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'What do you want, Captain?'

'Are the Tuatha still within the chamber?'

'Yeth, of courthe they are, Captain.' His eyes settled on Ace and the Doctor. 'Ah, have we then thome vithitorth? Well, bring them up, bring them up.'

Ace whispered to the Doctor, 'Love that lithp.'

'We all have our crosses to bear,' he reproached her.

The panel slammed back into place and in the wall far beneath it a pivoted stone swung open, revealing a set of stairs. Rhys beckoned to the Doctor and Ace to follow and tersely commanded the two guards to return to the circle.

Once on the stairs the stone entrance shut smoothly behind them. A feeling of panic briefly caught Ace's mind as, like a wild animal trapped, she found the stone walls closing in around her oppressively.

She reached out an arm to the Doctor for reassurance.

'Professor? '

'Yes, Ace?'

The feeling passed. 'It's nothing, I … Nothing.'

The Doctor moved her so that she was in front of him and they started up the spiralling ascent.

Torches hung on the walls at regular intervals and filled the air with oily fumes that clung pervasively to everything. Shortly they heard footsteps descending and druidic robes, followed by the head of Caeryon came into view.

'Come along, come along. We muthn't keep the Tuatha waiting,' he told them. And slipping nimbly round the stair’s axis, he dropped on to the step behind the Doctor and gave him a push.

'All things come to those who wait,’ the Doctor advised him.

'Just watch who you're pushing, ratface,' Ace contributed belligerently.

Taken aback, Caeryon blinked and then asked, 'And who exactly am I pushing, Captain Rhyth?'

'This is the Doctor and –’

'I'm his friend, Ace,' she finished.

‘Pleased to meet you,' the Doctor said. 'You're some sort of priest I take it?'

‘Thome thort of prietht?' Caeryon spluttered. 'I am not jutht thome thort of prietht,' he raised himself to his full five feet two inches, 'I am the highetht ranking druid in Tír na n-Óg.’ He sagged and muttered to himself, 'Much good that it doeth me. I am the landth firtht conthort, reduthed to running errandth for the Tuatha de Danaan.' For a moment he contemplated the wall as if it were some terribly appealing but sad creature and then he slapped his forehead. 'What are you letting me do, Rhyth? Come along, come along, no time to be maudlin. They wait impatiently.'

It was a magnificent chair, carved from the same rock as the walls of the chamber around it. Twisting and writhing about its surface was a multitude of creatures. At one time they had been further ornamented by gold serpents which coiled round the legs of the menagerie, but now, of course, all gold was gone from the council chamber.

Dryfid leader of the Tuatha de Danaan, ruling elite of Tír na n-Óg, sat in the highly ornate chair, and gazed levelly at General Nuada on the far side of the circular, thick wooden table. Nuada, the fingers of one hand silently drumming on the oak wood listened intently to Sister Keli and so was unaware that he was the object of Dryfid's attention. Even had he known, it was unlikely that he would have cared, so sure was he of himself.

Dryfid's hand strayed from the head of the spitting dragon which formed one armrest of his chair down to scratch between the ears of the wolf sitting on its haunches at his side. Through all the uncertainty and changes, Cyllell had remained resolutely faithful, unwavering in his devotion. It was a quality that Dryfid would have liked to have seen in his fellow members of the Tuathu. It was true that, while some whom he had considered allies now sided with Nuada, there were others who, unexpectedly, took his point of view, though probably for completely different reasons to his own. But of these, there were not enough, not nearly enough. Sister Keli, for example, was the prime mover behind many of the cults, the most important of which was, of course, the cult of Dagda. She counselled the Tuatha to remain and face the consequences of everything that had happened and she despised Dryfid for his weakness. Dryfid