The Hawk Eternal (12 page)

As the night closed in and the stars shone bright, Lennox curled up like a dozing bear and slept, leaving the others seated by the fire talking in low voices.

'Who was Earis?' Gaelen asked as he fed the fire with dry sticks.

'The first High King,' Layne told him. 'Hundreds of years ago the Farlain lived in another land, beyond the Gates. There was a great war and the clans were nigh obliterated. Earis gathered the remains of the defeated army and launched one last desperate assault on the enemy, smashing their army and killing their leader, Eska. But it was only one of several armies facing him. The druids told the King of a way to save his people. But it was hazardous: they had to pass a Gate between worlds. I don't know much about that side of it, but the legends are many. Anyway, Earis brought the Farlain here and we named the mountains Druin.

'During the journey a strange thing happened. As Earis stepped through the Gate of Vallon, into the bitter cold of winter, his sword disappeared from his hand. Earis took his crown and hurled it back through the Gate. The sword, he said, was the symbol of kingship, and since it had gone so too would his position. From henceforth there would be no King for the Farlain. The Council voted him to the position of Hunt Lord and so it has remained.'

'I see,' said Gaelen. 'So “the Bane of Eska;” that is a clue I can understand. But why the light that brings darkness?'

'The sword was called Skallivar, meaning Starlight on the Mountain,' said Gwalchmai. 'But in battle whoever it touched found only the darkness of death.'

'And that is what we seek? Skallivar?'

Layne laughed. 'No. Just a sword. It makes the clues more poetic, that's all.'

Gaelen nodded. 'There is much still to learn.'

'But you will learn, cousin,' said Layne. Gaelen felt a surge of warmth and comradeship within him as Layne spoke, but it was

shattered by a sound that ripped through the night. An eerie, inhuman howling echoed through the mountains.

Lennox awoke with a start. 'What was that?' he asked, rolling to his knees.

Gaelen shuddered and said nothing.

'I've no idea,' said Layne. 'Perhaps it's a wolf and the sound is distorted."

'If it's a wolf,' muttered Gwalchmai, 'it must be as big as a horse.'

For several minutes they sat in silence, straining to hear any more sounds in the blackness of the night. But there was nothing. Lennox went back to sleep. Layne exchanged glances with Gwalchmai.

'It wasn't a wolf, Layne.'

'No, but it could have been a hunter trying to frighten us.'

'I hope so,' said Gwalchmai. 'I think we should stand watches tonight, though.'

GAELEN AWOKE AT Gwalchmai's touch, his eyes flaring open, his troubled dreams fragmented and instantly forgotten.

'I can't keep my eyes open any longer," whispered Gwalchmai. 'I don't think there's anything out there. I saw a fox that's all.'

Gaelen sat up and yawned. 'It's chilly,' he whispered. Gwalchmai rolled himself swiftly into his blanket, laying his head on his pack. Within seconds he was asleep. Gaelen stretched, then crept to the fire, easing himself past Lennox. Taking a dry stick he poked around the embers of the dying fire, gently blowing it to life. Adding more sticks, he watched the flames flicker and billow. Then he looked away. Caswallon had told him never to stare into a fire, for the brightness made the pupils contract, and when you looked away into darkness you would be blind.

Gaelen wrapped his blanket round his shoulders and leaned back against the granite boulder. An owl hooted and the boy's fingers curled around the hilt of his hunting-knife. You fool, he told himself. You've never been afraid of the dark. Calm down. These are your mountains, there is nothing to harm you.

Except wolves, bears, lions and whatever made that bestial howling. ..

Gaelen shuddered, and fed more sticks to the fire. The supply was growing short and he didn't relish the prospect of entering the menacing darkness of the surrounding trees to replenish the store.

Slowly the fire died and Gaelen cursed softly. He had hoped it would last until first light, when the woods would become merely trees and not the frightening sentinels they now appeared. He stood up, loosening the dagger in its sheath, and walked carefully toward a fallen elm at the edge of the woods. Swiftly he collected dead wood and thicker branches. Back at the fire, relief washed over him. He

was comforted by the sound of Lennox snoring and the sight of his other two friends sleeping soundly.

It was ridiculous. If danger was upon them they would be no use to him, sleeping as they were. And yet he felt at ease.

Layne muttered in his sleep and turned onto his back. Gaelen gazed down at his square, honest face. He looked so much younger asleep, his mouth half-open and childlike.

Gaelen turned his gaze to Lennox. Where Layne was clean-cut and athletic, Lennox was all bulk, with sloping shoulders of tremendous power, barrel-chested, thick-waisted. His hands were huge and the strength in them awesome. A year before he had straightened a horseshoe at the Games, having seen it done in the Strength Test. Too young to be entered, he had shamed several of the contestants and caused great merriment among the Farlain clan.

