“None there are to believe how long I have lived, or how long I have waited, while uncounted millions of little mortal men have strutted the earth, and bred like the pigs they are, and slew and slew, and so much of the Old Knowledge was lost that what remains-in the hands of these ‘Druids’-is but the ghost of the shadow of the shadow of what I know! But I have LIVED, I have remained on this earth in this dimension, whilst others died and returned scores of times. And now… at last I will have my vengeance, after a hundred and eighty centuries.”

The risen dead man looked about, ruminating. “First I must be invited to leave this isle, for still I am bound here by the old spell. But… I shall come to thee, you who men know now as Cormac mac Art of Connacht in Eirrin! I… will… have… my… VENGEANCE!”

And as the tall and cadaverous figure in the night-dark robe hurled aloft both arms amid a flapping of full tapering sleeves, the eyes and lips of his visage seemed to waver and vanish, to be replaced for an instant by a ghastly, grinning, chalk-white skull!

The most powerful and dedicatedly evil sorcerer in the world’s history was loose again on the face of the earth.

Chapter One:

Eight-and-twenty Picts

Sped by strong hands at its ten banks of oars, the hide-covered ship-or long boat-clove the water as though with good wind behind. Yet its blue sail was furled, for no air stirred the sea that basked so lazily in the sun betwixt Britain and Eirrin. Only where the ship passed was the blue-green water disturbed; it foamed cloud-white along the little ship and for a short distance in its wake.

The men at the oars had set aside their helmets, some of which sprouted horns, while one was decorated with feathers and still another trailed a horsehair plume after the Roman fashion. Long was the hair of these men, plaited or caught back by a thong, and there was but one among the crew of that lone vessel whose locks were more dark than the colour of new copper. Some of the oarsmen were daubed on face and arms with blue paint or dye. Others wore no such paint, though the face of one huge-armed fellow was etched with a scar so fierce it might have been mistaken for a red dye, only slightly faded.