David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

“What happened?” asked the clansman.

“Failure and flight,” responded Oracle, with a sad smile. “I was betrayed-but then I deserved to be. Just because a man desires to be a king, it does not necessarily follow that he will make a good one.” He sighed. “But this is not what Taliesen wanted me to tell you. While I was fighting for my kingdom I made an alliance with a butchering killer named Agrist. I told him the secrets of the Gateways. After he had betrayed me, and plundered his way across my kingdom, he led his army through another Gate.” Oracle licked his lips. “They arrived here forty years ago; they are the Aenir, Caswallon. I brought the Aenir to destroy us all.”

“They haven’t destroyed us yet,” Caswallon pointed out.

“They are demons, Caswallon, unsurpassed in violence and terror. I have seen them fight. I told Gaelen the clans were strong, like wolves. It’s true. But the Aenir will outnumber us by twenty to one. They live to conquer and kill.” Oracle looked up. “Did Sigarni speak to you before she died? Did she mention me?”

“No, but she knew me, Oracle. Can you tell me how?”

Oracle shook his head. “I could-but I won’t. Trust me, Caswallon. All will be revealed to you. I can say no more.”

During the months that followed the horror in the mountains the five survivors found their lives had changed substantially. They were now young men, accepted as clansmen, but more than this they were “Five Beast Slayers.” A Farlain bard named Mesric had immortalized them in song and their deeds were the envy of the young boys of all clans.

The mystery of the Queen was much discussed, but upon that theme the druids remained silent. Taliesen had questioned the boys at length on their conversation with the woman, but he gave them no further hint as to her history. All five spent a great deal of time thinking back over the Hunt, and the changes it forced on them.

Layne, the deepest thinker, saw Gaelen with new eyes, seeking his company often and recognizing in the scarred youngster the signs of a natural leader.

Lennox drove himself hard once his broken arm had mended. He hauled logs, lifted rocks, spent all his spare time building up his strength. The huge frame gathered power and added muscle and still he drove himself on. His strength had been something he could rely on in a world where his wits were not as keen as his brother’s. The beast had been stronger and Lennox was determined no enemy would best him again.

Gwalchmai no longer feared being unpopular, born as this had been from a sense of inferiority. He had always known Gaelen was a leader, and been happy to follow. But he watched Lennox pushing himself to greater limits and recognized in the young giant the kind of fear he once had himself.

For Gaelen the world had changed. He realized now that his life of loneliness in the city had been, by a freak of chance, the perfect apprenticeship. He had learned early that a man had to rely on himself. More than this-that such a man was stronger than his companions. And yet, having tasted the chilling emptiness of a life alone, he could value the clan as no other clansman ever would.

There was a natural arrogance now about the tall young man with the white blaze in his red hair. He ran like the wind, reveling in his speed. And though his bowmanship was merely average, he threw a spear with more accuracy than many tried warriors. He boxed well, emotions in check as Caswallon had taught him, and his sword work was dazzling. Yet the arrogance he showed in his skills was missing in his life, and this made him popular without effort on his part.

The wise men among the Farlain marked him well, watching his progress with increasing interest. All of which hurt Agwaine, who saw in Gaelen a rival for the ultimate prize.

The Hunt had changed Agwaine more than any of them. He had been schooled to believe he was more than special, a talented natural leader to follow his father. And nothing that had transpired in the mountains had changed that. All that had changed was that Agwaine feared Gaelen was the better man. Before the encounter with the beast he would have hated Gaelen for bringing home such a truth. Now he could not.

They took part in their first Games together in the five-mile run, Gaelen beating Agwaine by forty paces, the boys arriving home in ninth and tenth place.

Cambil had been furious. “He is faster, Father,” said Agwaine, toweling the sweat from his face. “There is nothing more to it.”

“You must work harder: drive yourself. You must not let him beat you ever again.”

Agwaine was stricken, and for the first time he saw his father in a fresh light. “I will work harder,” he said.

Layne and Gwalchmai delighted the younger clansmen by competing to the finals of their events, Layne in the spear tourney and Gwalchmai in the bow. Layne took third prize, beating the Loda champion into fourth place; Gwalchmai finished last of the eight finalists, but was satisfied, for by next year he would have added height and strength to his frame and believed he could win. For Lennox the Games were a sad affair, for his injured arm robbed him of the chance to lift the Whorl Stone.

Summer drifted into a mild autumn and on into a vicious winter.

Caswallon and Gaelen spent their time forking hay to the cattle and journeying high into the mountains to rescue sheep trapped in snowdrifts. It was a desperately hard time for all the clans, yet Gaelen absorbed the knowledge Caswallon imparted readily.

In winter, Caswallon told him as they sheltered from a fierce blizzard high on the eastern range, it is vital not to sweat. For sweat turns to ice beneath the clothing and a man can freeze to death in minutes. All movement should be slow and sure, and all camps prepared hours before dusk.

That afternoon, trapped by a fierce snow squall, Caswallon had led them to a wooded ridge. Here he had pulled four saplings together, tying them with thongs. Then he carefully threaded branches between them and built a fire in the center. As the snow continued it piled against the branches, creating a round shelter with thick white walls. The fire within heated the walls to solid ice and the two men were snug and safe.

“Make the storm work for you,” said Caswallon, stripping off his sheepskin jerkin and allowing the fire’s heat to reach his skin. “Take off your outer clothes, Gaelen.”

“I’ll freeze,” answered the young man, rubbing his cold hands together.

“Clothes keep heat in, but similarly they can keep heat out. Remove your coat.”

Gaelen did as he was told, grinning sheepishly as the heat in the shelter struck him.

Later Gaelen found himself staring into the glowing coals, his mind wandering. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at the jagged scar above.

“What are you thinking?” Caswallon asked.

“I was thinking of the Queen.”

“What about her?”

“About her coming again.”

“She is dead, Gaelen. Dead and buried.”

“I know. But she seemed so sure. I wonder who she was.”

“A queen-and I would guess a great one,” said Caswallon. Silence settled around them, until Caswallon suddenly grinned. “What’s this I hear about you and Deva?”

At the mention of Agwaine’s sister Gaelen began to blush.

“Aha!” said Caswallon, sitting up. “There is more to this business than rumor.”

“There’s nothing,” protested Gaelen. “Really, there’s nothing. I’ve hardly even spoken to her. And when I do, my tongue gets caught in my teeth and I seem to have three feet.”

“That bad?”

“It’s not anything. I just…” Glancing up, he saw Caswallon raise his right eyebrow, his face mock-serious. Gaelen began to giggle. “You swine. You’re mocking me.”

“Not at all. I’ve never been one to mock young love,” said Caswallon.