Later that day a dozen youths of the Haesten clan, having seen their man shamed, lay in wait for Lennox as he strode home. They came at him out of the darkness bearing cudgels and thick branches. As the first blow rapped home against his thick skull Lennox had bellowed in anger and lashed out, sending one luckless youngster through a bush. Two others followed him as Lennox charged amongst them; the rest fled.

Gaelen had heard the story and chuckled. He believed it. He wished he had seen it.

To the east the sky was brightening and Gaelen stood and wandered through the trees, on and up, scrambling over the lip of the hollow to stare at the distant mountains. In the trees around him birds began to sing, and the eldritch menace of the night disappeared. The boy watched as the snow-capped peaks to the west began to burn like glowing coals, as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. Fields below were bathed in glorious colours as blooms opened to the golden light.

Gaelen breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the sweet mountain air. He slid back down the slope and burrowed into Lennox's large pack, more than twice the weight of his own, and produced a copper bowl. Stoking up the fire, he placed the bowl upon it, filling it with water and adding the dry oats Maeg had wrapped for him.

Layne was the first to wake. He grinned at Gaelen. 'No monsters of the night, then?'

Gaelen grinned back and shook his head. Had he remained on the rim of the hollow for a minute more he would have seen a Farlain hunter racing back towards Cambil's village, his cloak streaming behind him.

Badraig was a skilful huntsman whose task it was to set the trails for those of the boys travelling towards Vallon. He enjoyed his role. It was good to see tomorrow's generation of clansmen testing their mettle, and his son Draig and foster-son Gwalchmai were among them.

But today his mind was on other matters. During the night, as he made cold camp by a narrow stream, he had heard the howling that so disturbed Gaelen and his companions. They had half-dismissed it as a hunter's prank; Badraig knew it was not, for he was the only hunter in the area.

Being a cautious man, with over twenty years' experience, Badraig waited until near dawn before checking the source of the cry. With infinite patience he had worked his way through the wood, keeping the breeze in his face. As it shifted, so too did he.

And he found the butchered, broken remains of Erlik of the Pallides. In truth he didn't know it was Erlik, though he had seen the man many times at the Games. But no one could have recognised the bloody meat strewn across the track. Badraig lifted a torn section of tunic, recognising the edging as Pallides weave. In the bushes to the left he found part of a foot.

At first he thought it was the work of a bear, but he scouted for tracks and found six-toed footprints the like of which he had never seen. There were also the tracks of foxes and other small carrion creatures, but they had obviously arrived long after the killing beast had departed.

The prints were enormous, as long as a short sword. Badraig measured the stride. He was not a tall man, neither was he the shortest clansman in the Farlain, but he could not match the stride except by leaping. He gauged the height of the beast as half that again of a tall man. And it walked upright. The deepest impression was at the heel. He followed the track for a little way until he reached the foot of the slope. Here the spoor changed. The creature dropped to all fours and scrambled up at speed, gouging great tears in the clay. Badraig dug his fingers into the earth with all his strength, then compared his efforts with those of the killer. He could barely scratch the surface.

So it was big, bigger than a bear, and much faster. It could run on all fours or walk upright like a man. Its jaws were enormous - the fang-marks in the leg he had found proved that. He considered following the beast up the slope, but dismissed the idea.

From the remains he could see that the Pallides hunter had been carrying his bow with the arrow notched. He had been given no time to shoot. Badraig was confident of his own skills, but his strength lay also in the understanding of his weaknesses. Armed with only a hunting-knife and a quarterstaff, he was no match for whatever had wreaked this carnage. His one duty was to carry the news to Cambil and clear the mountain of youngsters.

Luckily, so he believed, no teams had passed his vantage point, so he would be able to stop any he came across as he returned. By mid-afternoon every village in the Farlain had the message and by nightfall six hundred clansmen, in groups of six, were scouring the mountains. By noon the next day forty-eight puzzled and disappointed youngsters had been shepherded back to their villages.

Only two teams remained to be found, those led by Layne and Agwaine. At dusk on the second day Cambil sat with his advisers round a camp fire half a day's march into the mountains.

'They've just vanished,' said Leofas. 'Layne's group made camp near the elm grove, and then moved north-east. After that the tracks cease.'

'It was a cunning ploy,' said Badraig. 'They obviously thought they had a clue and didn't wish to be followed. It doesn't make it any easier for us, though - except that we know they didn't head for Vallon.'

'I disagree,' said Caswallon.

'A pox on you, Caswallon,' snapped Badraig. 'That was my area. Are you saying I'm that poor a huntsman that I could have missed eight callow boys?'

'What I am saying is that we've searched everywhere and found no sign,' answered Caswallon softly.

