my sovereignty and answer my summons," Morgaine answered without blinking an eye.

"And call you Mistress, right?"

"There is that, too."

"You didn't specify I should obey you in other things except summons," Rowan reminded her as demanded by his honour. "Neither did you stipulate I should refrain from taking action against you if an opportunity presents itself."

"Correct," Morgaine nodded. "That would take all the danger and challenge out of the whole deal."

Then it suddenly occurred to Rowan. "Did you know the Order agreed to meet any offers you made with one of their own."

"It was a fair assumption."

"You are far too clever for your own good, Your Grace," Rowan shook his head in mock resignation. The Priestess reminded him a little of Aryane with her absolute belief in herself. Well... Aryane had never bothered to hide the fact that she knew she was the most brilliant Elementalist Selenia had ever seen.

"And you take far too many liberties with our person, Lehaïr. Our patience will run only so far."

"Hmmm, you refrain from calling me Framadar, which I guess is understandable, as there is no modern counterpart for you to compare it to. A title you understand would make it all easier for you, wouldn't it, Your Grace? Be that as it may, I will have to graciously decline your generous offer."

"Is that your final word?"

"For now, at least."

"Very well. Let us return to the ground."


"How long will the Algiz last?" Rowan asked once they were outside the tower.

"Approximately a year," Morgaine answered. To Rowan's surprise she didn't seem to be the least bit bothered by his refusal to accept a title from her. "I gave you the strongest imprint I could project. A lesser being would have been killed by the shock."

"And then what? I need to rely on your good graces to renew it?"

"Unless you are able to find another suitable candidate to project a sufficiently strong Algiz on you. With your Seals in place, you will be searching for a long time."

"I will find a way," Rowan vowed, even though he knew it was all but impossible. Only Old Ones and maybe their strongest minions had the required knowledge and strength to invoke the Futhark on him.

"No doubt you will do your best, as always. I will be waiting, though."

"By your leave, then... Mistress," Rowan nodded curtly, their current business mainly concluded.

"You may go," Morgaine inclined her head, sounding every inch a Queen dismissing a subject. Just when Rowan had turned to go, Morgaine called behind him. "I will hold you to your debt."

When Rowan turned around, only the ancient tower remained.


When Rowan reached the perimeter road after having followed the ancient path through the mist back to the animal track, he finally allowed himself to relax slightly. 'Damn you, Xander, for tempting the fate by suggesting the Queen "knight me or something". Well, that "something" almost happened just now.'

The Futhark vulnerability was something problematic, potentially catastrophic, in wrong hands. An attack vector he really should have realised earlier – a way for the Old Ones to control their creations, so naturally The Hegemon knew of it. Embedded in their race's core, though normally dormant, it was a masterstroke for The Hegemon to utilise its knowledge of it. Morgaine had given him a temporary shield against it, to last maybe a year, but what would happen when it inevitably dissipated? He would most likely be in California a year from now, so a "petition trip" in the Summer might be required. Or, he could risk it...

It was... irritating having to be depended on someone like Morgaine but, on the other hand, she had revealed and neutralised The Hegemon's sneaky "back-door" on him – if only for a relatively short duration. A debt he had partly paid by accepting her Sovereign status while he stayed in Britain.

The Priestess was a real enigma, something to be solved with time and patience. In the short term, there didn't seem to be anything that would make them cross paths again until it was time for him to go back over the Atlantic. But she had taken an interest in him, something that forebode future interactions and possible conflicts. 'She caved way too easily about the whole title issue. What could be her true motive? She's way too smart to make such an offer just to have someone with a title to interact with.'

When he reached the castle front yard, the first thing he saw were two figures pacing back and forth, smoking like their life depended on it. Althenea and William.

Althenea was the first to spot him. She threw her cigarette away and practically rushed at him – all dignity forgotten. Midway, she stopped like she had hit a barrier. Her mouth fell open in shock.

"She...," the Priestess gasped and visibly paled. "She played us all for fools. Dear Goddess, forgive me for not seeing it. She... she got to you?"

"If there's one who got to me, Althenea, it's The Hegemon," Rowan stated evenly, fixing the Priestess with a serious gaze which made her flinch. "She just countered and temporarily neutralised one aspect of its influence on me, one that I was totally unaware of. That put me directly in debt with her. Maybe she one-upped me, but I'm not under her influence. You may think she has effectively neutralised me as a threat, and that's partly true, but she didn't demand an oath of fealty from me. So, I'm free to act against her if needed, but I will not do that unless she emerges as a clear and present danger."

