Eithné took the goblet from Braenn’s trembling hands and raised it up. “Can you read Old Runes, White Wolf?” “Yes, I can.” “Read what is engraved on the goblet. It is from Craag An. It was drunk from by kings whom no one now remembers.” “Duettaeánn aef cirrán Cáerme Gláeddyv. Yn á esseáth.” “Do you know what that means?” “The Sword of Destiny has two blades… You are one of them.” “Stand up, Child of the Elder Blood.” The dryad’s voice clanged like steel in an order which could not be defied, a will which had to be yielded to. “Drink. It is the Water of Brokilon.”
