David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

“It’s not in you to lose,” she said. “You are a clansman. And a proud man-too proud, I think.”

“Can a man be too proud? It harms no one. I have never insulted another man, nor abused my strength by destroying a weaker opponent. I do not parade my talents, but I am aware of them.”

“Nonsense. You’re as vain as a flamingo. I’ve seen you trimming your beard by the silver mirror and using my brush to comb it flat.”

“Spying on me now, is it?”

“Yes, it is. And why shouldn’t I? Am I not your wife?”

He pulled her to his lap and kissed her. “Indeed, you are the best thing I ever stole from the Pallides. Except for that bull of your father’s.”

“When I think that Intosh proposed to me,” said Maeg, tugging his beard, “and instead I ended up with you, I wonder if the Gods hold a grudge against my family.”

“Intosh? He was my rival? You’d have hated it, Maeg. The man has ticks in his bed. I was scratching for days after I stole his sword.”

“You dog! So that’s where they came from.”

“Now, now, Maeg my love,” he said as she pulled from his grasp, eyes blazing. “Let’s not have a row. The boy needs his sleep, he’s been through much.”

“You’ve not heard the last of this, my fine Farlain,” she said softly.

“And now, while you’re quiet for a moment,” he said, pulling her to him once more, “perhaps you’ll welcome me home. It’s been a tiring journey.”

“Then you’ll be wanting to sleep?”

“Indeed I do. Will you join me?”

“You can bathe first. I’ll have no more of your ticks.”

“Is there any heated water?”

“There is not.”

“You’d not expect me to bathe in the yard in the cold?”

“Of course not. You can sleep down here and bathe tomorrow in the warm water.”

“Sleep here?” Their eyes met and there was no give in her. “It’s the yard then,” he said.

Later, as Caswallon slept, Maeg heard Gaelen moaning in his sleep in the next room. She rose quickly, wrapping a blanket around her naked body, and made her way to his bedside. It was a familiar nightmare and she knew he was once more running from the Aenir, his legs leaden, his wounds bleeding.

She sat beside him stroking his hair. “It’s all right, Gaelen,” she whispered. “You’re here with Maeg. You’re safe. Safe.”

He groaned and rolled to his back. “Maeg?”

“I’m here.”

“Dreaming,” he whispered and his eyes closed once more.

She remembered the first time Caswallon had brought him home. He had been nervous then, and his eyes had flickered from wall to wall as if the house were a prison. And he had avoided her. When she showed him his room, his delight had stunned her.

“This is my room?”

“Yes.”

“My very own? To share with no one?”

“Your very own.”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”

“You cannot bewitch me,” he said suddenly.

“I see,” she said, smiling. “Caswallon has told you about my spells?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t tell you my powers faded soon after we were wed?”

“No.”

“It happens to women once they’ve snared their men.”

“I see,” he said.

“So let us be friends. How does that sit with you?”

“I’d like to be friends,” he said, grinning. “I’ve never had friends.”

“It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to,” she told him.

“I don’t talk very much,” he said. “I never had anyone to practice with. I’m not terribly clever at it.”

“It’s not clever that counts, Gaelen. Clever comes from the mind, truth from the heart. Now I will begin our friendship by telling you the truth. When Caswallon first rescued you I was worried, for we have a son. But I have thought long about it, and now I am glad. For I like you, and I know you will be happy with us. For our part, we will teach you to be a clansman.”

“I may not be very good at that either,” admitted the boy.

“It’s not a matter of being good at it. Merely being is enough. It will not be easy for you, for Caswallon is not a popular man, and some will make it hard-perhaps even unpleasant-for you.”

“Why is he not popular?”

“That is a complex question. He is independent, and it has made him all that he has. He holds to the old ways of raiding and stealing from other clans. But there are other reasons that I think it best you find out for yourself.”

“He is a thief?”

She chuckled. “Yes. Just like you.”

“Well, I like him. I don’t care about the others.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Here is a first lesson for you, Gaelen: Care. That is what the clan is. We care. For one another. Even if we dispute matters, we still care. I tell you this. If Caswallon’s house burned to the ground, even those who disliked him would gather around and help rebuild. If Caswallon died, I would be cared for should I need it. If Caswallon and I both died, little Donal would be taken in by another family-perhaps one that disliked us both-and raised with love.”

He had been hard to convince, especially after the early trouble with Agwaine. But at least he had found friends. Maeg sat by the bedside for a while, then moved to the window.

The moon was high, the mountains silver, the valley at peace. Behind her, Gaelen stirred and opened his eyes, seeing her silhouetted against the sky. “Maeg,” he whispered.

She returned to the bedside. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For caring.”

Leaning down, she kissed his brow. “Sleep well, young warrior,” she said.

Caswallon strolled up toward the cave, aware that the old man was watching him. Oracle’s sunken blue eyes looked hard at the clansman. “You look tired, man,” said Oracle as Caswallon sat beside him in the cave mouth.

“Aye, I am tired. And hurt by the suffering of those poor boys.”

“A bad day,” agreed the older man. For a time they sat in silence, then Oracle spoke again. “It is always good to see you, my boy. But I sense there is something on your mind, so spit it out.”

Caswallon chuckled. “As always, you miss little. Taliesen told me to speak to you; he said it would please him for you to tell the story of what happened beyond the Gate.”

“Aye, please him and shame me.” Oracle stood and wandered back into the cave, sitting beside the glowing fire. Caswallon joined him. Oracle filled two clay cups with watered wine, passing one to the younger man. “I have told no one else this tale in twenty-five years. I trust you not to repeat it while I live.”

“You have my word on it,” Caswallon assured him.

“I wanted to be High King,” said Oracle. “I felt it was my right after the battles I had led-and won. But the people rejected me. This much you know already. I took my followers and we overpowered the druids guarding the Vallon Gate. We passed through. At first it seemed that nothing had changed; the mountains remained the same, High Druin still stood sentinel over the lands of the clans. But it was different, Caswallon. In a land beset by war, a woman had become High Queen. Her name was Sigarni. For reasons which I cannot explain now-but which you will understand later-I shall say no more about her, save that my men and I helped her in her battles with the Outland army. We stayed for two years. I still wanted to be a king, to found my own dynasty. I returned, with the survivors of my men, to the Vallon Gate, and passed through once more. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

The old man drained his wine and refilled the cup, this time adding no water. Looking at Caswallon, he smiled grimly. “Cursed is the man who achieves his dreams. In this new land-after ten blood-drenched years-I did become king. I led my armies to victory after victory. Great victories, Caswallon. Great victories…” He fell silent.