The Hawk Eternal (34 page)

In the bushes beyond the firelight, blood-red eyes watched for the flames to die down.

Taliesen took Caswallon deep underground to a small chamber set with walls of shining silver and gold. Soft light filled the room, but Caswallon could not see the source. The druid beckoned him to a tall chair of white leather, then sat upon an oak-topped table.

'This is my inner sactum,' he told the warrior. 'Here I observe the Farlain and I keep my notes - notes no one will read in my lifetime.' He gestured to the shelves, but there were no books there, only small silver cylinders neatly stacked from floor to ceiling. The far wall was covered with sheets of paper, upon which were curious drawings and symbols.

Caswallon studied them. 'What do these represent?' he asked.

Taliesen joined him. 'They are Time Lines, and chart my attempts to aid Sigarni.'

Caswallon ran his eyes over the symbols. 'And the stars?'

'Each time Sigarni dies I mark the spot and pursue a new Time Line - a different reality. It is very complex, Caswallon. Do not seek to stretch your mind around it.'

'When must I seek the Queen?'

'As soon as you are ready."

'I'm ready now.'

Then observe,' said the druid. Turning, he walked to the wall by the door and opened a hidden panel. The desk-top slid back and a screen rose silently from it. Lights blazed from the screen, forming the image of a walled city.

'That is Citadel town, where the Queen currently resides -currently being a relative term,' added the druid with a dry chuckle.

'How is this done?' whispered Caswallon.

'It is merely an image. It is summer and Sigarni has won a great battle. She has returned to the north to celebrate with her captains.

The enemy has been pushed back... for now. But the Outland King is gathering a huge force against her. Now, before I send you through, you must understand this, Caswallon: We will meet again on the other side of the Gate. Ask me nothing of the events that are transpiring now. Do not speak of the Aenir invasion.'

'I don't understand.'

Taliesen sighed. 'Trust me, Caswallon. In other ... realities ... our meeting beyond the Gate has already taken place. Many times. And I have found it disadvantageous to view the possible futures. It all becomes too confusing.'

Caswallon stood silently for a moment, then his green gaze fastened on the druid's dark eyes. 'And I have died in these other realities?' he asked.

'Yes,' admitted Taliesen. 'Do you still wish to go?'

'Can we win if I do not?"

'No.'

'Then let us go.'

Taliesen pressed a button on the screen and the image of the city disappeared. He stood and led Caswallon back to the Druids' Hall and the black-arched Gate.

Maeg was waiting there. She stood as he approached, opening her arms, and Caswallon walked into her embrace.

She kissed him, her eyes wet with tears. 'The world has changed, as you said it would,' she told him.

'We'll change it back.'

'I don't think so,' she said sadly. 'Even if you beat the Aenir, nothing will ever be quite the way it was.'

He did not argue. Instead he kissed her. 'There is one constant fact, Maeg. I love you. I always have. I always will.'

'I have something for you,' she said, pulling away from him. Turning, she lifted a buckskin shirt from the back of a chair. The skin was soft and beige while on the chest, in crimson-stained leather, was a cunningly-crafted hawk with wings spreading to each shoulder. 'If you are to meet a Queen, it is fitting you look your best,' she said.

Caswallon slipped out of his woollen shirt, donning the bucksin. The fit was perfect.

Leofas stepped from the shadows with Maggrig.

'Are you sure about this plan, Caswallon?' he asked.

'No,' admitted the War Lord. 'But Taliesen is, and I can think of no other.'

Then may the gods guide you.' The two men shook hands.

Taliesen walked to the archway, lifted his hands and began to chant. The view of the Farlain vanished, to be replaced instantly by a sloping plain and a distant city.

Maggrig curled his arm around Maeg's shoulder. 'He will come back,' he said.

Caswallon stepped into the archway - and vanished.

Suddenly the view from the Gate disappeared, a blank grey wall replacing it. Maeg moved forward and touched the cold stone.

Caswallon found himself in a forest glade in the last hour before dusk. Shafts of sunlight lanced the branches of mighty oaks and birds sang in every tree.

But there was no city in sight. Perplexed, he stepped back to where the Gate had been.

It was gone . . .

Cursing he drew his short sword and started prodding the air, seeking the entrance. After a few minutes he gave up and sat back on a jutting tree root. He was loath to leave the spot, and had no idea what plan to pursue.

His thoughts were broken by the sounds of shouting. Looking around him, he marked the spot in his mind and set off towards the sound. Perhaps the Gate had merely sent him too far, and he had come out on the other side of the city. He seemed to recall seeing a wood there.

The shouts became triumphant, and Caswallon guessed the men to be hunters who had cornered their prey. Then a voice cried out. 'Lord of Heaven, aid your servant!'

