The Hawk Eternal (35 page)

The man shook his head. 'There is Citadel town. The Outlanders control it now. And I ask you again - who are you?'

'I am a clansman, as I have said.' He laughed suddenly. 'Were our positions reversed, my friend, and you were to tell me the story of how you found the babe, I would think you mad.'

'I am not you,' said the man. 'So speak.'

Quietly Caswallon told him of the Aenir invasion and of his journey through the Gateway, of the dying priest, and the men and hounds who had sought the death of the child. The man did not interrupt, but listened intently. As he finished Caswallon stood and looked down into the man's deep-set grey eyes, awaiting a response.

At that moment the ground trembled. Thrown off-balance, Caswallon lurched to the right. The moonlight brightened and gazing up, both men saw two moons shining in the sky. For moments only the land was bathed in silver brilliance, then the second moon faded.

As it did so the figure of Taliesen appeared beside them. The old man stumbled and fell to his knees as the crofter leapt to his feet, his knife snaking into his hand. 'No!' shouted Caswallon. 'He is the druid I told you of.'

Taliesen tried to stand, failed, and sat glumly on the ground. 'I think the journey almost killed me,' he grumbled. As Caswallon helped him to his feet, the little sorcerer sighed. 'You have no idea of the energy I have expended to arrive here. Who is this?'

'I am Cei,' said the crofter.

'I must see the child,' said Taliesen, shaking himself free of Caswallon's support and moving off to the cabin.

Cei approached Caswallon. 'You were wrong. I did not think you mad. Yesterday an old man came to us as we were mourning the death of our babe. He told us he would come, and that he would bring us joy - and sorrow.'

This man, he was bald and wearing grey robes?" Cei nodded. Both men returned to the cabin, to find Taliesen kneeling beside the crib where the baby was sleeping. When Caswallon and Cei looked closely they saw that the child's silver hair was now corn-gold.

Taliesen stood and turned towards the crofter. 'Enemies will come after this babe,' he said. 'Be warned. I have changed the colour of her hair. As I have told your wife, you must raise her as your own; no one must know how she came here. Your wife says the death of your child is not known among your friends in the clan. Keep it that way.'

'Who is she?' asked Cei. 'Why is she in danger?'

'She is your daughter. You need know no more than that - save that she is of the blood royal,' said Taliesen. 'Now we must go.'

Lennox added fuel to the fire and the flames leapt and twisted. He wasn't cold, he merely wanted to see the child's face in sleep. Her thumb had slipped from her open mouth and she was breathing evenly. Lennox carefully hitched her into the crook of his right arm, stretching his back.

Gaelen yawned and stretched, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Seeing Lennox still awake, he moved round the fire to join him. 'How is she?"

'She is all right now. She says her father was eaten by wolves... and her sister.'

'It's unlikely,' said Gaelen. 'She would not have escaped a pack. A dream, do you think?'

'I don't know. She said the wolves were as big as me.'

'Wolves attack at night and they move fast. A child that small might think them over-large?'

'I agree, Gaelen, but she's clan; her father was clan. How could he

be surprised by wolves? It makes no sense. I can't remember a clansman ever being killed by a pack. Wolves don't attack men. I've never heard of such a thing.'

'Perhaps he had no fire, or had been forced to flee without weapons. Perhaps the wolves were starving.'

The two men sat in silence for a while, then Gaelen spoke. 'More likely it was the Aenir and the child was confused. Many of them wear wolfskin cloaks. And at the Games I saw a man with a wolf's head for a helm. An attack at night?'

'She says her mother was killed by men with swords. I don't think she's that confused. I think you should walk warily tomorrow,' said Lennox.

'We'll miss you on the trip,' said Gaelen, gripping Lennox's shoulder.

'Yes, but you don't need me. She does. I'll get her to the island and then join my father. We'll see you in Axta Glen.'

'I hope so. I pray there is an army of highlanders ready to be gathered. But if not I shall still see you there, Lennox. Even if I am alone. I promise you.'

'I know you will, cousin. I'll look forward to it.'

