Cambil knelt beside him. “Who was she?” asked the Hunt Lord.
Caswallon stared down at the dead warrior woman. “Whoever she was, I mourn her passing.”
“She was the Queen Beyond,” said Gaelen, “and she always won.”
Then he began to weep.
Chapter Five
Lennox sat with his back against a tree as they stitched his shoulder and strapped his broken arm. His face was grey with pain, but he uttered no groan, merely squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
His father, Leofas, said nothing, but pride shone in his eyes. Layne lay beside his brother, enduring the stitches in his chest in the same stoic fashion. Away from the others sat Badraig, tears flowing and head in hands. His son Draig had been killed the day before.
Even through his own immense relief Cambil felt the other man’s sorrow, and leaving his son Agwaine, he walked over to sit beside the hunter. He put his hand on Badraig’s shoulder.
“I am sorry, my friend. Truly.”
The man nodded, but neither lifted his head nor answered.
Caswallon stood with the other clansmen looking down on the beast. Even in death it was a terrifying sight, its great jaws drawn back in a last snarl, its fangs, as long as a man’s fingers, bared and bloody.
“I have never seen the like,” muttered Caswallon, “and I pray I never shall again.”
They buried the Queen deep, marking the grave with flat white stones. Cambil promised to have a headstone carved. Then the men split into two groups, Badraig leading the five hunters back to the falls and burying what was left of the bodies; Cambil, Leofas, and Caswallon staying with the boys. It was decided they would rest in the clearing until morning and then attempt the long walk back to the village.
The main worry was Lennox, who had lost a great deal of blood. Gwalchmai, though stunned by his fall, was back on his feet and unhurt. He alone of the boys had missed the Queen’s last battle.
That night around the campfire the boys were unnaturally silent. Lennox, in great pain, sought refuge in sleep, but the others sat together staring at the flames. Agwaine had lost friends and suffered the terror of being hunted; Layne had seen the leadership of the group taken quietly from him by the former Lowlander; and Gaelen had discovered in his heart a strength he had not known existed. Only Gwalchmai was untouched by the drama, but he remained silent, for he sensed his friends’ needs.
Caswallon prepared a strong broth for them all. His own thoughts were many. Through his sorrow at the death of the three lads he felt a surging pride at the way the others had tackled the beast, and a sense of joy at the manner in which Gaelen had conducted himself. Thinking back, he did not know if he could have duplicated the feat at Gaelen’s age. But overriding these thoughts he could not help but remember the words of the Queen. At first he had thought the woman delirious, but her eyes had been clear.
Caswallon had always enjoyed an ability to read character truly, and he knew instinctively that the dying warrior was a great woman, a woman of courage, nobility of spirit, and great inner strength. That she was a queen was no surprise.
But queen of where? And how did she know him?
Beyond the Gate. What was beyond the Gate?
Only Oracle knew. And Taliesen.
The night wore on and Caswallon strolled away from the fire, seeking solitude and a place to think. But Cambil joined him and they sat together on a high hillside under the clear sky.
“Badraig is a broken man,” said Cambil softly, gathering his green cloak about his broad shoulders.
“Yes. What can one say?”
“I feel a burden of guilt for it,” said Cambil. “Last night I prayed that Agwaine would survive. I would willingly have exchanged any life for his. When I saw he was alive I didn’t care anything for Badraig’s loss; it only struck me later.”
“That is understandable.”
“Don’t patronize me, Caswallon!” snapped the Hunt Lord, eyes blazing.
“I was not trying to. How do you think I felt when I saw Gaelen?”
“It’s not the same thing, is it? You may be fond of the boy, but he’s not of your blood. You didn’t watch him take his first faltering steps, hear his first words, take him on his first hunt.”
“No, that is true,” admitted Caswallon, realizing the futility of the argument.
“Still Gaelen did well,” said Cambil. “He proved his right to be a clansman.”
“Yes.”
