David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

“He is also a widower with no children. No one would be in the house.”

“So you had it planned even before you did it. You must have scouted the village first.”

“Always have a plan, Gaelen, always. ”

Later, as they sat on the hillside above Caswallon’s house, awaiting the call to the midday meal, Caswallon asked the boy how he was settling in with the other lads in the small village.

“Very well,” Gaelen told him guardedly.

“No problems?”

“None that I can’t handle.”

“Of that I have no doubt. How do they compare with the boys of Ateris?”

Gaelen smiled. “In the city I used to watch them play games: hunt-seek, spider’s folly, shadowman. Here they play nothing. They are so serious. I like that… but I always wanted to join in back in Ateris.”

Caswallon nodded. “You joined us a little late for children’s games, Gaelen. Here in the mountains a boy becomes a man at sixteen, free to wed and make his own life. It is not easy. Two in five babes die before their first birthday, and few are the men who reach fifty years of age. Childhood passes more swiftly here. Have you teamed yet for the Hunt next week?”

“Yes, I travel with Gwalchmai, Lennox, and Layne.”

“Fine boys,” said Caswallon, “although Gwalchmai is a little timid, I think. Are you content with the teaming?”

“Yes. We are meeting today to plan the Run.”

“What problems will you face?”

“Lennox is strong, but no runner. We may not beat Agwaine’s team to the first tree.”

“Speed is not everything,” said Caswallon.

“I know.”

“Which of you will lead?”

“We’re deciding that this afternoon-but I think it will be Layne.”

“Logical. Layne is a bright fellow.”

“Not as bright as Agwaine,” said Gaelen.

“No, but you are. You should enjoy yourselves.”

“Did you lead when you ran in the Hunt?”

“No. Cambil led.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“Was Cambil a good leader?”

“In his way. He still is. And he has been a good Hunt Lord for the Farlain.”

“But he doesn’t like you, Caswallon. Everyone knows that.”

“You shouldn’t listen to idle chatter. But you are right. He doesn’t like me-but then he has good cause. Three years ago I robbed him of something. I didn’t mean to, but it worked out that way, and he has not forgotten.”

“What did you steal?” asked Gaelen.

“I didn’t actually steal anything. I just refused to stand against him for the position of Hunt Lord. I didn’t want the role. So he was voted to it by the elders.”

“I don’t understand. How can he hold that against you?”

“That’s a difficult question, Gaelen. Many people assumed I would try for Hunt Lord. In truth I would have lost, for Cambil is-and always was-worthy of the role. But had I stood and lost, he would have known he was considered the better man. Because I did not stand he will never know.”

“Is that why Agwaine doesn’t like me?” asked Gaelen. “Because his father doesn’t like you?”

“Perhaps. I have been very selfish in my life, doing only that which I enjoyed. I should have acted differently. If I am nominated for the Council again I shall accept. But that is not likely.”

From the house below they heard Kareen calling. Gaelen waved at her, but Caswallon remained where he was.

“Go and eat,” he said. “I will be down soon.”

He watched the boy running down the hillside and smiled, remembering his own Hunt Day fifteen years before. Every lad in the Farlain over the age of fourteen, and not yet a man, was teamed with three others and sent out into the mountains to recover a “treasure.” Skillful hunters would lay trails, hide clues and signs, and the teams would track them down until at last one team returned with the prize. For Caswallon the prize they had sought was a dagger, hidden in a tree. Often it was an arrow, or a lance, or a helm, or a shield. This year it was a sword, though none of the lads knew it.

Every year Caswallon helped lay the trails and delighted in his work. But this year was special for him, for Gaelen would be taking part.

He removed from his pouch the strip of parchment Taliesen had given him and he reread the words written there. Seek the beast that no one finds, always roaring, never silent, beneath his skin, by silver wings, bring forth the long-lost dream of kings.

After the meal Caswallon would read the verse to his new son, even as, all over the Farlain, fathers would be doing likewise. There were times, Caswallon considered, when tradition was a wholesome thing.

In the wide kitchen Caswallon’s young son Donal lay on a woolen blanket by the hearth. Beside him slept the pup Gaelen had brought home; it had grown apace in the last two months, showing signs of the formidable beast it would be in the years ahead. Kareen sat beside Maeg opposite Gaelen, and they were all laughing as Caswallon entered.

“And what is amusing you?” he asked.

“Rest your poor bones at the table,” Maeg told him, “and tell us, gently, how Gaelen here dumped you to the earth.”

“It was a wicked blow and I was unprepared,” he answered, seating himself beside the boy, who was blushing furiously.

“Have you been bragging, young Gaelen?” he asked.

“He has not,” said Maeg. “Kareen herself saw the deed done as she fed the chickens.”

“Fed the chickens, indeed,” said Caswallon. “It could not be seen from the yard. The lazy child climbed the hill and spied on us, for a certainty.” Now Kareen began to blush, casting a guilty glance at Maeg. “In fact,” said Caswallon, smiling broadly, “on my way back here I saw two sets of tracks. One had the dainty footprints of young Kareen, the other I could not make out except to say the feet must have been uncommonly large.”

“So!” said Maeg. “It’s back to gibes about my feet, is it?”

“You have beautiful feet, Maeg, my love. There isn’t a woman in the Farlain who could match them for beauty-or length.”

Throughout the meal they good-naturedly sniped at each other, and only when she began to list Caswallon’s faults did he open his arms in surrender and beg her forgiveness.

“Woman,” he said, “you’re full of venom.”

After the meal he gave leave to Gaelen to seek his friends, and read him the druid’s parchment. “Do not be home late. We’ve an early start tomorrow.”

Later, as Maeg and Caswallon lay arm in arm in the broad bed, she leaned over him and kissed him gently on the lips. “What troubles you, my love?” she asked him, stroking his dark hair back from his eyes.

His arm circled her back, pulling her to him. “What makes you think I am troubled?”

“No games, Caswallon,” she said seriously. She rolled from him and he sat up, bunching a pillow behind him.

“The Council has voted to resume trade with Ateris, and allow an Aenir group to visit the Farlain.”

“But we had to trade with them,” said Maeg. “We always have dealt with Ateris, for iron, seed corn, seasoned timbers, leather.”

“We didn’t always, Maeg. We used to do these things ourselves. We’re no longer dealing with merchant Lowlanders; this is a warrior race.”

“What harm can it do to allow a few of them to visit us? We might become friends.”

“You don’t make friends with a wolf by inviting it to sleep with the sheep.”

“But we are not sheep, Caswallon. We are the clans.”

“I think the decision is shortsighted and we may live to rue it.”

“I love you,” she said, the words cutting through his thoughts.

“I can’t think why,” he said, chuckling. Then he reached for her and they lay silently enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies and the closeness of their spirits.