David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

“There may be nothing in the rules against our tactic,” said Layne, “but I am not happy with it. Here. Read the line, and from now we start level.”

“No, cousin,” said Agwaine, gripping the other’s shoulder, “though I thank you for your courtesy. I must confess that were I not the fastest runner it is likely I would have used the tactic myself. I take it the Lowlander conceived it?”

“Yes.”

“He has quick wits, I’ll give him that.”

Layne nodded. Then he stood and returned to the others, who had been watching the scene, puzzled. “Let’s find a place out of earshot and discuss our next move,” he said, walking past them to the trees. Gaelen bit back his anger and followed. He had seen Layne offer the clue to Agwaine and noted the other’s refusal. It was confusing and deeply irritating.

In a deep hollow, away from the crowds, the four squatted in a huddled circle. Layne nodded to Gwalchmai, who began to speak in a hushed whisper. They were all aware that those teams without clues would now seek to follow and spy on the leading four.

“The clues were simple to understand,” whispered Gwalchmai. “The one we have is the simplest: ‘That which Earis lost.’ So, it is a sword we seek. The other clues confirm it: ‘A King’s Sorrow,’ ‘The Light that brings Darkness,’ and ‘The Bane of Eska.’ The question now is, where is it hidden?”

“It’s hidden at, or near, Attafoss,” whispered Gaelen.

“What?” said Layne, astonished. “How do you know?”

“The rhyme: ‘Seek the beast that no one finds, always roaring, never silent…’ When Caswallon took me to Attafoss it sounded like a great monster, but when we arrived there was no monster, merely a roaring fall of water.”

“It could be,” said Layne. “What do you think, Gwal?”

“I agree with Gaelen.”

“Lennox?”

The youth raised his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

“So,” said Layne, “we are agreed. Well done, Gaelen. If we look at the rest of the verse it becomes even more obvious. ‘Beneath its skin, by silver wings, bring forth the long-lost dream of kings.’ The blade is hidden under the water, guarded by fishes. But where? Attafoss is huge.”

“There will be other clues,” said Gwalchmai. “We must follow the right tracks.”

“True,” said Layne. “All right. We’ll make camp higher up in the trees, then slip away before dawn and strike for Vallon.”

Dawn found the four of them miles from the first timber and well on their way. Layne led them down rocky slopes and over difficult terrain, constantly checking on what tracks they were leaving. By midmorning he was content. Even the most skillful hunters would have difficulty finding them, and above all, the task would be time-consuming.

As they strolled through patches of yellow-gold gorse and across meadows bedecked with blooms, Gaelen rediscovered the strange sense of joy he first felt when Caswallon formally adopted him. He was home. Truly home.

Beside him Gwalchmai was whistling a merry tune and ahead Layne and Lennox were deep in conversation. Gaelen rubbed at his scarred eye, for it itched now and then, usually when he was tired.

“Is it troubling you?” asked Gwalchmai. Gaelen shook his head and Gwalchmai resumed whistling, but his thoughts remained on the youngster beside him. Gwalchmai had liked Gaelen from the first. He didn’t know why, but then he rarely rationalized such things; he relied on his emotions to steer him and they rarely played him false. He remembered his shock when he first saw the boy, his red hair streaked with a white slash, his left eye filled with blood-for all the world like a ruby set in his skull.

He had been prepared to dislike the Lowlander, having listened to Agwaine speak sneeringly of Caswallon’s rescue. But there had been something about the way Gaelen carried himself-like a clansman, tall and proud. Gwalchmai stopped whistling as he noticed a track some ten paces from the trail.

“Layne!” he called. “Hold on.” Gwalchmai stepped from the trail and knelt by the soft earth beside the gorse. The three companions gathered around him, staring in wonder at the footprint.

“It’s as long as my forearm,” said Gwalchmai. “And look, the thing has six toes.” All four lads scouted back along the line of tracks, but they found nothing. The earth by the gorse was soft, but the surrounding ground was rocky and firm.

“What do you think it is?” asked Gaelen, whose knowledge of mountain animals was still sparse.

“It isn’t anything I’ve ever seen,” said Gwalchmai. “Layne?”

The leader grinned suddenly. “It’s perfectly obvious, my friends. It’s a hunter’s joke. When they were laying the trails for our Hunt they made a jest of the rhyme ‘Seek the beast…’ the footprint points toward Vallon and the print was created to show we’re on the right track.”

Gwalchmai’s freckled face split into a grin. “Yes, of course,” he said.

An hour before nightfall Layne scouted a small hollow where they could build a fire against a towering granite stone. The tiny blaze could not be seen from any distance and the four travelers unrolled their blankets and settled down for a light meal of oatcakes and water.

As the night closed in and the stars shone bright, Lennox curled up like a dozing bear and slept, leaving the others seated by the fire talking in low voices.

“Who was Earis?” Gaelen asked as he fed the fire with dry sticks.

“The first High King,” Layne told him. “Hundreds of years ago the Farlain lived in another land, beyond the Gates. There was a great war and the clans were nigh obliterated. Earis gathered the remains of the defeated army and launched one last desperate assault on the enemy, smashing their army and killing their leader, Eska. But it was only one of several armies facing him. The druids told the King of a way to save his people. But it was hazardous: They had to pass a Gate between worlds. I don’t know much about that side of it, but the legends are many. Anyway, Earis brought the Farlain here and we named the mountains Druin.

“During the journey a strange thing happened. As Earis stepped through the Gate of Vallon, into the bitter cold of winter, his sword disappeared from his hand. Earis took his crown and hurled it back through the Gate. The sword, he said, was the symbol of kingship, and since it had gone so too would his position. From henceforth there would be no king for the Farlain. The Council voted him to the position of Hunt Lord and so it has remained.”

“I see,” said Gaelen. “So ‘the Bane of Eska,’ that is a clue I can understand. But why the light that brings darkness?”

“The sword was called Skallivar, meaning Starlight on the Mountain,” said Gwalchmai. “But in battle whoever it touched found only the darkness of death.”

“And that is what we seek? Skallivar?”

Layne laughed. “No. Just a sword. It makes the clues more poetic, that’s all.”

Gaelen nodded. “There is much still to learn.”

“But you will learn, cousin,” said Layne. Gaelen felt a surge of warmth and comradeship within him as Layne spoke, but it was shattered by a sound that ripped through the night. An eerie, inhuman howling echoed through the mountains.

Lennox awoke with a start. “What was that?” he asked, rolling to his knees.

Gaelen shuddered and said nothing.

“I’ve no idea,” said Layne. “Perhaps it’s a wolf and the sound is distorted.”

“If it’s a wolf,” muttered Gwalchmai, “it must be as big as a horse.”

For several minutes they sat in silence, straining to hear any more sounds in the blackness of the night. But there was nothing. Lennox went back to sleep. Layne exchanged glances with Gwalchmai.