“But he can never be Hunt Lord.”
Caswallon turned then, catching Cambil’s eye, but the Hunt Lord looked away, staring into the woods. At once Caswallon understood the man’s meaning. Gaelen had planned the battle with the beast, had taken over leadership from Layne. Agwaine had done his bidding. On such talents were future Hunt Lords built. Cambil’s dream was that Agwaine would succeed him, but now he was unsure.
“Be content that your son is alive,” said Caswallon. “The future will look to itself.”
“But you agree it would not be fitting for a Lowlander to lead the clan?”
“The Council can decide on the day you step down.”
“So, it is your plan to supplant Agwaine with this boy?” accused Cambil, face reddening.
Caswallon sighed. “Nothing could have been further from my mind.”
“It was Agwaine who found the sword.”
“Indeed it was.”
A long silence enveloped them, until at last Cambil stood to leave. We will never be friends, Caswallon,” he said sadly.
“You see ogres where there are none,” Caswallon told him. “I have no ambition, cousin—not for myself, nor my sons. They will be what they desire to be, and what they are able to be. I want to see them happy, married well, and content. All else is dross, for we all die and there is no evidence we take anything with us when we go.”
Cambil nodded. “I wish I could believe you, but I see a different Caswallon. I see a man who could have been Hunt Lord. Children imitate your walk, tales are told about you around the campfires. And yet what have you done? You steal other men’s cattle. What is it about you, Caswallon?”
“I have no idea. I never listen to the stories.”
Caswallon watched as Cambil walked slowly down the slope toward the fire. Gathering his own cloak about him, he stared at the stars, mind wandering.
After about an hour he felt a cold wind blow against his neck, but the leaves about him did not stir. He turned. Behind him stood Taliesen, wrapped in his cloak of shimmering feathers and holding a staff of oak entwined with mistletoe.
“Three boys are dead,” he told the druid, gesturing to a place beside him on the flat boulder. The druid sat, leaning forward on his staff.
“I know. The Queen also.”
“Who was she?”
“Sigarni the Hawk Queen. Did she say anything before she died?”
“She said she would come again, so the boys tell me. And she thought I was someone she once knew.”
“The old man you know as Oracle brought this upon us,” said Taliesen. “I only hope I can make it right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Seek Oracle and tell him you have spoken to me. Tell him that it pleases me for you to know his story. But when you have heard it, promise me you will repeat it to no one. Do you agree to this?”
“I do.”
Maeg ran from the house, Kareen beside her, as the men appeared on the far hill. Other women streamed from crofts and homes. Men working in the fields dropped their tools and joined the rush.
Within minutes the hunters and the boys were surrounded. Cambil answered all questions and Caswallon led Gaelen through the throng to where Maeg waited. She moved forward, cupping Gaelen’s face with her hands.
“Are you well, my bonny lad?”
“Yes.”
She read the sorrow in his eyes and linked her arm in his for the long walk to the house. He had suffered so much in his life and now it was obvious that he had endured more pain. Her heart
ached for him.
At the house the crofter Durk was waiting for Kareen. He asked after Gaelen and then left, taking the girl with him to walk up the hillside.
Gaelen was exhausted and stumbled to his bed while Caswallon and Maeg sat together by the hearth. The clansman told her of the ordeal in the mountains and how well the boys had handled themselves.
“He is a lad to be proud of, Caswallon,” she said.
He grinned sheepishly. “I know. I was close to tears as he told me the tale.”
“He’ll be a fine man.”
“Sooner than you think,” said Caswallon.
“And how did you fare with Cambil for so many days?”
He shrugged. “The man fears me, Maeg. He thinks I plan to supplant Agwaine with Gaelen. Is it not madness? His doubts must sit on his shoulders like a mountain.”
“He is a sad, lonely man. I’m glad you harbor no ill will.”
