They reached the trees ahead of their pursuers. What they needed now was somewhere to hide. The problem was that in the dark Gaelen had no way of knowing what sort of tracks they were leaving. He halted and grabbed Deva’s arm. “Give them something to think about,” he said. As the Aenir reached the bottom of the slope she sent a shaft into their ranks, catching a man high in the shoulder. The man cursed loudly, the rest diving to the ground. There were only ten men in the pursuing group, and none of them wanted to rush uphill toward a hidden archer.
“Now let’s go,” said Gaelen.
Deva shook her head, still fighting to catch her breath. “Need.. . a… moment,” she said. Taking the bow, he crouched at the edge of the trees, trying to spot any attempt to outflank them.
After a few moments Deva tapped his shoulder. “I’m ready,” she told him. He nodded and they slipped away into the trees.
As dawn lit the valleys Gaelen took a desperate gamble. Believing them clear of the Aenir he decided to push on through the day, reaching Attafoss before dark. He knew the risks were great, for there could well be enemy soldiers ahead. But, he thought, they would certainly catch up should he hide all day waiting for darkness. And he had no desire to repeat last night’s adventures.
They crossed the open ground and found no sign of the enemy. Render loped out ahead of them, cutting off to chase a hare, but it ducked out of sight and the hound padded back to his master. High in the mountains now, the pursuit far behind them, Gaelen relaxed. Deva also felt tension easing from her.
“You don’t say much, Gaelen,” she said.
“No. I’m not very good with words.”
“Is that true? Or are you just anxious around women?”
“That too.”
“Do you like Layne?”
“Yes, he’s a good friend.”
“He wants to marry me.”
Gaelen felt a knot of tension growing within him. Angry and uncertain, he said nothing.
“Well, speak, clansman.”
“What is there to say? You did not ask a question. You know that I feel… that I would like… damn! As I said, I am not good with words. I lived alone for many years as a child. I talked to few people; I never learned the art of conversation. I am dull though I would prefer not to be. It would be nice to make people laugh with a witty jest, but it’s not the way I am.”
“You are fine the way you are,” she said, feeling guilty and a little ashamed. “I’m sorry. I should not have teased you.”
“You could have picked a better time,” he said, smiling.
“Yes. Do you think the clan will be at Attafoss?”
“I hope so.”
“You are a fine man, Gaelen. Truly fine.”
“I am glad that you think so. Will you wed Layne?”
“No,” she told him softly. “When I was born an old tinker woman made a prediction for me. She said I would be the mother of kings.”
“What does that mean? There are no kings.”
“Not here in the Highlands,” she said, “but there are tales of faraway lands where kings and princes rule. One day a man will come-and I will wed him.”
“I don’t begin to understand,” he said. “What is so important about wedding a king? Or being the mother of one, for that matter? What about love, Deva? Happiness?”
“How could you understand?” she said. “You were an orphan and a thief. It wasn’t your fault. But I shall live in a palace, and my name will be known throughout the world. Perhaps forever.”
He stood silently for a moment. “I would marry you,” he said, “and spend my life making you happy. It is a dream I have had since first I saw you. But I cannot give you a palace, Deva.”
She looked up at him and, for a single heartbeat, felt like taking him in her arms and turning her back on the dream she had nurtured. But the dream was too strong and Deva shook her head. “I know that I love you, Gaelen. Truly. But you must find another,” she said softly, surprised that the words left her feeling empty and more than a little frightened.
Taking her hand he kissed it. “I’ll not ask again,” he told her. “I wish you well in your quest, Deva. I hope your king comes for you.”
Caswallon pushed his people hard throughout the days following the invasion. He sent a screen of warriors to the northeast and west, led by Badraig and Onic. Then he chose five hundred men and held them back to form a rear guard against any force the Aenir should send against them. He was desperate for news of Laric and Maggrig. Had the Pallides survived as a clan, or were they sundered throughout the mountains, leaderless? He needed to know. He called for volunteers from among the single men, skilled hunters and trackers, to journey back to the southeast and gather information. Among those who came forward were Layne, Gwalchmai, and Agwaine. Caswallon chose five men, Agwaine among them.
He took them aside, briefing each one, until at last only Agwaine was left. Caswallon placed both hands on the young man’s shoulders. “I am truly sorry about what happened to your father,” he said. “He was a fine man, a man of honor and great nobility.”
“He was a fool, Caswallon. But I loved him well. Better than he knew.”
“I doubt that. You meant everything to him. When we tracked you, as you fought the beast, he told me he would leave the Farlain if you did not survive. You were his joy. And as to his being a fool, I want you to think on this: He was made to look foolish by the brutal stupidity of the Aenir. Cambil was right in his philosophy, Agwaine. Sensible men will go to great lengths to avoid the vileness of war. Yet it is also a tragic truth that when war is inevitable, there is no place for sensible men. Intelligence can be a double-edged weapon. One of the blessings of a fine mind is that it allows a man to see both sides of a problem, therefore preventing him from acting in a blind or blinkered way. Your father was such a man. He believed that the Aenir would also see the wisdom of his view. That they did not is not a reflection on him, but a judgment upon them.”
Agwaine shook his head. “I would like to believe all that. But you are an intelligent man-and the Aenir did not fool you, did they?”
“No,” answered Caswallon slowly, “but then I did not have thousands of lives resting on my deeds, coloring my thoughts, feeding my hopes. Cambil knew that war would mean colossal loss of life. It does make a difference, Agwaine.”
“Thank you, cousin, for your words. As you advise, I will think on them. Now what do you want me to do?”
“Find Maggrig and gather as many of the Pallides as you can. Then make for the eastern shore of the lake above Attafoss. There we will plan the destruction of the enemy.”
“Do you believe we can win?”
“Be certain of it, Agwaine of the Farlain.”
Agwaine grinned. “It would be nice to be certain.”
Caswallon took the young man by the arm and led him away from the column. They sat down on the hillside, the stars gleaming above them like gems on a velvet cloak.
“Your father and I grew up together, you know that. You also know we were never friends,” said Caswallon softly, meeting Agwaine’s glance and noting, with sadness, the man’s resemblance to Cambil. “He did not like me, but I don’t blame him for that. I never did. He saw in me everything that could destroy the clan: selfishness; disregard for the customs that bound us together. I see that clearly now, and I wish he was here so that I could tell him. Instead, I tell his son.
“The clan thrives because we care for one another. Being Clan is as much a state of mind as a racial fact. Without it we are no different from the Aenir. Cambil understood this. Caring makes us strong, gives us courage.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Agwaine.
“Have you noticed,” countered Caswallon, “how nature gives and takes? The weakest dog in the litter is
