The Hawk Eternal

by David Gemmell

  “You are right to consider running,” said the woman when he had finished. “I have seen the like of the beast before in my own kingdom. More than once. They are terrible—and hard to slay. Although it kills to eat, once it has fixed on a prey it will pursue it damn near forever. This beast has—in a way—been hunting me for forty years.”

  “Why you?” whispered Gaelen.

  “It was sent a long time ago by a sorcerer named Jakuta Khan. But that is a story for another day, Gaelen.”

  “What can we do?” asked Layne.

  “You can eat breakfast and put some strength in your limbs. Then we will plan for battle.”

  The companions seated themselves at her feet and dug into the loaves and meat. The bread tasted fresh-baked and the beef was tender and pink. They ate without gusto, except for Lennox who tore great chunks of bread and crammed them into his mouth.

  The Queen watched him, eyebrows raised. “You were perhaps expecting a famine?”

  “Either that or he’s going to cause one,” observed Gwalchmai.

  Agwaine said nothing. The appearance of this strange woman had angered him, and he was loath to hand over the great sword—their only real defense against the beast—to a woman.

  “How will we fight this beast?” asked Layne.

  “How indeed?” she replied, her pale eyes showing sorrow.

  “We could make spears,” suggested Gaelen, “by fastening our daggers to poles.”

  “Come to that, I could make a bow,” said Gwal. “It wouldn’t be a great weapon, or very accurate. But it might serve at close range.”

  “Then do it swiftly,” said the Queen, “and we will talk again.”

  The boys rose and spread out nervously into the woods, searching for saplings or stout straight branches. Gaelen and Agwaine selected an infant elm and began to hack at it with their daggers.

  “What do you think of her, Lowlander?” Agwaine asked as the sapling snapped.

  “I think she is what she says she is,” snapped Gaelen. “And if you call me Lowlander again, you’ll answer for it.”

  Agwaine grinned. “I don’t like you, Gaelen, but you are right. Whatever your pedigree, you are now a clansman. But I’ll never call you cousin.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Gaelen told him. “You are nothing to me.”

  “So be it.”

  They stripped the sapling of twigs and leaves and shortened it to a manageable five feet. Then Gaelen unwound the thongs of his right legging and bound his knife to the wood. He hefted it for balance and hurled it at a nearby tree. The spear hammered home with a dull thud. Gaelen tugged it loose and examined the binding; it remained firm.

  It seemed a formidable weapon, but he summoned the image of the beast to mind and then the spear seemed puny indeed.

  “Were you surprised I found the sword?” Agwaine asked him.

  “No, disappointed.”

  “That was a good trick with the pack.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I didn’t, but it was good anyway.” Gaelen nodded. He waited while Agwaine fashioned his spear, then wandered away; he didn’t enjoy Agwaine’s company and he knew the feeling was reciprocated.

  He made his way back to the clearing where the old woman sat. She was deep in thought and Gaelen watched her for some time from the edge of the woods. It was easy to believe she was a queen, for her bearing was proud and confident and she was clearly used to being obeyed. But there was more to her than that: a kind of innate nobility, an inner strength, which shone through.

  “Are you going to stand there all day, Gaelen?” she asked without moving her head.

  Gaelen stepped forward. “How did you know I was here? And how do you know my name?”

  “Let’s leave it at the first question. I heard you. Come and join me for a while, and eat something. To work efficiently the body must be fed.”

  “Are you no longer a queen?” asked Gaelen, seating himself cross-legged before her.

  The woman chuckled and shook her head. “A queen is always a queen. Only death can change that. But I am, at present, without a realm. Yet I hope to return soon. I promised my people I would—just as my father did before me.”

  “Why did you leave your land?” Gaelen asked.

  “I was wounded, and likely to die. And so the prophecy was fulfilled and . . . my captain . . . sought the Gate and passed me through. Taliesen healed me.”

  “How were you wounded?”

  “In a battle.” She looked away, her eyes distant.

  “Did you win?”