Soon after dawn the companions bade farewell to Lennox and the child and set off to the south. Lennox hoisted the girl to his shoulder and headed north.

As they walked he discovered that her name was Plessie and her clan Haesten; she was the niece of Laric, the Hunt Lord. He was tempted to run back and find the others, for Laric would be well disposed towards a group which had rescued his niece. But Plessie's fearful glances behind them forced him to dismiss the idea.

Whatever had happened to her had left a terrible scar.

Throughout the morning he climbed through the timberline, and they stopped to eat at a rock pool below a small falls. The companions had given Lennox some oatcakes and these he shared with Plessie. The child sat upon a rock dangling her feet in the water, giggling at its icy touch. Lennox smiled - and froze. He slowly climbed to his feet, aware suddenly that he was being watched. Fear grew in his heart - not fear for himself, but for the child. He had promised she would be safe and a promise was a sacred thing among the clans.

Casually he glanced around at the thick undergrowth. He spotted a patch of darkness beyond a blossoming heather, but allowed his eyes to skip over the bush. He had the feeling the dark patch was fur, and if that was so the thing was either a bear or a wolf.

Plessie was sitting in the shade of a tall pine, and a long branch extended above the water. Lennox scooped her into his arms and lifted her high on to the branch.

'Sit there for a moment, little dove,' he said.

'Don't want to,' she wailed.

'Do it for your uncle Lennox. And be careful now."

Even as he spoke a werebeast charged from the undergrowth, jaws wide, taloned fingers reaching for the clansman. As it leapt it gave a terrifying howl. Beasts of the wild always roar or screech on attacking their prey. The sound freezes the victim.

But Lennox was not a hunted animal. Nor even an ordinary man.

He was the most powerful warrior in the long history of the Farlain.

As the beast broke cover Lennox whirled, bellowing his own scream of fury. He charged it, smashing a right cross to its open jaws. Fangs snapped, the jawbone disintegrating under the impact. The beast screamed and fell, rolling to all fours and howling in pain. A second creature leapt forward and, twisting to meet it, Lennox charged again. Talons lashed across his shoulder, scoring deep through the flesh. The jaws lunged for his face and, throwing up his hand, he fastened his fingers to the furry throat. The downward lunge was halted, the fangs inches from his face. Lennox could feel hot, rancid breath on his skin. The power of the beast was immense. He threw a left-hand blow which thundered against the werebeast's ear; the creature fell back, then leapt again. This time Lennox stood his ground until the beast was almost upon him. As it rushed forward he caught it by the throat and groin, and hurled it with all his strength against the trunk of a pine. It hit with a sickening thud -spine exploding into shards, ribs splitting and piercing the great lungs beneath. Blood flowing from his wounds, Lennox drew his sword. The first beast attacked again, its jaw hanging slack. As its talons lashed out, Lennox ducked beneath the swinging arm and hammered his sword into its unprotected belly.

The creature writhed in agony, then crumpled to the earth, thrashing in its death throes. Lennox dragged his sword loose and

drew his hunting-knife, eyes scanning the bushes. There was no movement there. But he had to be sure.

'Stay in the tree, Plessie. Uncle Lennox won't be a moment.'

'No,' she wailed. 'Don't leave me. Wolfs eat me up!' Her tears cut through him, but he moved on, searching the tracks within the undergrowth. Satisfied there were only two of the creatures he returned to the weeping child, lifting her down and cuddling her.

'There, there! You see, I was only a moment or two.'

'Don't leave me again, Uncle Lennox.'

'I won't. Now, you are going to have to be a brave girl and help me to stop this bleeding. Can you do that?' With a grunt of pain Lennox removed his ripped shirt. There were four deep slashes across his right shoulder-blade, but he could reach none of them.

'There's lots of blood, Uncle Lennox.'

'The bleeding will clean the wounds,' he said, moving to his pack. 'Can you sew?'

'Mother taught me,' said Plessie.

That's good, little one.' Rummaging into his pack, he found needle and thread. 'I want you to close these little scratches for me. Then we'll move on. Will you do that for me?'

'I don't know how.' Lennox could see the fear returning to her.

