always the most cunning, the short man often more competitive, the ugly woman given the disposition of an angel. So it is with character. You saw it at the Games. Borak was faster than you, stronger. He even had an accomplice in the woods to ensure victory. And yet he lost, as his kind will always lose. For courage is born of caring. Evil has no depth of character to call on. You want certainty, Agwaine? I give it to you. They cannot conquer the clan.”
Agwaine bowed his head. “At this moment,” he said, “we are in flight. They outnumber us and they have killed thousands.”
“Yes, and many more clansmen will die,” said Caswallon, “but we shall not lose. Do not think of their numbers. It means nothing if the terrain is right. Think of your father, and his few hundred men. Aye, and women. Think of how the Aenir broke upon that sword ring. I would wager three Aenir died for every clansman. Think on it. For the Aenir will.
“Deep in their hearts they know the truth. Let you know it too. We are the Farlain, and though we may be ill-suited to it, we carry the torch of light in this war. And the Aenir darkness will not extinguish it.”
Agwaine chuckled suddenly, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “Caswallon, you’ve only been with the Council for a few months and already you’re spouting rhetoric.”
“I know, and it surprises me. But what is more surprising, perhaps, is that I believe it. With all my soul.”
“You believe the force of good will always defeat the force of evil?”
“I do-ultimately.”
“Why?”
“I can’t argue it, for it springs from the heart and not the mind. Why did the Queen come when you needed her?”
“Chance?”
“From where did you get the strength to beat the faster man?”
“I don’t know. But why did the Lowlanders fall? They were not evil.”
“I don’t say that darkness does not have small triumphs. But we are not Lowlanders, we are the Farlain.”
“Now that I will agree on,” said Agwaine. “And now I’d better be heading for Maggrig.”
“Are you more certain?”
“I don’t know, but I feel the better for talking.”
“Then that must be enough,” said Caswallon, rising.
“Take care, Caswallon-and look out for Deva. She should be clear of them. She was visiting Lars with her friend Larain.”
“I will send out scouts.”
The clan had made camp on the northern slope of a group of hills, where their campfires could not be seen from the south. As night stole over the countryside Caswallon ordered the fires doused, lest the glow be seen against the sky. He sought out Taliesen and together they walked to the hilltop, the old druid leaning heavily on his oak staff. He wore his birds’-feather cloak over a white robe. Caswallon thought him dangerously tired.
“How are you faring?” he asked as they sat together under the bright stars.
Taliesen’s eyes gleamed and he smiled. “I will not die on you, Caswallon.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“I am exhausted. But then I am old.” He looked at the young warrior beside him, his eyes full of guile. “Do you know how old?”
“Seventy? Eighty?”
“If I told you my age, would you believe me?”
“Yes. Why would you lie?”
“I will not lie, Caswallon. I am over a thousand years old.”
“I was wrong,” said Caswallon, grinning. “I do not believe you.”
“And yet I speak the truth. It was I who brought Earis here so many centuries ago. On this very hill, he and I looked down on the Farlain and knew joy.”
“Stop this jest, Taliesen…”
“It is no jest, Caswallon, and I am not speaking to impress you. Of all the clansmen, you alone have the capacity to understand what I am going to tell you. You have an open, inquiring mind and a rare intelligence. You are not prey to superstitions. You make your own judgments. I am more than one thousand years old. I was born out there!” The old man’s bony hand flashed out, pointing to the stars. “You’ve heard tales of the elder race, the vanished people. I am the last of those elders; the last true-blooded anyway. We made the Gates, Caswallon, and we journeyed across distances so great I could not impress on you the scale of it. Think of an ant crossing the Farlain and multiply it a thousand times, and you would have but the first step of my journeys.
“We came here, and from here we spread across the Universe. We were the Star Walkers. We birthed religions and created mythologies wherever man saw us. But then came catastrophe.” The druid bowed his head, staring at his hands.
“What happened?” asked Caswallon.
“The Great Gates closed. Suddenly, without warning. Our links with home and distant empires were severed, gone without trace. All that remained were the Lesser Gates: playthings created for students like myself who wished to study the evolution of primitive societies in a controlled environment.”
“I do not understand any of this,” said Caswallon. “But I read men well, and I believe what you say. Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I need you. Because you are the catalyst. Because the future of the Farlain-my chosen people-rests with you. And because you will see great wonders in the days to come and your mind must be prepared. I cannot explain to you the nature of the skills that created the Gates. So think of it as magic, impossibility made reality. You know that I have a hiding place for the clan. I am going to tell you now where that hiding place is: Golfallin, the first valley of the Farlain.”
“What nonsense is this? You will take us back where we have come from?”
“Yes. But there will be no Aenir, no crofts and homes, only virgin land.”
“How so?”
“As I did with Earis,” said the old man. “The Gates do not merely link different lands, Caswallon. I shall take you all through time itself. We are going back ten thousand years, to a time before the clan, before the Aenir.”
“That would be magic indeed.”
“You, however, will not be going back. There is a task you must perform.”
“Name it.”
“You must find the Queen who died and bring her to the Farlain with her army. Only then can you hope to crush the Aenir.”
“You want me to find a dead woman?”
“Time, Caswallon. Where I will send you she is still young.”
“Why should she aid us?”
The old druid shrugged. “There are some questions I will not answer. But let me say this: The chaos we are enduring was caused-in part-by one selfish man. I am doing all in my power to reverse it.”
“Oracle?”
“Yes.”
“He told me of his journey,” said Caswallon, “and that is why I believe you. He said he took his men through the Gate and came to a realm torn by war. He chose to serve the Queen and gained prominence. He told me he fought many battles until at last he crossed the Gateway once more and became a king in a far land, with an army of thousands at his back. But then he suffered betrayal and fled back to the Gate.”
“He did not tell you all, Caswallon. Men rarely do when speaking of their mistakes. He became a king, even as he said, but to do so he made alliances with evil men. One such was Agrist, a rare brute. In return for Agrist’s services Oracle gave him the secret of the Gate, and Agrist led his people through in search of riches and plunder. They thrived in their new world and grew strong. They became the Aenir, who now pillage the Farlain. For the Gate Oracle gave them brought them to the recent past of our world.”
“He did tell me,” said Caswallon.
The druid gave a thin smile. “Did he also tell you of the night after Sigarni’s great battle when he found the enemy general’s widow and her daughter hiding in a cave? Did he describe how he raped the mother in front of the
