“No. Cambil led.”
“Did you win?”
“Yes.”
“Was Cambil a good leader?”
“In his way. He still is. And he has been a good Hunt Lord for the Farlain.”
“But he doesn’t like you, Caswallon. Everyone knows that.”
“You shouldn’t listen to idle chatter. But you are right. He doesn’t like me-but then he has good cause. Three years ago I robbed him of something. I didn’t mean to, but it worked out that way, and he has not forgotten.”
“What did you steal?” asked Gaelen.
“I didn’t actually steal anything. I just refused to stand against him for the position of Hunt Lord. I didn’t want the role. So he was voted to it by the elders.”
“I don’t understand. How can he hold that against you?”
“That’s a difficult question, Gaelen. Many people assumed I would try for Hunt Lord. In truth I would have lost, for Cambil is-and always was-worthy of the role. But had I stood and lost, he would have known he was considered the better man. Because I did not stand he will never know.”
“Is that why Agwaine doesn’t like me?” asked Gaelen. “Because his father doesn’t like you?”
“Perhaps. I have been very selfish in my life, doing only that which I enjoyed. I should have acted differently. If I am nominated for the Council again I shall accept. But that is not likely.”
From the house below they heard Kareen calling. Gaelen waved at her, but Caswallon remained where he was.
“Go and eat,” he said. “I will be down soon.”
He watched the boy running down the hillside and smiled, remembering his own Hunt Day fifteen years before. Every lad in the Farlain over the age of fourteen, and not yet a man, was teamed with three others and sent out into the mountains to recover a “treasure.” Skillful hunters would lay trails, hide clues and signs, and the teams would track them down until at last one team returned with the prize. For Caswallon the prize they had sought was a dagger, hidden in a tree. Often it was an arrow, or a lance, or a helm, or a shield. This year it was a sword, though none of the lads knew it.
Every year Caswallon helped lay the trails and delighted in his work. But this year was special for him, for Gaelen would be taking part.
He removed from his pouch the strip of parchment Taliesen had given him and he reread the words written there. Seek the beast that no one finds, always roaring, never silent, beneath his skin, by silver wings, bring forth the long-lost dream of kings.
After the meal Caswallon would read the verse to his new son, even as, all over the Farlain, fathers would be doing likewise. There were times, Caswallon considered, when tradition was a wholesome thing.
In the wide kitchen Caswallon’s young son Donal lay on a woolen blanket by the hearth. Beside him slept the pup Gaelen had brought home; it had grown apace in the last two months, showing signs of the formidable beast it would be in the years ahead. Kareen sat beside Maeg opposite Gaelen, and they were all laughing as Caswallon entered.
“And what is amusing you?” he asked.
“Rest your poor bones at the table,” Maeg told him, “and tell us, gently, how Gaelen here dumped you to the earth.”
“It was a wicked blow and I was unprepared,” he answered, seating himself beside the boy, who was blushing furiously.
“Have you been bragging, young Gaelen?” he asked.
“He has not,” said Maeg. “Kareen herself saw the deed done as she fed the chickens.”
“Fed the chickens, indeed,” said Caswallon. “It could not be seen from the yard. The lazy child climbed the hill and spied on us, for a certainty.” Now Kareen began to blush, casting a guilty glance at Maeg. “In fact,” said Caswallon, smiling broadly, “on my way back here I saw two sets of tracks. One had the dainty footprints of young Kareen, the other I could not make out except to say the feet must have been uncommonly large.”
“So!” said Maeg. “It’s back to gibes about my feet, is it?”
“You have beautiful feet, Maeg, my love. There isn’t a woman in the Farlain who could match them for beauty-or length.”
Throughout the meal they good-naturedly sniped at each other, and only when she began to list Caswallon’s faults did he open his arms in surrender and beg her forgiveness.
“Woman,” he said, “you’re full of venom.”
After the meal he gave leave to Gaelen to seek his friends, and read him the druid’s parchment. “Do not be home late. We’ve an early start tomorrow.”
Later, as Maeg and Caswallon lay arm in arm in the broad bed, she leaned over him and kissed him gently on the lips. “What troubles you, my love?” she asked him, stroking his dark hair back from his eyes.
His arm circled her back, pulling her to him. “What makes you think I am troubled?”
“No games, Caswallon,” she said seriously. She rolled from him and he sat up, bunching a pillow behind him.
“The Council has voted to resume trade with Ateris, and allow an Aenir group to visit the Farlain.”
“But we had to trade with them,” said Maeg. “We always have dealt with Ateris, for iron, seed corn, seasoned timbers, leather.”
“We didn’t always, Maeg. We used to do these things ourselves. We’re no longer dealing with merchant Lowlanders; this is a warrior race.”
“What harm can it do to allow a few of them to visit us? We might become friends.”
“You don’t make friends with a wolf by inviting it to sleep with the sheep.”
“But we are not sheep, Caswallon. We are the clans.”
“I think the decision is shortsighted and we may live to rue it.”
“I love you,” she said, the words cutting through his thoughts.
“I can’t think why,” he said, chuckling. Then he reached for her and they lay silently enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies and the closeness of their spirits.
“I cannot begin to tell you what you mean to me,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
One moment the mountainside was clear, rolling green slopes, the occasional tree, two streams meeting and foaming over white boulders. Sheep grazed quietly near a small herd of wild ponies.
Suddenly the air reeked with an acrid smell none of the animals recognized. Their heads came up. Blue light replaced the gold of the sun. Rainbows danced on the grass and a great noise, like locust wings, covered the mountainside. The ponies reared and wheeled, the sheep scattering in all directions.
For a fraction of a second two suns hung in the sky, then they merged and the golden sunlight bathed the mountain. But all was not as it had been…
In the shadow of a great boulder stood a towering figure, six-inch fangs curving from a wide snout, massive shoulders covered in black fur, huge arms ending in taloned fingers. The eyes were black and round, the brows deep, and it blinked as its new surroundings came into focus.
Lifting its shaggy head, the beast sniffed the air. The sweet smell of living flesh flooded its senses. The creature leaned forward, dipping its colossal shoulders until its talons brushed the earth. Its eyes focused on a three-year-old ewe, which stood trembling on the hillside.
Dropping fully to all fours, the beast bunched the muscles of its hind legs and leaped forward, bearing down on the sheep with terrible speed. Startled, the ewe turned to run. It had made only three running jumps before the weight of the hunter smashed its spine into jagged shards.
Taloned fingers tore aside the ewe’s flesh and the blood ran.
The beast ate swiftly, lifting its shaggy black head often, peering shortsightedly around the mountainside, ready for any enemy that might chance upon it. It was uncomfortable out in the open, unused to shimmering horizons and bright light. But the blood was good upon its tongue, the flesh rich and greasy. Casually it ripped out the ewe’s entrails, hurling them far from the body, concentrating instead on the flesh of the loins. Slowly, methodically, the giant creature fed, snapping bones and sucking out the marrow, splitting the skull with one blow
