ought to have been mine-that would have been mine.” Her reptilian eyes glittered as she spoke, and her tongue darted over her lips. Drada hid his distaste. “Will you be my friend, Drada? Will you aid me in my quest?”
“I serve my father, lady. But I will be your friend.”
“I admire caution, Drada,” she said, rising. Her fingers stroked the skin of his throat and he was amazed to find arousal once more stirring his blood. “I admire it-as long as it is accompanied by ambition. Are you ambitious?”
“I am the son of Asbidag,” he said softly.
As he watched her leave, the fear began. He had underestimated her. She was chilling, clever, and utterly ruthless. Yet another viper in our basket, he thought.
Caswallon was gone for three days, returning just after dawn as Maeg administered to the infant, Donal. He stood silently in the doorway, listening to the gentle words she crooned as she cleaned and oiled him. Caswallon closed his eyes for a moment, his emotions rising and threatening to unman him. He cleared his throat. She turned, her hair falling across her face, then she swept it back and smiled.
He knelt beside her. The child reached for him, giggling. Caswallon lifted the boy and patted his back as his son’s small chubby arms tried to encircle his neck.
Caswallon returned Donal to his mother, who dressed him in a woolen undershirt and a light tunic, and they moved downstairs to the kitchen where Kareen was preparing breakfast. Leaving Donal with the girl, Caswallon took Maeg by the hand and they left the house to watch the sunrise over Druin. Maeg said nothing as they walked, sensing the weight of sadness Caswallon carried.
They reached the crest of a hill and sat beneath a spreading oak. “I am so sorry, Maeg, my love,” said Caswallon, taking her hand and kissing it.
“For what? A man will give way to anger now and again.”
“I know. But you are the one person in the world I’d never seek to hurt.”
“Foolish man, do you think you can hurt me with a little broken crockery?”
“Why did you marry me?” he asked suddenly.
“Why are men so foolish?” she countered.
“No, I mean it. Why?”
She looked at him closely and then, seeing the sorrow in his green eyes, sensed the burden he was bearing. Reaching up, she stroked his beard and then curled her arm about his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.
“No one can answer such a question. I didn’t like you when you approached me at the Games; I saw you as an arrogant Farlain raider. But after Maggrig sent you away I found myself thinking about you often. Then, when I awoke that day and found you in my room, I hated you. I wanted you slain. But as the days passed thoughts of you grew in my mind. And when you walked into the Long Hall on that winter’s night, your beard stiff with ice, I knew that I loved you. But now tell me why you risked your life to wed me.”
Gently he eased her from him, cupping her face in his hands. “Because before I saw you I had no life to lose,” he said simply.
For a long time they sat beneath the tree, saying nothing, enjoying the warmth of the risen sun, until at last Maeg spoke. “Now tell me truly, Caswallon, what is troubling you?”
“I cannot. I have given a promise. But I can say this: The old days are finished, and what we have here is perhaps the last golden summer of the Farlain. I know this, and the knowledge destroys me.”
“The Aenir?” she asked.
“And our own stupidity.”
“No one lives forever, Caswallon. A man, or a woman, may die at any time. That is why today is so important.”
“I know.”
“Yes, you do. But you’ve not lived it. Suppose you are right, and the Aenir destroy us next month, or next year. Suppose, further, that they kill us both…”
“No! I’ll not even think of that!”
“Think of it!” she commanded, pulling away from him. “What difference all this heartache? For the Aenir are not here today. On this morning we have each other. We have Donal and Gaelen. We have peace, we have love. How often have you said that tomorrow’s problems can be dealt with tomorrow?”
“But I could have changed it.”
“And that is the real reason for your sorrow. You refused to be considered for Hunt Lord, and denied yourself a place on the Council. Now you suffer for it. But one man will not thwart a race like the Aenir. They are killers all. What do they seek? War and death. Conquest and bloodshed. They will pass, for they build nothing.”
“I have made you angry,” he said.
“Yes, you have, for you have allowed fear to find a place in your heart. And there it has grown to fill you with defeat. And that is not what I expect from you, Caswallon of the Farlain.”
“What do you expect?” he asked, smiling.
“I expect you to be a man always. You are angry because Cambil has allowed an Aenir company to attend the Games.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they will scout our lands and learn that which should have cost them blood.”
“Then see they are escorted here. Surround them with scouts.”
“I cannot do that. The Council…”
“A pox on the Council! You are one of the richest men in the three valleys. As such, you are a man of influence. There are others who agree with you: Leofas, for example. Find a hundred men to do your bidding. And one more thing. Kareen was walking on the east hills yesterday and she saw men running around the walls of Ateris. Others were practicing with the bow and spear.”
“So? The Aenir have Games of their own.”
“We’ve not seen such a practice before.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“The Aenir are bringing twenty men. I think they will ask to be allowed to take part in the Games.”
“For what purpose?”
“To win.”
“It would never be allowed.”
“Cambil is Games Lord this year,” she said.
“It is unthinkable,” he whispered. “But there could be many advantages. If they could prove themselves superior it would boost the morale of their warriors and, equally, diminish our own. And they would earn the right to travel the mountains.”
“That is better. That is the Caswallon I know.”
“Indeed it is. I should have spoken to you before, Maeg.”
Caswallon took Gaelen and Gwalchmai with him to observe the strange antics of the Aenir. It seemed that half of Asbidag’s army at Aesgard was at play. The plain before the city was sectioned off by tents, stalls, and ropes, creating a running track, an archery field, a series of spear lanes, and a vast circle at the center of which men wrestled and boxed, or fought with sword and shield. Strength events were also under way.
“It is like the Games,” said Gwalchmai. “How long have they been doing this?”
Caswallon shrugged. “Kareen saw them yesterday.”
“They have some fine athletes,” observed Gaelen. “Look at that white-haired runner leading the pack. He moves like the wind.”
On the plain below Drada and Ongist were watching the foot races with interest. Ongist had wagered ten pieces of gold on Snorri Wolfson to beat Drada’s favorite, the ash-blond Borak. Snorri was trailing by thirty paces when they reached the last lap.
“A curse on the man!” snarled Ongist.
“He is a sprinter,” said Drada, grinning. “He’s not built for distance.”
“What about a wager against Orsa?”
Drada shook his head. “No one will beat him in the strength events.” The brothers wandered across the
