David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

For an hour or more the beasts fed, then they slept by the remains of their kill. At dawn they left the cave, their hunger not totally appeased.

The leader dropped to all fours, sniffing at the earth around the cave. His head came up as the breeze shifted. And they set off in pursuit of the child.

Maggrig was angry. An hour before he had been furious. Caswallon had calmly told him that the clans would fight as one, and the one would be led by Caswallon. Maggrig could not believe his ears. The two men had been alone in a tiny cell, the bedchamber of a druid. Caswallon sat beside Maggrig on the narrow cot outlining his plans.

“I have plans of my own,” said the Pallides’ chieftain. Caswallon had been dreading this moment and took a deep breath.

“I know it is hard for you, but think about it deeply. The death toll among the clans has been enormous. I have perhaps four thousand fighting men, you have eight hundred. Even together we are no match for one fighting wing of the Aenir army.”

“I accept that, Caswallon. But why should you lead? What experience do you offer? Great Gods, man, you’ve turned down responsibility all your life! Granted you’ve led us here, and our women and children are safe. But to lead in war calls for more than that.”

“It calls for a cool head,” said Caswallon.

Maggrig grunted. “You’ll not lead the Pallides.”

“Let me make this clear to you. You are on Farlain land, under the protection of the Farlain clan. If you do not accept me, then I will require you, and all your people, to leave tomorrow.”

“And where would we go?”

“Wherever you choose. Those that remain will follow me without question.”

“You would really do this thing? Turn out women and children to be slaughtered by the Aenir?”

“I would.”

“What have you become, Caswallon? I mean, I’ve always liked you, boy. You were different, yes; but you were a clansman. Now you sit here and calmly say you would sacrifice my people for your ambition?”

“No, that is what you are saying,” Caswallon told him. “During the Games you made an agreement with Laric that you would support him in any war-as long as you became War Lord. You reached that decision on the grounds that your men outnumbered the Haesten. That argument should surely still apply, can you not see it? If I were to agree that you lead, then most of the Farlain men would quit and go; they would not follow you.”

“You think the Pallides would follow you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What makes you so different?”

“I am your son by law, for I wed your daughter. That gives me the rights of a Pallides warrior. They cannot argue.”

“All right,” said Maggrig at last, “I will follow you. But only as long as I think you are right.”

“No,” said Caswallon. “You will take my hand and swear allegiance to me as War Lord. You will offer me your life, as your carles have done for you.”

“Never!”

“Then prepare your people to move.”

Maggrig had stormed from the room seeking Intosh and together they walked among the trees of Vallon, avoiding the dark entrance to the Druids’ Hall. Maggrig emptied himself of fury, his words tumbling over one another as he poured scorn on his son-in-law, the Farlain, the Druids, and the One Angry God for bringing him to this pass.

Intosh remained silent, merely walking beside his lord and absorbing his words. Finally exhausted, Maggrig stopped and sat by the water’s edge, staring into the torrent. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“Of what?” answered the swordsman.

“Where can we go?”

“There is nowhere.”

“We could go north,” said Maggrig.

“And fight the Dunilds, the Loda, and the Sea Clans?”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Agree to serve Caswallon.”

“Are you serious?”

“He has done well.”

“I know that-and all credit to him. But to serve my own son-in-law

…”

“He has the power,” said Intosh, shrugging. “It makes sense.”

“He demanded I swear the vassal oath.”

“You would have done the same.”

“That’s not the point,” snapped Maggrig.

“No, Hunt Lord?”

An hour later Maggrig swore the vassal oath and was amazed his tongue did not fall out.

That same afternoon Caswallon and Maggrig led the women and children of the Pallides into the Druids’ Hall entrance and down into the broad underground chamber housing the Middle Gate.

Maggrig blinked. At the end of the hall was a black marble archway. Yesterday a solid wall of stone had stretched between the pillars. Now that wall was gone and the Pallides Hunt Lord gazed down on the first valley of the Farlain, where already men and women were pitching tents and felling trees for shelter. The archway was twice the height of a man and ten paces across. The two men stood in the Gateway looking down on the valley. Within paces of them a tall pine was waving in the breeze, but no breath of wind touched their faces.

“Where are the Aenir?” asked Maggrig as his people bunched behind him, looking down in wonder.

“That is the Farlain ten thousand years ago,” said Caswallon.

Maggrig’s eyes widened. “This is sorcery, then?”

“It most certainly is,” Caswallon told him.

Maggrig stepped through the Gateway, flinching as rushing colors blinded him momentarily. Caswallon walked through behind him, waving the women to follow.

On the other side the breeze was cool, the sunlight warm and welcoming.

“It is not possible,” whispered Maggrig, watching his people materialize from the air. From this side there was no sign of the Gate, only the rolling green countryside.

Caswallon led the Pallides down into the meadow where Leofas was supervising the building work. “I’m glad to see he survived,” said Maggrig. “He always was the best of the Farlain.” The old warrior grinned as he saw Maggrig, stepping forward to grip the Hunt Lord by the hand.

“So you got here, you dog,” said Leofas.

“Did you expect a few Lowlanders to stop me?”

“Certainly not. I expected you to chase the swine from our lands, leaving nothing for the Farlain to do.”

“I was tempted,” said Maggrig with a broad grin.

Caswallon left the men talking and sought out Gaelen; he found him chatting to Deva by the river’s edge. Apologizing for disturbing them, Caswallon led Gaelen up into the timberline and they sat beneath the pines.

“I want you to do something for me,” said Caswallon, “but it is hazardous.”

“Name it,” said Gaelen.

“Don’t make hasty judgments. I want you to take some men and head back into the Haesten, gathering as many warriors as you can. I want you to bring them to Axta Glen in three weeks.”

“Why the glen?”

“It is there we will tackle the Aenir.”

“But that is open ground.”

“I know. Have faith in me. I am hoping there will be upward of a thousand clansmen still in hiding. I have sent messages to the Dunilds, the Loda, and many other smaller clans, but I don’t know if they will come to our aid. But we must get more men; you must find them.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

“I know that, Gaelen.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are known as an outsider. You are accepted within the Farlain, there is no doubt about that. But similarly you are not Farlain; the Haesten may follow you.”

“Even if I did add a thousand to our army, we would still be outnumbered five to one. And on open ground…”

“I am also going on a journey,” said Caswallon. “If it is successful, we will have another ally.”

“Where will you go?”

“Through the Gate. I am seeking help from the Queen Beyond.”