"Althenea...," William gaped as the young duke saw the look on the Priestess' face. "What...?"

"The High Priestess once again managed to be one step ahead of us," Althenea sighed with a shake of her head. "She put her mark on him. As far as those who follow the Old Covenant are concerned, he appears now as someone beholden to her."

"Is that why she went to such lengths to have this meeting with Rowan?" William asked with a frown. "Why did she involve the Order in the first place?"

Althenea snorted. "To sow chaos and distrust, why else?"

"She offered me the Earldom of Menteith, most likely as a way to 'collect me'," Rowan told the duo. "I declined."

"What?" Althenea gaped.

"How did she take it?" William asked.

"Surprisingly calmly," Rowan shrugged. "I got a feeling that wasn't the end of it. Not by a long shot."

"I need a drink," Althenea groaned. "Let's go inside and shock the others. Misery loves company, as far as I'm concerned." She staggered through the doors inside the castle.

"Why didn't you accept the offer?" William asked Rowan curiously as they followed the Priestess after a minute.

"It was a test," Rowan answered. "Whatever I did, she had every counter-move prepared. This way I still retain something she wants, and some freedom to manoeuvre."

"Menteith," William mused aloud. "It's one of the oldest and most renown titles in Scotland. These lands used to belong to the mormaerdom and later the earldom. I wonder if her choice carries some deeper meaning. The title is not really extinct, per se, you see. Legally its status is 'dormant' as there's always the possibility that a previously unknown but still extant family line and heir of the early earls could be unearthed someday."

"I see," Rowan nodded as they got close to the door of the meeting room where the rest of the Order were waiting for them. "She had guessed that the Order made a counter-offer to me before I brought it up. Maybe she expected you to assist in resurrecting the title legally in the 'real world' if I accepted her offer."

"Maybe," William nodded. "I'll have a call with Lord Lyon regardless. We might as well be prepared for any eventuality." He reached for the door handle. "Well, shall we go?"


Back in her Scotland residence of Duart Castle, Morgaine ordered a hot bath drawn for her as the first priority. Boggarts and poltergeists scrambled back and forth to do her bidding as she ascended the main staircase to her private quarters.

A quarter later in the master bathroom Freya, her Baobhan Sith lady-in-waiting, was already waiting for her.

"Welcome back, Mistress," the seductress greeted her with a deep curtsy. "Did everything go as planned?"

"Yes, I set a new pawn in motion," Morgaine nodded, allowing Freya to disrobe her. "Maybe that move will turn out to be a game-changer."

Morgaine let out a deep, satisfied sigh as she immersed herself in the hot water. She might be technically a vampire, but she really needed to breathe. Another oddity the druids had been forced to add to the ritual to make it work.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Freya undressing herself. "Does Mistress wish for me to pleasure her?" the Baobhan Sith asked her.

"Yes," Morgaine nodded. "Your mouth but no fangs this time."

"Yes, Mistress," Freya nodded and climbed into the large tub. She submerged herself between her Mistress' legs. Sometimes not having to breathe really had its advantages.

"I'm disappointed, Lythalla," a deep voice suddenly boomed in the room. "He was not supposed to know about the Futhark like this!"

Not overly surprised by the visit, Morgaine rolled her eyes. Even after 1,500 years the First still insisted on calling her by a name that had no meaning to her. The spirit inside wasn't her, which was both a curse and a blessing. On the other hand, if there was one thing she envied the Lehaïr for, it was having a single, pure spirit to call one's own.

"And a lot of good that will do to him, Ambrosius," she answered evenly. Over the years she had found it easier to address the First by the face it was showing. "It might even lead to excessive paranoia within his little ring of so-called friends and associates. Knowing Moncreiff, I am fairly sure she will start second-guessing the Lehaïr's motives and doubting every interaction he will have with the Order."

"Your games are becoming less and less amusing by the year," the First growled. "And you're hiding something, otherwise you wouldn't have taken him to the tower. Watch your steps, Lythalla. Very soon now, you may find yourself without room to manoeuvre."

"Tick, tock. Your time is running out," Morgaine responded flatly, totally unfazed. "Did you come here just to exchange platitudes?"

"I want the Council in chaos before the year is out, Witch. I'll be back," it snarled and vanished.

Closing her eyes with a smile, Morgaine concentrated again on Freya's expert ministrations between her legs. The Lehaïr was a perfect addition to her circle of sometimes-allies-sometimes-foes. He was still young, comparatively, but already a skilled and competent player. Whether he would remain one... well, there was time to find out. Lots of time...