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 among 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 snowcapped peaks to the west began to burn like glowing coals, as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. Fields below were bathed in glorious colors 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 toward Cambil’s village, his cloak streaming behind him.
Badraig was a skillful huntsman whose task it was to set the trails for those of the boys traveling toward 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 woods, 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 recognized the bloody meat strewn across the track. Badraig lifted a torn section of tunic, recognizing 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 midafternoon 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 around a campfire 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 northeast. 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 quarreling,” 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 traveled 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 toward 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