'It's easy,' he told her, forcing a smile. 'Trust me. I'll show you. First thread the needle. My hands are too big and clumsy for it.' Plessie took the thread, licked the end and carefully inserted it into the eye of the needle. She looked up expectantly at Lennox. Twisting his head, he could see the ragged red line of the first cut on the top of his shoulder. Taking the needle, he pricked it through the skin. 'You do it like this,' he told her, as a wave of nausea hit him. 'Just like this.'

Plessie began to cry. 'You're not going to die, are you, Uncle Lennox?'

'From little scratches like this? No. Now come round to my back and show me your sewing.'

Taliesen led Caswallon away from the cabin, and on into the trees. It was not cold, but the breeze brought a promise of autumn in the air. 'The child will be the future Queen - if she lives,' said the druid.

Caswallon stopped. 'What do you mean, if she lives? We know she lives. I watched her die after the killing the Beast.'

Taliesen gave a dry laugh. 'My boy, you saw one Sigarni. But it would take too long to explain the infinite possibilities when one deals in time, the paradoxes created. Merely hold to the concept of impossibility made reality. This child is in great danger. First and foremost is the sorcerer Jakuta Khan. He was hired to bring about the fall of the King, Sigarni's real father, and in exchange he was offered wealth - and the life of the King's daughter. He is a gifted magicker, Caswallon. He will track her down; the crofter cannot stand against him.'

Caswallon sat down on a fallen tree. 'The thought fills me with sorrow, Taliesen, but what can we do? My people need me. I cannot stay here and protect the babe. Nor can you. We do not have the time.'

That word again - time," responded Taliesen, sitting beside the taller man. 'It matters not how long we wait here, for when you return no time will have passed in the world you know. There is a small settlement close by; we will rest there, and be offered food. Then we will journey back to the falls and make camp by the rock face where the Gateway opened. There you will see in one day what few mortals will ever see.'

The following evening Caswallon built a small fire by the rock face, and the two men sat eating a meal of honey biscuits and watching the fragmented moon dance upon the rippling water of the falls pools.

'How long do we wait?' asked Caswallon.

'Until I feel the magic of Jakuta Khan,' said Taliesen. 'But now there is someone I must summon.' Rising, the little sorcerer moved to the poolside. As Caswallon watched, Taliesen began to chant in a low voice. The wind died down and a mist formed above two boulders close to the pool's edge. Caswallon's eyes widened as the mist rose into an arch some ten paces in front of the sorcerer. Tiny lights, like fireflies, glittered in the archway, and then a man appeared, tall, impossibly broad-shouldered, wearing a silver breastplate and a shining mail-shin of silver steel. His hair was moon-white, his beard braided.

'Who calls Ironhand?' he asked, his voice low and deep like distant thunder. Caswallon rose and walked to stand beside Taliesen.

'I call upon you, High King,“ said the sorcerer. 'I, Taliesen, the Druid Lord. Your daughter lives, but she is in peril.”

They killed me here,' said the ghostly warrior. 'My body lies beneath those boulders. They killed my wife, and I cannot find her spirit.'

'But you daughter lives: the babe sleeps in a cabin close by. And the hunters will come for her, the demons will stalk her.'

'What can I do, Taliesen? I am a spirit now.'

'You can do nothing against men of flesh, Ironhand. But I have planted a seed in the child's mind. When the demons materialise she will flee here. The creatures, though flesh, are also summoned through spirit spells. You can fight them.'

'When you need me, call upon me,' said the Ghost King. The archway shimmered and vanished, and Caswallon once more felt the night breeze upon his skin.

'She is Ironhand's daughter? Sweet Heaven!'

'Aye,' whispered Taliesen, 'she is of the blood most royal. Now let us return to the fire. There is a spell I must cast before I leave you.' The druid banked up the fire, and once more began to chant. Caswallon sat silently until he had finished, then Taliesen took a deep breath. 'There is a man I must see. He is a dreamer and a drunkard, but we will need him before long. Stay here, and do not for any reason venture from the fire.' He smiled. 'I think what you are about to see will keep you well entertained until I return."