Badraig snorted. 'Then maybe it's you who've missed the trail.'

'Enough of this quarrelling,' ordered Cambil. 'What shall we do now?'

'Look in Vallon,' said Caswallon. 'We have two missing teams. Both are led by the brightest, most able of our young men. The rhyme was not easy, but the answer was there for those with the wits to work at it. Agwaine I am sure would have deciphered it. Do you not agree, Cambil?'

Cambil bit his lip and stared into the fire. 'Yes, he misses little.'

'Now, all the boys who headed west say they saw no sign of Agwaine. Or Layne. In fact, after the first night they just dropped from sight. No team headed for Vallon, because none of the others deciphered the rhyme. To my mind the conclusion is inescapable.'

'So you are saying I'm lacking in skill!' stormed Badraig.

'Please be calm, cousin,' said Caswallon. 'We are talking about two teams who travelled carefully so that no rivals would spot them. It doesn't mean you lacked skill because you missed them.'

'I still say they headed west.'

Then go west and find them,' said Caswallon. 'I'm heading for Vallon.'

Badraig swore, but Cambil cut across him. 'Hold your tongue, man! In this I think Caswallon is right. Now we have men hunting the west, and we'll lose nothing by visiting Attafoss. I just wish that druid would get here. I'd like to know what Hell spawn we're facing.'

'Well, “that druid” can help you,' said Taliesen, moving out of the tree shadows and seating himself among them. 'The beast crossed a Gateway and it is following the youngsters towards Attafoss. Caswallon is right. Let these arguments cease.'

'Are you sure, Lord Druid?' asked Badraig.

'As sure as death,' answered Taliesen. 'You had best move now, for there is tragedy in the air, and more blood to be spilt before you find them.'

'A curse on your prophecies,' said Cambil, lurching to his feet. 'Is this beast more of your magic?'

'None of mine, Hunt Lord.'

'Have you seen who will die?' asked Badraig. 'Can you tell us that?'

'No, I cannot tell you.'

'But my son is with Agwaine.'

'I know. Go now, for time is short.'

The men rolled their blankets and set off without a backward glance at the druid, whose dark eyes followed them seemingly without emotion. Taliesen watched them go, his heart heavy, a great sadness growing within him. The threads were beginning to come together now. In another time the sorcerer Jakuta Khan had sent a beast to kill the young Sigarni. That beast had vanished into the mists of time. Now it was here, in the Farlain, and being drawn inexorably toward the frail and wounded queen. And between the hunter and his victim were the boys of the Farlain. Taliesen longed to intervene. He remembered the long nights sitting at the Queen's bedside, in the cave on Druin's flanks. He had told her to say nothing of events in her own world, lest the knowledge cause even more fractures in the Time Lines. But when she became delirious with fever she had spoken in her sleep, and Taliesen had felt the weight of sorrow bear down on him like a huge rock.

He longed to rescue the boys. And he could not. 'It rests with you now, Gaelen,' he whispered.

And with the Hawk Eternal, he thought.

The four men walked for most of the night, stopping only to snatch an hour's sleep before dawn. Then they moved on, crossing hills, running across narrow valleys, scaling tree-lined slopes. During the afternoon they were joined by six hunters cutting in from the east. A hurried conference was held. One man was sent back to the village to fetch more bowmen, and the remaining nine hoisted their packs and ran single-file towards the towering peaks of the north-east.

They drove themselves hard, calling on reserves of endurance built during years of tough mountain living. Only Leofas, the oldest of them, struggled to maintain the pace; but maintain it he did, giving no sign of the pain from his swollen knee.

Just before nightfall Badraig halted the column, spotting something to the right of the track; it was a half-eaten oatcake. Badraig picked it up, breaking it into crumbs. At the centre it was still dry.

'Yesterday,' he said. Then he scouted carefully around the area. Rather than destroy any faint traces of spoor, the other hunters squatted down to wait for Badraig's report. Within minutes he returned.

'Four lads,' he said. 'One is very large and can only be Lennox. You were right, Caswallon; they passed me.'

The group pushed on into the mountains and, as the sun sank, Caswallon found the hollow Layne had chosen for their camp. The men gathered round.

Tomorrow should be easier going," said Cambil, stretching his long legs in front of him and resting his back against the granite boulder. 'The tracks will be easy to find.' His strong fingers kneaded the muscles of his thigh, and he grunted as the pain flowed.

Leofas sank to the ground, his face grey, his eyes sunken. With great effort he slipped his pack from his shoulders and unrolled his blanket. Wrapping himself against the night chill, he fell asleep instantly.

Badraig took two huntsmen and began to scour the area. The moon was bright and three quarters full and the tracks left by the boys could be clearly seen. Badraig followed them halfway up the north slope of the hollow. Here he stopped.