home.”
Cambil said nothing more. He unrolled his blanket, curled it around his shoulders, and settled down against his pack.
Caswallon stood and made his way slowly up the farthest slope into the deep, cool pine woods beyond. From the tallest point he gazed to the northeast, seeking sign of a campfire, yet knowing he would see nothing. The boys were too well trained.
Sixteen miles northeast the four companions were arguing over the choicest morsels of a freshly cooked rabbit. Lennox, who had cooked the coney and served it, was protesting innocence, despite his plate bearing twice as much meat as any other.
“But I am bigger,” he said seriously. “My pack carries all the cooking equipment. And it was my snare.”
Gwalchmai broke from the argument for long enough to pop a small piece of meat in his mouth and begin chewing. He dropped from the discussion instantly, tugging surreptitiously at Gaelen’s cloak. Gaelen saw the expression on his face. He tried his own meat, chewed for a moment, then removed the offending gobbet. Lennox and Layne were still arguing furiously. “I think Lennox is right,” said Gaelen suddenly. “He is the largest and he has the greatest burden. Here, take mine too, my friend.”
“I couldn’t,” said Lennox, his eyes betraying his greed.
“No, truly. One small rabbit is scarce enough to build your strength.” Gaelen tipped the contents of his plate on Lennox’s own. In the meantime Gwalchmai had whispered to Layne.
“I’m sorry, brother,” said Layne, smiling. “Gaelen has made me realize how selfish I am. Take my portion too.”
“And mine,” added Gwalchmai eagerly.
Lennox sat back on his haunches. “You are all true friends,” he said, gazing dreamily at his plate. Discarding his knife he scooped a handful of meat into his mouth. For several seconds he chewed in silence, then his face froze. His three companions waited in nerve-tingling silence until he doggedly finished the mouthful and swallowed.
“Is it good?” asked Layne, his face set and serious.
“Yes, it is,” said Lennox. “But look, I feel bad about taking it all.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Gwalchmai swiftly. “Your need is the greatest.”
“Yes, but…”
“And you cooked it,” put in Gaelen.
“I know, but…”
“Eat on, brother,” said Layne. “See, it grows cold and… congeals.”
The dam burst and all three broke into giggling laughter. Realization struck Lennox and he hurled the diseased meat into the bushes. “Swine!” he said.
A hundred paces above them, on the edge of the trees, the beast squatted on its haunches glaring down at the fire. The laughter puzzled it, for the sound was similar to the screeching of the small apes of its homeland. Its black nostrils flared, catching the aroma of scorched flesh-rancid-smelling sickly flesh.
The beast snorted, blowing the scent away. It stretched its powerful legs, moving several paces left. Here the flesh scent was different, warm-blooded, salty, and alive. The creature’s eyes glittered. Hunger urged it to charge the camp and take the meat. Instinct made it fear the fire.
The beast settled down to wait.
Gaelen’s dreams were troubled. Once more the Aenir killers pursued him, the pounding of their horses’ hooves drumming fear into him as he ran. His legs were heavy, his movements sluggish. Suddenly a calming blue light filled his mind and the warriors faded. A face appeared, wrinkled and ancient, only the dark eyes giving a hint of life.
“The fire,” said a deep melodious voice, though the lips did not move. “The fire is dying. Awake!”
Gaelen groaned and rolled over, trying to force the man from his mind.
“The fire, fool! Your life is in danger! Awake!”
The calming light disappeared, to be replaced by a red haze. Within the haze was a monster, black and menacing. Its huge jaws slavered, and its taloned hands reached for him.
Gaelen awoke with a jolt, eyes opening to the bright moonlight and the glittering stars in the velvet-dark sky. He glanced at the fire. As the dream had told him, it was failing fast, the last flickering twigs turning to ash and glowing embers.
The boy did not want to leave the warmth of his blanket, but the dream left an edge of fear in him. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair, scratching at the scar beneath the blaze of white above his left eye. Swiftly he broke twigs and small branches, feeding them to the tiny blaze and blowing life back into the fire. He felt better as the flames danced.
A rustling to his right made him turn. A large bush quivered and a low growl reverberated in the clearing. Gaelen drew his hunting knife and narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness. He felt a fool. Had Caswallon not warned him endlessly about staring into fires? Now he could not see clearly. A giant shadow rose above the bush and Gaelen screamed a warning to the others.
Layne rolled from his blanket with knife in hand, standing in a half crouch beside Gaelen. “What is it?” Gaelen pointed at the thing beyond the bush. It was at least eight feet high, its head round like a man’s except that the jaws were huge and rimmed with curving fangs. Gwalchmai and Lennox had left their beds and were staring horror-struck at the creature.
Gaelen pushed his trembling hand toward the fire, grasping the last of the branches they had stacked. It had not been stripped of its dry leaves for they would be good tinder for the morning blaze. Lifting the branch, Gaelen held it over the flames. The leaves caught instantly, flaring and crackling. On trembling legs, Gaelen advanced toward the beast, holding the torch before him.
Layne and Lennox exchanged glances, then followed behind him. Gwalchmai swallowed hard, but he could not force his legs to propel him forward and stood rooted to the spot, watching his friends slowly advance on the nightmarish beast. It was colossal, near nine feet in height, and the light from the blazing branch glinted on its dagger-length talons.
Gaelen’s legs were trembling as he approached the monstrosity. It reared up and tensed to leap at the youth but he drew back his arm and flung the blazing brand straight at the creature’s face. Flames licked at the shaggy fur around its eyes, flaring up into tongues of fire on its right cheek. A fearful howl tore the silence of the night and the beast turned and sprang away into the night. The boys watched until it blended into the dark woods. Layne placed his hand on Gaelen’s shoulder. “Well done, cousin,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I’m glad you woke.”
“What in the seven hells was that?” asked Gwalchmai as they returned to the comfort of the fire.
“I don’t know,” said Layne grimly. “But from the look of those jaws it’s not after berries and grubs.”
Gwalchmai retrieved the blazing torch and examined the beast’s tracks. Returning to the fire he told Layne, “It’s the same track we saw in the valley. And we know no hunter made it. Congratulations, Gaelen, you saved our lives. There is no doubt of that.”
“I had a dream,” Gaelen told him. “An old man appeared to me, warning me.”
“Did you recognize him?” asked Layne.
“I think he was the druid with Cambil on Hunt Day.”
“Taliesen,” whispered Gwalchmai, glancing at Layne.
“What are we going to do?” asked Lennox. “Go back?”
“I don’t see that we need to,” said Layne. “We turned the beast away easily enough. And most animals avoid men anyway. Also, we will be at Attafoss in the morning, so we might just as well see it through.”
“I’m not sure,” said Gwalchmai. “That thing was big. I wouldn’t want to face it without fire.”
“If it’s hunting us,” said Gaelen, “it can do so equally well whether we go forward or back.”
“Are we all agreed, then?” Layne asked them. Gwalchmai longed to hear Lennox suggest a swift retreat back to the valley, but Lennox merely shrugged and donned his pack.
Dawn found the companions on the last leg of their journey, climbing the steep scree-covered slopes of the last mountain before Attafoss. As they crossed the skyline the distant roar of the falls could be heard some miles ahead.
