“Who is she?” asked Caswallon.
The Queen’s eyes opened. “Ah, it is you,” she whispered, smiling. “Now the circle is complete, for you told me you would be with me at my death. How well you look. How young. How handsome! No… silver in your beard.”
Caswallon gazed down into the bright blue eyes and saw that the woman was fading fast. Her hand lifted toward him and he took it, holding it firm.
“Did I do well, Caswallon? Tell me truly?”
“You did well,” answered Caswallon. “You saved the boys.”
“But my kingdom? Was I… truly the Queen you desired me to be?”
“Yes,” answered Caswallon, nonplussed.
She smiled once more, then a tear formed and slowly fell to her pale cheek. “Poor Caswallon,” she whispered. “You do not know whose hand you hold, but you will.” Tears filled her eyes.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers. “I know you are brave beyond words,” he said, “and I do not doubt you were a queen beyond compare.”
Her eyes closed and a long broken sigh hissed from her throat. Caswallon sat for a moment, still holding on to the hand. Then he laid it gently across the Queen’s chest.
Cambil knelt beside him. “Who was she?” asked the Hunt Lord.
Caswallon stared down at the dead warrior woman. “Whoever she was, I mourn her passing.”
“She was the Queen Beyond,” said Gaelen, “and she always won.”
Then he began to weep.
Chapter Five
Lennox sat with his back against a tree as they stitched his shoulder and strapped his broken arm. His face was grey with pain, but he uttered no groan, merely squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
His father, Leofas, said nothing, but pride shone in his eyes. Layne lay beside his brother, enduring the stitches in his chest in the same stoic fashion. Away from the others sat Badraig, tears flowing and head in hands. His son Draig had been killed the day before.
Even through his own immense relief Cambil felt the other man’s sorrow, and leaving his son Agwaine, he walked over to sit beside the hunter. He put his hand on Badraig’s shoulder.
“I am sorry, my friend. Truly.”
The man nodded, but neither lifted his head nor answered.
Caswallon stood with the other clansmen looking down on the beast. Even in death it was a terrifying sight, its great jaws drawn back in a last snarl, its fangs, as long as a man’s fingers, bared and bloody.
“I have never seen the like,” muttered Caswallon, “and I pray I never shall again.”
They buried the Queen deep, marking the grave with flat white stones. Cambil promised to have a headstone carved. Then the men split into two groups, Badraig leading the five hunters back to the falls and burying what was left of the bodies; Cambil, Leofas, and Caswallon staying with the boys. It was decided they would rest in the clearing until morning and then attempt the long walk back to the village.
The main worry was Lennox, who had lost a great deal of blood. Gwalchmai, though stunned by his fall, was back on his feet and unhurt. He alone of the boys had missed the Queen’s last battle.
That night around the campfire the boys were unnaturally silent. Lennox, in great pain, sought refuge in sleep, but the others sat together staring at the flames. Agwaine had lost friends and suffered the terror of being hunted; Layne had seen the leadership of the group taken quietly from him by the former Lowlander; and Gaelen had discovered in his heart a strength he had not known existed. Only Gwalchmai was untouched by the drama, but he remained silent, for he sensed his friends’ needs.
Caswallon prepared a strong broth for them all. His own thoughts were many. Through his sorrow at the death of the three lads he felt a surging pride at the way the others had tackled the beast, and a sense of joy at the manner in which Gaelen had conducted himself. Thinking back, he did not know if he could have duplicated the feat at Gaelen’s age. But overriding these thoughts he could not help but remember the words of the Queen. At first he had thought the woman delirious, but her eyes had been clear.
Caswallon had always enjoyed an ability to read character truly, and he knew instinctively that the dying warrior was a great woman, a woman of courage, nobility of spirit, and great inner strength. That she was a queen was no surprise.
But queen of where? And how did she know him?
Beyond the Gate. What was beyond the Gate?
Only Oracle knew. And Taliesen.
The night wore on and Caswallon strolled away from the fire, seeking solitude and a place to think. But Cambil joined him and they sat together on a high hillside under the clear sky.
“Badraig is a broken man,” said Cambil softly, gathering his green cloak about his broad shoulders.
“Yes. What can one say?”
“I feel a burden of guilt for it,” said Cambil. “Last night I prayed that Agwaine would survive. I would willingly have exchanged any life for his. When I saw he was alive I didn’t care anything for Badraig’s loss; it only struck me later.”
“That is understandable.”
“Don’t patronize me, Caswallon!” snapped the Hunt Lord, eyes blazing.
“I was not trying to. How do you think I felt when I saw Gaelen?”
“It’s not the same thing, is it? You may be fond of the boy, but he’s not of your blood. You didn’t watch him take his first faltering steps, hear his first words, take him on his first hunt.”
“No, that is true,” admitted Caswallon, realizing the futility of the argument.
“Still Gaelen did well,” said Cambil. “He proved his right to be a clansman.”
“Yes.”
“But he can never be Hunt Lord.”
Caswallon turned then, catching Cambil’s eye, but the Hunt Lord looked away, staring into the woods. At once Caswallon understood the man’s meaning. Gaelen had planned the battle with the beast, had taken over leadership from Layne. Agwaine had done his bidding. On such talents were future Hunt Lords built. Cambil’s dream was that Agwaine would succeed him, but now he was unsure.
“Be content that your son is alive,” said Caswallon. “The future will look to itself.”
“But you agree it would not be fitting for a Lowlander to lead the clan?”
“The Council can decide on the day you step down.”
“So, it is your plan to supplant Agwaine with this boy?” accused Cambil, face reddening.
Caswallon sighed. “Nothing could have been further from my mind.”
“It was Agwaine who found the sword.”
“Indeed it was.”
A long silence enveloped them, until at last Cambil stood to leave. We will never be friends, Caswallon,” he said sadly.
“You see ogres where there are none,” Caswallon told him. “I have no ambition, cousin-not for myself, nor my sons. They will be what they desire to be, and what they are able to be. I want to see them happy, married well, and content. All else is dross, for we all die and there is no evidence we take anything with us when we go.”
Cambil nodded. “I wish I could believe you, but I see a different Caswallon. I see a man who could have been Hunt Lord. Children imitate your walk, tales are told about you around the campfires. And yet what have you done? You steal other men’s cattle. What is it about you, Caswallon?”
“I have no idea. I never listen to the stories.”
Caswallon watched as Cambil walked slowly down the slope toward the fire. Gathering his own cloak about him, he stared at the stars, mind wandering.
After about an hour he felt a cold wind blow against his neck, but the leaves about him did not stir. He
