David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

“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.