“How can I hate him? I grew up with him. He was always the same; he believed his father liked me more than him. Always he strived to beat me, and he never did. Had I been wiser, I would have lost at least once.”
“It’s not in you to lose,” she said. “You are a clansman. And a proud man—too proud, I think.”
“Can a man be too proud? It harms no one. I have never insulted another man, nor abused my strength by destroying a weaker opponent. I do not parade my talents, but I am aware of them.”
“Nonsense. You’re as vain as a flamingo. I’ve seen you trimming your beard by the silver mirror and using my brush to comb it flat.”
“Spying on me now, is it?”
“Yes, it is. And why shouldn’t I? Am I not your wife?”
He pulled her to his lap and kissed her. “Indeed, you are the best thing I ever stole from the Pallides. Except for that bull of your father’s.”
“When I think that Intosh proposed to me,” said Maeg, tugging his beard, “and instead I ended up with you, I wonder if the Gods hold a grudge against my family.”
“Intosh? He was my rival? You’d have hated it, Maeg. The man has ticks in his bed. I was scratching for days after I stole his sword.”
“You dog! So that’s where they came from.”
“Now, now, Maeg my love,” he said as she pulled from his grasp, eyes blazing. “Let’s not have a row. The boy needs his sleep, he’s been through much.”
“You’ve not heard the last of this, my fine Farlain,” she said softly.
“And now, while you’re quiet for a moment,” he said, pulling her to him once more, “perhaps you’ll welcome me home. It’s been a tiring journey.”
“Then you’ll be wanting to sleep?”
“Indeed I do. Will you join me?”
“You can bathe first. I’ll have no more of your ticks.”
“Is there any heated water?”
“There is not.”
“You’d not expect me to bathe in the yard in the cold?”
“Of course not. You can sleep down here and bathe tomorrow in the warm water.”
“Sleep here?” Their eyes met and there was no give in her. “It’s the yard then,” he said.
Later, as Caswallon slept, Maeg heard Gaelen moaning in his sleep in the next room. She rose quickly, wrapping a blanket around her naked body, and made her way to his bedside. It was a familiar nightmare and she knew he was once more running from the Aenir, his legs leaden, his wounds bleeding.
She sat beside him stroking his hair. “It’s all right, Gaelen,” she whispered. “You’re here with Maeg. You’re safe. Safe.”
He groaned and rolled to his back. “Maeg?”
“I’m here.”
“Dreaming,” he whispered and his eyes closed once more.
She remembered the first time Caswallon had brought him home. He had been nervous then, and his eyes had flickered from wall to wall as if the house were a prison. And he had avoided her. When she showed him his room, his delight had stunned her.
“This is my room?”
“Yes.”
“My very own? To share with no one?”
“Your very own.”
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“You are very welcome.”
“You cannot bewitch me,” he said suddenly.
“I see,” she said, smiling. “Caswallon has told you about my spells?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t tell you my powers faded soon after we were wed?”
“No.”
“It happens to women once they’ve snared their men.”
“I see,” he said.
“So let us be friends. How does that sit with you?”
“I’d like to be friends,” he said, grinning. “I’ve never had friends.”
“It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to,” she told him.
“I don’t talk very much,” he said. “I never had anyone to practice with. I’m not terribly clever at it.”
“It’s not clever that counts, Gaelen. Clever comes from the mind, truth from the heart. Now I will begin our friendship by telling you the truth. When Caswallon first rescued you I was worried, for we have a son. But I have thought long about it, and now I am glad. For I like you, and I know you will be happy with us. For our part, we will teach you to be a clansman.”
“I may not be very good at that either,” admitted the boy.
“It’s not a matter of being good at it. Merely being is enough. It will not be easy for you, for Caswallon is not a popular man, and some will make it hard—perhaps even unpleasant—for you.”
“Why is he not popular?”
“That is a complex question. He is independent, and it has made him all that he has. He holds to the old ways of raiding and stealing from other clans. But there are other reasons that I think it best you find out for yourself.”