  “I always win, Gaelen,” she said sadly. “My friends die and yet I win. Winning is a hard habit to break; we can come to feed on it to the exclusion of all else.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not when you’re young,” she said, smiling again.

  “Why have you stayed up here and not in the village?”

  “As I told you, I am a guest of the Lord Taliesen. He felt it would be wiser to remain near Vallon. Now, enough of questions. Look around you. Is this a good place to face the beast?”

  “Is there a good place?” countered Gaelen.

  “There are places you should avoid, like open ground.”

  “Is here a good place?”

  “Not bad. You have the trees to shield you, and yet there is no dense undergrowth so it cannot creep up on you unnoticed.”

  “Except at night,” said Gaelen.

  “Indeed. But it will be over, for good or ill, long before then.”

  “What about you? You have no spear.”

  The Queen smiled. “I have my sword; it has been with me these forty years. I thought it had been left behind when I passed through the Gateway, but Taliesen brought it to me. It is a fine weapon.”

  Lennox came into view carrying an enormous club of oak. “I found this,” he said. “It will do for me.”

  The Queen laughed loud. “There is nothing subtle about you, Lennox, my lad. Nor ever will be. Indeed it is a fine weapon.”

  Gwalchmai had fashioned a short bow and had found six pieces of wood straight enough to slice into shafts for it. “It’s a clumsy thing,” he said, “and the range will be no greater than twenty paces.” Squatting down, he began to shape pieces of bark into flights for his arrows.

  By noon they had completed their preparations and they sat waiting for the woman’s instructions. But she said nothing, merely sitting among them slowly chewing the last of the bread. Gaelen caught the Queen’s eye and she smiled, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He turned to Gwalchmai. “You are the lightest of us, Gwal. Why don’t you climb that tree and keep a watch for the creature?”

  Gwalchmai nodded. “Wouldn’t the oak be better? It’s more sturdy.”

  “The beast might be able to climb,” said Gaelen. “The elm would never support its weight.”

  “How will you tackle it when it comes?” asked the Queen, staring at Gaelen.

  “We must confuse it,” he said, his mind racing. He had no idea how five boys and an old woman should tackle a creature of such speed and strength, but the Queen asked him a question and seemed to expect a rational reply. “If we spread out, the beast must attack us one at a time. Each time it does, one or all the others must stab at it, turning the creature all ways. Gwal, you will stay in the tree,” he called to the climbing boy. “Shoot when you have a clear target.”

  “That is all good thinking,” said the Queen, “but, even so, to confuse the beast you must surprise it. Once it is sighted, and we know which direction it is coming from, you must hide yourselves, forming a rough circle. But one of you must act as bait and stay in plain sight. With luck the beast will charge; I’ve seen that before. Ideally we must make it charge onto a spear. That way its weight will carry the point home far more powerfully than any thrust of yours.”

  “I will be the bait,” said Gaelen, surprising himself.

  “Why you?” asked Agwaine. “I am the fastest here, and I’ve outrun it before.”


  “Speed is not usually required of bait,” Gaelen told him.

  Agwaine chuckled and shook his head. “All right. I will stay on your right, Lennox and Layne can take the left. And may God give us luck.”

  “Do not ask for luck, ask for courage,” said the Queen.

  “How will you fight?” Agwaine asked her.

  “With my sword,” she replied softly. “As I always have, against man and beast. Don’t worry about me, boy.”

  “Why should you fight for us at all?”

  “That is a mystery you will one day understand, but it is not for me to explain to you.”

  “It’s coming!” called Gwalchmai from high in the elm. They could all see where he was pointing; the beast was moving from the northwest.

  “Take up positions,” said the woman. Lennox and Layne ran to the left, crouching behind a large bush. Agwaine moved to the right, spear held before him, and squatted behind the bole of an oak. High in the elm Gwalchmai strung his bow, hooked his leg around a thick branch, and wedged himself in position, notching an arrow to the string.

  The Queen drew her sword and held the blade to her lips. Then she smiled at Gaelen. “This should be something to tell your five children,” she said.

