Auberon nodded. "In time, you will learn that you are cursed. In time, you will join us, the Cured, and become one of our fellowship. I will pray for you, Laira."

Next the elderly druid turned toward Maev. He offered her the remaining stew.

Tied to the boulder, her limbs stretched out, Maev glowered.

"Eat," Auberon said, holding the bowl to her lips.

Maev swung her head, knocking the bowl aside, and spat on Auberon's face.

"Go rot in the Abyss, you wormy pile of buzzard dung." Maev snapped her teeth. "Try to feed me again and I'll bite your damn hand off."

Laira sighed. Maev had been refusing her meals for two days now.

And we might be here for a very long time.

"Maev, you should eat," Laira said.

The young woman glowered at Laira. "I'd sooner eat demon flesh. I'd rather starve to death than eat anything these goat-shaggers are cooking. Could be damn tillvine in the stew too."

Old Auberon wiped her spit off his face and shook his head. "The Cured Druids believe in honor, in truth. We would never deceive you. The true cure, our gods teach, must be voluntary, must come from within. You must willingly choose our elixir." He held the goblet up to Maev's lips. "Drink, daughter. Drink and—"

"Get shagged!" Maev shouted. She swung her head, trying to knock the goblet over, but Auberon pulled the vessel aside.

The old druid nodded. "I will return at dusk. I will pray for you, my daughters."

"Pray to save your arse once I'm free, bastard!" Maev shouted after him, thrashing in her bonds.

The old druid wandered off into his hut—a mere grassy mound with a stone archway for a door.

Laira turned to look at the struggling Maev. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and bleeding.

"You shouldn't struggle," Laira said. "You're only causing the vines to cut you. And you should eat. You need your strength."

Maev went limp and dropped her chin to her chest. She gazed at Laira between strands of scraggly hair. "For what? What do I need strength for anymore? Look at us, Laira. We defeated tribal warriors, rocs, demons, a southern king . . . to end up here. Tied up by a bunch of old druids." She snorted, blowing back a lock of hair. "Not quite the heroic death I imagined for myself."

Laira frowned. "We're not going to die here."