David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

Now only Lennox remained in the fight. The young giant hit once more, but this time the beast was ready-it parried the blow with its paw and a taloned hand gripped the youth’s upper arm, smashing the bone and ripping the flesh from the shoulder. Lennox staggered back but did not fall. Transferring the club to his right hand, he waited for the beast’s next attack.

An arrow cut deep into the monster’s thigh, causing it to bellow in pain and rage. A second glanced from its thick skull. Lennox crashed his club into the creature’s mouth, but a backhanded blow hurled him from his feet.

Injured though the beast was, none of the wounds were mortal, and the battle had turned. From his precarious position in the tree, Gwalchmai fired a third shaft that buried itself in the ground by the beast’s right foot. Leaning out for the fourth shot, the young archer toppled from the branch, landing on his back.

Running behind the beast, Gaelen grabbed Layne’s spear and plucked it from the creature’s back. As it turned he stabbed at its face, the point slashing a jagged line up and into the sensitive nostrils. To Gaelen’s right Layne gathered up Lennox’s club and tried to help, but the monster turned on him, slashing the boy’s chest. The talons snaked out again. Gaelen leaped backward, tumbling to the earth.

The beast’s jaws opened and another terrifying howl pierced the air.

The boys were finished.

“Ho, Hell spawn!” shouted the Queen. The beast swung ponderously, glittering black eyes picking out the tall, armored figure at the center of the clearing. “Now face me!”

She stood with feet apart, her silver sword before her.

The beast reared to its full height-eight feet of black, merciless destruction. Before its power the woman seemed to Gaelen a frail, tiny figure. The monster moved forward slowly-then charged, dropping to all fours. The Queen sidestepped, her silver sword swung arcing down to rebound from the creature’s skull, slicing its scalp and sending a blood spray into the air. The beast twisted, launching itself in a mighty spring, but the woman leaped to the right, the sword cutting across the creature’s chest to open a shallow wound.

Agwaine crawled to where Gaelen crouched.

“She cannot win,” whispered the Hunt Lord’s son.

“Run, boys!” yelled the Queen.

But they did not. Gaelen scooped up the broken spear, while Layne helped Lennox to his feet and gathered once more the club of oak.

The old woman was breathing hard now. Taliesen had stitched her wounds, but her strength was not what it was. Under the breastplate stitches had parted and blood oozed down her belly. Sweat bathed her face and her mouth was set in a grim line.

Once more the beast reared above her. Once more she hammered the sword in its face. The creature shook its head, blood spraying into the air.

The woman knew she could last but a little longer, while the creature was only maddened by the cuts it had received. A plan formed in her mind and weighed down her heart. It had been her hope to return to her realm and lead it out of the darkness of war. Now there would be no going home. No future. No golden days of peace watching the nation prosper.

In that final moment, as the creature prepared to attack once more, it was as if time slowed. Sigarni could smell the forest, the musky brown earth, the freshness of the breeze. Images leaped to her mind and she saw again the handsome forester, Fell, the first great love of her life. He had died in the battle against the Baron, cut down by the last arrow loosed in that fateful battle. Faces from the past glittered in her memory: Ballistar the dwarf, who had sought a new life in a new world; Asmidir, the black battle captain; Obrin, the renegade Outlander; and Redhawk-above them all, Redhawk.

I will never see you again, she thought, though you promised to be with me at the end. You gave me your word, my love. You promised!

Talons lashed toward her. Ducking beneath them she leaped back, lifting her sword toward the beast. It sprang forward, but this time the Queen did not sidestep. With a savage battle cry she launched herself into its path, driving the blade deep into the creature’s huge chest. The silver steel slid between its ribs, plunging through its lungs and cleaving the heart.

As it screamed in its death throes its great arms encircled the woman. The breastplate buckled under the immense pressure and the Queen’s ribs snapped, jagged bone ripping into her. Then the beast released her and toppled to the earth. The woman staggered back, then fell. She struggled to rise, but agony lanced her.

The boys ran to her side, Gaelen kneeling by her and raising her head to lay it on his lap. Gently he stroked the silver hair from her eyes.

“Give the word to Taliesen,” whispered the Queen, blood staining her lips. She coughed weakly and swallowed. “We did it, lads,” she said. “You did well, as I knew you would.”

Agwaine knelt on her right, taking her hand.

“You saved us; you killed it,” said Gaelen.

“Listen to me, for I am dying now, but remember my words. I shall return to the Farlain. You will be older then. Men. Warriors. You will have suffered much and I will aid you again.”

Agwaine glanced at Gaelen. “What does she mean?”

Gaelen shrugged. The sound of running feet echoed in the clearing as Caswallon, Cambil, and the clansmen raced into view. Caswallon knelt by Gaelen. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. She saved us. She slew the beast.”

“Who is she?” asked Caswallon.

The Queen’s eyes opened. “Ah, it is you,” she whispered, smiling. “Now the circle is complete, for you told me you would be with me at my death. How well you look. How young. How handsome! No… silver in your beard.”

Caswallon gazed down into the bright blue eyes and saw that the woman was fading fast. Her hand lifted toward him and he took it, holding it firm.

“Did I do well, Caswallon? Tell me truly?”

“You did well,” answered Caswallon. “You saved the boys.”

“But my kingdom? Was I… truly the Queen you desired me to be?”

“Yes,” answered Caswallon, nonplussed.

She smiled once more, then a tear formed and slowly fell to her pale cheek. “Poor Caswallon,” she whispered. “You do not know whose hand you hold, but you will.” Tears filled her eyes.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers. “I know you are brave beyond words,” he said, “and I do not doubt you were a queen beyond compare.”

Her eyes closed and a long broken sigh hissed from her throat. Caswallon sat for a moment, still holding on to the hand. Then he laid it gently across the Queen’s chest.

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.

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.