“He is a thief?”
She chuckled. “Yes. Just like you.”
“Well, I like him. I don’t care about the others.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Here is a first lesson for you, Gaelen: Care. That is what the clan is. We care. For one another. Even if we dispute matters, we still care. I tell you this. If Caswallon’s house burned to the ground, even those who disliked him would gather around and help rebuild. If Caswallon died, I would be cared for should I need it. If Caswallon and I both died, little Donal would be taken in by another family—perhaps one that disliked us both—and raised with love.”
He had been hard to convince, especially after the early trouble with Agwaine. But at least he had found friends. Maeg sat by the bedside for a while, then moved to the window.
The moon was high, the mountains silver, the valley at peace. Behind her, Gaelen stirred and opened his eyes, seeing her silhouetted against the sky. “Maeg,” he whispered.
She returned to the bedside. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring.”
Leaning down, she kissed his brow. “Sleep well, young warrior,” she said.
Caswallon strolled up toward the cave, aware that the old man was watching him. Oracle’s sunken blue eyes looked hard at the clansman. “You look tired, man,” said Oracle as Caswallon sat beside him in the cave mouth.
“Aye, I am tired. And hurt by the suffering of those poor boys.”
“A bad day,” agreed the older man. For a time they sat in silence, then Oracle spoke again. “It is always good to see you, my boy. But I sense there is something on your mind, so spit it out.”
Caswallon chuckled. “As always, you miss little. Taliesen told me to speak to you; he said it would please him for you to tell the story of what happened beyond the Gate.”
“Aye, please him and shame me.” Oracle stood and wandered back into the cave, sitting beside the glowing fire. Caswallon joined him. Oracle filled two clay cups with watered wine, passing one to the younger man. “I have told no one else this tale in twenty-five years. I trust you not to repeat it while I live.”
“You
have my word on it,” Caswallon assured him.
“I wanted to be High King,” said Oracle. “I felt it was my right after the battles I had led—and won. But the people rejected me. This much you know already. I took my followers and we overpowered the druids guarding the Vallon Gate. We passed through. At first it seemed that nothing had changed; the mountains remained the same, High Druin still stood sentinel over the lands of the clans. But it was different, Caswallon. In a land beset by war, a woman had become High Queen. Her name was Sigarni. For reasons which I cannot explain now—but which you will understand later—I shall say no more about her, save that my men and I helped her in her battles with the Outland army. We stayed for two years. I still wanted to be a king, to found my own dynasty. I returned, with the survivors of my men, to the Vallon Gate, and passed through once more. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
The old man drained his wine and refilled the cup, this time adding no water. Looking at Caswallon, he smiled grimly. “Cursed is the man who achieves his dreams. In this new land—after ten blood-drenched years—I did become king. I led my armies to victory after victory. Great victories, Caswallon. Great victories . . .” He fell silent.
“What happened?” asked the clansman.
“Failure and flight,” responded Oracle, with a sad smile. “I was betrayed—but then I deserved to be. Just because a man desires to be a king, it does not necessarily follow that he will make a good one.” He sighed. “But this is not what Taliesen wanted me to tell you. While I was fighting for my kingdom I made an alliance with a butchering killer named Agrist. I told him the secrets of the Gateways. After he had betrayed me, and plundered his way across my kingdom, he led his army through another Gate.” Oracle licked his lips. “They arrived here forty years ago; they are the Aenir, Caswallon. I brought the Aenir to destroy us all.”
“They haven’t destroyed us yet,” Caswallon pointed out.
“They are demons, Caswallon, unsurpassed in violence and terror. I have seen them fight. I told Gaelen the clans were strong, like wolves. It’s true. But the Aenir will outnumber us by twenty to one. They live to conquer and kill.” Oracle looked up. “Did Sigarni speak to you before she died? Did she mention me?”
The Hawk Eternal Page 14
