David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

Oracle turned away from him then, leaning forward to add fuel to the fire. When he looked back the druid had gone.

And he had taken the sword…

“You are a little unfair on Caswallon,” Maeg told her father as he sat in the wide leather chair, chuckling as the infant Donal tugged at his beard. Maggrig was well into middle age, but he was still powerful and his thick red beard showed no grey. Donal yawned, and the Pallides Hunt Lord brought the babe to his chest, resting him in the crook of his arm.

“Unfair to him?” he said, keeping his voice low. “He married my only daughter, and still he raids my herds.”

“He does not.”

“I’ll grant you he’s stayed out of Pallides lands recently-but only because the Aenir have cut off his market.”

“It is tradition, Father,” argued Maeg. “Other clans have always been fair game; and Caswallon is Farlain.”

“Don’t give me that, girl. That tradition died out years ago. By God, he doesn’t need to raid my cattle. Or Laric’s. And sooner or later someone will catch him. Do you think I want to hang my own son-in-law?”

Maeg lifted the sleeping child from Maggrig’s arms, laying him in his crib and covering him.

“He needs excitement, he does it because he enjoys it.” The words sounded lame, even to Maeg. For all his intelligence and quick wit, Caswallon refused to grow up.

“He used to enjoy taking other men’s wives, I hear,” said Maggrig.

Maeg turned on him, eyes flashing. “Enough of that!” she snapped. “He’s not looked at another woman since we wed… well, he’s looked, but that’s all.”

“I can’t think why you married him. Did you know he’s got my prize bull in the meadow behind the house? Now there’s a sight to greet a visitor, his own stolen bull!”

“Take it with you when you go,” said Maeg, smiling.

“And be seen by all the men of the Farlain? I’d sooner they thought it was a present.” He shook his head. “I thought you’d change him, Maeg. I thought marriage would settle him.”

“It has. He’s a wonderful husband, he cares for me.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” admitted Maggrig. “Damn it all, I like the boy. There must be other ways to get excitement.”

“I’ll talk to him again. Are you sure that’s your bull?”

“Sure? Of course I’m sure. The night he took it, Intosh and seven others chased him for hours-only he and that damn crofter Arcis had split up. Caswallon led Intosh a merry run.”

“He must have been furious,” said Maeg, keeping the smile from her face.

“He’s promised to have Caswallon’s ears for a necklace.”

“That wasn’t because of the bull,” said his daughter. “It is said that when Intosh came back to his house he found his bed had been slept in and his best sword stolen.”

“The man is unreasonable,” said Maggrig, unable to suppress a grin. “I gave Intosh that sword after he won the Games.”

“Shall I get it for you, Father? I’m sure Intosh would like it back.”

“He’d bury it in pig’s droppings rather than use it now.”

“Caswallon plans to wear it at the Games.”

“Ye Gods, woman! Has he no shame?”

“None that I’ve noticed.”

From the hearth room below they heard a door open and close, and the sound of whistling floated up the stairs.

“Well, I suppose I’d better see him,” said Maggrig, pushing himself to his feet.

“Be nice,” said Maeg, linking her arm with his.

“Be nice, she says. What should I say? ‘Been on any good raids lately?’ ”

Maeg chuckled, looped her arm around his neck, and kissed his bearded cheek. “I love you,” she told him.

He grinned at her. “I was too soft in the raising of you, child. You always had what you wanted.”

The two of them walked downstairs where Caswallon was standing before the hearth, hands stretched out to the flames. He turned and smiled, green eyes twinkling. “How are you, Father?” he asked.

“Not a great deal better for seeing you, you thieving swine,” snapped Maggrig. Maeg sighed and left them together.

“Is that any way to talk to the husband of your daughter?” Caswallon asked.

“It was a miserable day when you crossed my doorway,” said Maggrig, walking to the far table and pouring a goblet of honey mead. It was full-flavored and rich, and he savored the taste. “This has a familiar feel to it,” he said. “It is not unlike the special mead that Intosh brews.”

“Really?” said Caswallon.

Maggrig closed his eyes. “That is all I need to complete my day-my own bull grazing in your meadow, while I drink mead stolen from my comrade.”

“You must give him my compliments. It is the finest mead I’ve tasted.”

“I’ll do that. Where is Gaelen?”

“I’ve sent him out to meet the other lads.”

“Was that wise?”

The smile faded from Caswallon’s mouth as he moved to Maggrig’s side and poured himself a goblet of mead. “It had to happen sooner or later,” he said, gesturing Maggrig to a chair. Sitting opposite him, Caswallon gazed at the golden liquid, then sipped at it slowly. “He’s a good boy, Maggrig, but he’s been through much. I think they’ll make him suffer. Agwaine will lead them.”

“Then why send him?”

“Because he has to learn. That’s what life is-learning how to survive. All his life he has done that. Now he must find out that life in the mountains is no different.”

“You sound bitter. It is not like you.”

“Well, the world is changing,” said Caswallon. “I watched the Aenir sack Ateris and it was vile. They kill like foxes in a henhouse.”

“I hear you had words with them in the mountains?”

Caswallon grinned. “Yes.”

“You killed two.”

“I did. I had no choice.”

“Will they attack the clans, do you think?”

“It is inevitable.”

“I agree with you. Have you spoken to Cambil?”

Caswallon laughed aloud. “The man hates me. If I said good day he would take it as an insult.”

“Then talk to Leofas. Make plans.”

“I think I will. He’s a good man. Strong.”

“More than that,” said Maggrig, “he’s canny.”

“He sounds like you, Maggrig.”

“He is.”

“Then I’ll see him. And you needn’t worry about your herds. Those days are behind me. After watching Ateris I lost my appetite for the game.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Caswallon refilled their goblets. “Of course I might just sneak back for some more of Intosh’s mead.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Maggrig.

Gwalchmai listened as Agwaine planned the downfall of the Lowlander. Around the Hunt Lord’s son, in a wide circle, sat fifteen other youngsters-the sons of councilmen, who would one day be councillors themselves. They listened as Agwaine spoke, and offered no objections. Gwalchmai wasn’t happy with such conversation. An orphan child of the mountains, he knew what loneliness was, the pain it brought, and the inner chill. He had always been popular, but then he worked at it-jesting and joking, seeking approval from his peers. He ran errands for the older boys, always willing to help in any chore, but in his heart his fears were great. His father had died when he was seven-killed while poaching Pallides lands. His mother contracted lung fever the following year and her passing had been painful. Little Gwalchmai had been sent to live with Badraig and his son, and they had made him welcome. But Gwalchmai had loved his parents deeply, and their loss hurt him beyond his ability to cope.

He was not a big child, and though he approached fifteen, he was by far the smallest of his group. He excelled in two things: running and bowmanship. But his lack of strength held him back in both. At short distances he could outpace even Agwaine, and with a child’s bow at twenty paces he could outshoot the Farlain’s best archers. But he had not the strength to draw a man’s bow, and failed in tourneys when the distance grew beyond thirty paces.