“You won’t make much of a showing looking like that,” Dog Mask said dryly. “Anyway, he won’t be there until dusk tomorrow. Use the time wisely. Ready yourself to present a strong case.”

“He won’t be there? Who?”

“The Lord of the Oak.” This imposing name was spoken in a derisive tone. “The one who’s taken on authority in these parts since those others departed. He rules all now; all dance to his tune.”

“Even you?” I could not help asking.

A gurgle of laughter. “Oh, not us! His kind has never ruled over ours, daughter of Sevenwaters. We go our own way; make our own paths. But he’s the one who took your brother, and he’s the one with the power to give him back. He won’t be impressed by that raggedy hair and that apology for a gown. Best use the time to tidy yourself up.”

“Don’t speak to her like that.” Cathal’s voice had an edge like a blade.

“Follow me, daughter,” said the creature, ignoring him completely. It turned, walking away down the broadening stretch of sward.

“Wait, Clodagh,” whispered Cathal in my ear. “Are you sure—”

“Not really,” I said. “But I suppose this may be safe, as long as we stay together.”

Dog Mask led us a short distance ahead, then turned down a side pathway paved in white stones and bordered by a miniature hedge of an aromatic plant I did not recognize. This way was clearly not natural but constructed. It curved around under the trees and came up to a hedge of thornbushes in which a curious gate had been formed, the prickly branches twisted and tied into a pattern of lines radiating out from a central point. Here the slender lengths of wood met in a complex knotted tangle, its shape resembling a grotesque, grinning face with worm holes for eyes. A mouthlike slash below these empty sockets gaped suddenly open, making me gasp. “Password?” demanded a creaky voice.

But our guide didn’t seem bothered by passwords. It simply held up one furred hand and the gate swung open. When we had walked through, it slammed shut behind us.

The thorn hedge enclosed a grassy space the size of a small field. To one side was a grove of gnarled and ancient trees whose type I could not guess. A tiny stream ran between these and out into the open space, where it trickled into a round pond. Close by, a campfire burned between stones. There was a stack of wood nearby, and beside it was a roll of bedding. Next to this lay our two packs.

“Dagda preserve us,” said Cathal mildly.