  Gaelen did not reply. Some fifty paces ahead the beast had come into view. This close it seemed even more colossal. Seeing Gaelen, the creature reared up to its full height and bellowed a bloodcurdling howl. Then it dropped to all fours and charged.

  The boy glanced to his left, seeking assurance from the warrior. But the Queen had gone.

  The ground beneath Gaelen’s feet shook as the beast thundered toward him. He gripped his spear and waited, all fear vanishing like mist in a breeze. In that moment a strange euphoria gripped him. All his life he had been alone, afraid, and unhappy. Now he was part of something; he belonged. Even if his life had to end in the next moments nothing could take away the joy he had known in these last few precious months.

  He was no longer alone.

  He was Clan.

  The beast slowed, rearing to its full height with arms spread, fangs gleaming in the morning sun. Gaelen gripped his spear firmly, muscles tensed for the thrust. The beast came on, drawing abreast of the hidden Agwaine. Fear swept over the Hunt Lord’s son, shrouding him in a tidal wave of panic. He wanted to run. To hide.

  But he too was Clan.

  Rising up from his hiding place as the creature’s shadow fell across him, Agwaine rammed the spear into the beast’s side. A blood-chilling scream filled the clearing. Agwaine vainly tried to pull his weapon clear. A taloned arm swept backhanded, punching the boy from his feet; he hit the ground on his face and rolled to his back. The beast stepped over him, jaws slavering and talons reaching out. Agwaine screamed.

  At that moment Layne raced from the left, hurling his spear with all his strength. The weapon flashed through the air to bury itself in the beast’s broad back. It came upright, swinging to meet the new attack. Behind it Agwaine tried to stand, but his legs gave way and he pitched to the earth, nausea filling his throat. Layne, weaponless, stood transfixed as the beast bore down on him. Lennox grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him aside, then stood waiting for the creature, his club raised, his eyes defiant.

  Gaelen ran in to attack, screaming at the top of his voice. The beast’s black eyes flickered toward the charging boy and in that moment Lennox struck, stepping forward to thunder the oak club against the creature’s head. It staggered, but blocked Lennox’s next blow with a raised arm. Gaelen’s spear sliced into the flesh above its hip, then broke, pitching the boy to the ground at the monster’s feet.

  Now only Lennox remained in the fight. The young giant hit once more, but this time the beast was ready—it parried the blow with its paw and a taloned hand gripped the youth’s upper arm, smashing the bone and ripping the flesh from the shoulder. Lennox staggered back but did not fall. Transferring the club to his right hand, he waited for the beast’s next attack.

  An arrow cut deep into the monster’s thigh, causing it to bellow in pain and rage. A second glanced from its thick skull. Lennox crashed his club into the creature’s mouth, but a backhanded blow hurled him from his feet.

  Injured though the beast was, none of the wounds were mortal, and the battle had turned. From his precarious position in the tree, Gwalchmai fired a third shaft that buried itself in the ground by the beast’s right foot. Leaning out for the fourth shot, the young archer toppled from the branch, landing on his back.

  Running behind the beast, Gaelen grabbed Layne’s spear and plucked it from the creature’s back. As it turned he stabbed at its face, the point slashing a jagged line up and into the sensitive nostrils. To Gaelen’s right Layne gathered up Lennox’s club and tried to help, but the monster turned on him, slashing the boy’s chest. The talons snaked out again. Gaelen leaped backward, tumbling to the earth.

  The beast’s jaws opened and another terrifying howl pierced the air.

  The boys were finished.

  “Ho, Hell spawn!” shouted the Queen. The beast swung ponderously, glittering black eyes picking out the tall, armored figure at the center of the clearing. “Now face me!”

  She stood with feet apart, her silver sword before her.

  The beast reared to its full height—eight feet of black, merciless destruction. Before its power the woman seemed to Gaelen a frail, tiny figure. The monster moved forward slowly—then charged, dropping to all fours. The Queen sidestepped, her silver sword swung arcing down to rebound from the creature’s skull, slicing its scalp and sending a blood spray into the air. The beast twisted, launching itself in a mighty spring, but the woman leaped to the right, the sword cutting across the creature’s chest to open a shallow wound.

  Agwaine crawled to where Gaelen crouched.

  “She cannot win,” whispered the Hunt Lord’s son.

  “Run, boys!” yelled the Queen.

  But they did not. Gaelen scooped up the broken spear, while Layne helped Lennox to his feet and gathered once more the club of oak.

  The old woman was breathing hard now. Taliesen had stitched her wounds, but her strength was not what it was. Under the breastplate stitches had parted and blood oozed down her belly. Sweat bathed her face and her mouth was set in a grim line.

  Once more the beast reared above her. Once more she hammered the sword in its face. The creature shook its head, blood spraying into the air.

  The woman knew she could last but a little longer, while the creature was only maddened by the cuts it had received. A plan formed in her mind and weighed down her heart. It had been her hope to return to her realm and lead it out of the darkness of war. Now there would be no going home. No future. No golden days of peace watching the nation prosper.

  In that final moment, as the creature prepared to attack once more, it was as if time slowed. Sigarni could smell the forest, the musky brown earth, the freshness of the breeze. Images leaped to her mind and she saw again the handsome forester, Fell, the first great love of her life. He had died in the battle against the Baron, cut down by the last arrow loosed in that fateful battle. Faces from the past glittered in her memory: Ballistar the dwarf, who had sought a new life in a new world; Asmidir, the black battle captain; Obrin, the renegade Outlander; and Redhawk—above them all, Redhawk.

  I will never see you again, she thought, though you promised to be with me at the end. You gave me your word, my love. You promised!

  Talons lashed toward her. Ducking beneath them she leaped back, lifting her sword toward the beast. It sprang forward, but this time the Queen did not sidestep. With a savage battle cry she launched herself into its path, driving the blade deep into the creature’s huge chest. The silver steel slid between its ribs, plunging through its lungs and cleaving the heart.

  As it screamed in its death throes its great arms encircled the woman. The breastplate buckled under the immense pressure and the Queen’s ribs snapped, jagged bone ripping into her. Then the beast released her and toppled to the earth. The woman
staggered back, then fell. She struggled to rise, but agony lanced her.

  The boys ran to her side, Gaelen kneeling by her and raising her head to lay it on his lap. Gently he stroked the silver hair from her eyes.

  “Give the word to Taliesen,” whispered the Queen, blood staining her lips. She coughed weakly and swallowed. “We did it, lads,” she said. “You did well, as I knew you would.”

  Agwaine knelt on her right, taking her hand.

  “You saved us; you killed it,” said Gaelen.

  “Listen to me, for I am dying now, but remember my words. I shall return to the Farlain. You will be older then. Men. Warriors. You will have suffered much and I will aid you again.”

  Agwaine glanced at Gaelen. “What does she mean?”

  Gaelen shrugged. The sound of running feet echoed in the clearing as Caswallon, Cambil, and the clansmen raced into view. Caswallon knelt by Gaelen. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. She saved us. She slew the beast.”

  “Who is she?” asked Caswallon.

  The Queen’s eyes opened. “Ah, it is you,” she whispered, smiling. “Now the circle is complete, for you told me you would be with me at my death. How well you look. How young. How handsome! No . . . silver in your beard.”

  Caswallon gazed down into the bright blue eyes and saw that the woman was fading fast. Her hand lifted toward him and he took it, holding it firm.

  “Did I do well, Caswallon? Tell me truly?”

  “You did well,” answered Caswallon. “You saved the boys.”

  “But my kingdom? Was I . . . truly the Queen you desired me to be?”

  “Yes,” answered Caswallon, nonplussed.

  She smiled once more, then a tear formed and slowly fell to her pale cheek. “Poor Caswallon,” she whispered. “You do not know whose hand you hold, but you will.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers. “I know you are brave beyond words,” he said, “and I do not doubt you were a queen beyond compare.”

  Her eyes closed and a long broken sigh hissed from her throat. Caswallon sat for a moment, still holding on to the hand. Then he laid it gently across the Queen’s chest.