Caswallon broke into a run. Ahead of him three men had surrounded a bald, elderly man in robes of grey who was holding a tightly-wrapped bundle in his arms.

'Surrender it, priest,' ordered a tall man in a red cape.

'You cannot do this,' said the old man. 'It is against the laws of man and God.'

The red-caped warrior stepped forward, a bright sword in his hand. The sword flashed forward. The old man twisted the bundle away from the blade, which lanced into his belly. He screamed and fell.

Caswallon hurdled a fallen tree, his own short sword glinting in the dying light. 'What vileness do we have here, my bonnies?'

The three spun round and the leader walked forward, his sword dripping blood to the grass.

'It is none of your concern, stranger. Begone.'

'Frightened as I am to face three heroes who can so valiantly tackle old men, I feel I must debate the point,' said Caswallon.

'Then die,' shouted the man, leaping forward. Caswallon parried the lunging blade, his own sword flashing through the man's neck. The remaining warriors ran forward. Caswallon blocked the first thrust, hammering a punch to an unprotected chin, and the attacker staggered.

Pushing past him Caswallon engaged the third, slipping his hunting-knife into his left hand. He ducked beneath a vicious swipe, slicing his sword behind the man's knee; with a scream he fell. Caswallon whirled as the second man was almost upon him, sword plunging for his chest, but Caswallon parried the blow, punching his hunting-knife through the man's tunic. The blade slid between the man's ribs, cleaving the heart. Dragging the knife free, he saw the third man crawling towards the bushes, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Ignoring him, Caswallon ran to the old man, gently turning him.

'Thank the Source,' said the priest. 'For He has sent you in my hour of need.' Blood was seeping fast, drenching the old man's clothes.

"Why did they attack you?'

'It wasn't me, my son; they wanted the babe.' The old man pointed to the bundle by his side. Caswallon lifted the blanket and there lay a sleeping infant no more than a week old. She was tiny and naked, her downy hair pure white.

'Lie still,' urged Caswallon, ripping open the priest's robes, seeking to stem the outflow of blood from the wound. The assassin's sword had ripped down through the man's lower belly, opening the artery in his groin. There was no hope for him, and his face was already losing colour.

'Where are you from?' whispered the dying man.

'Another world,' said Caswallon. 'And I am lost.'

The old man's eyes gleamed. 'You passed through a Gate?'

'Yes.'

'Was it Mordic sent you?'

'No.'

'Cateris, Blean, Taliesen . . .'

'Yes, Taliesen.'

'Take the babe back through the Chalice Gate.'

'I do not know where it is.'

'Close by. North. I opened it myself. Look for a cave on the hillside; it has a goblet fashioned in the rock of the entrance. But. .. beware . . . Jakuta Khan will. . . follow.'

'Who are you?'

'Astole. I was Taliesen's teacher.' Horns sounded in the forest to the south. 'They are coming for the child. Take her and run. Go now! I beg you.' The old man slumped back.

Sheathing his sword and knife, Caswallon scooped the bundle into his arms and began to run. Behind him he could hear the barking of dogs and the shrill call of hunting-horns. He was angry now. Thwarted from his quest, he was being hunted by an enemy he did not know, in a forest which was strange to him.

Dropping his pace to a gentle jog, eyes scanning the undergrowth, he searched for a way to lose his pursuers. He could hear running water away to the left and he cut towards it. A small stream gurgled over rocks. Splashing into it, Caswallon followed it upstream for about thirty paces and then left it on the same side, walking through soft mud to stop before a massive oak.

Without turning he looked down and walked backwards, placing his feet in his own prints. Slowly he backtracked to the stream, then carried on walking through the water. It was an old trick, which in daylight would fool no skilled tracker, but with dusk approaching fast it could hold up the pursuit.

The child opened her eyes, pushing her tiny fist into her mouth. Caswallon cursed. She was hungry and that meant there were scant k  moments left before she began to cry for food. ™               Turning again towards the north, he scanned the hillside for the cave the old man had spoken of. The babe in his arms gave out a thin piercing wail and Caswallon cursed again. The sun was slowly sinking behind the western peaks. As it fell below the clouds a shaft of bright light lit the hillside, and Caswallon saw the dark shadow of the cave entrance, some thirty paces above him and to the right.

The barking of hounds was closer. Twisting, he saw four sleek black shapes emerge from the tree-line below, no more than fifty paces behind him. Holding firm to the child, Caswallon sprinted up the slope and into the cave. It was like a short tunnel. Behind him the dying sun was bright against the rocks, yet ahead was a forest bathed in moonlight.

Caswallon spun, for the first of the hounds had reached the cave. As it leapt his sword slashed down across its neck, smashing through flesh and bone. Turning again, he saw the moonlit forest begin to fade. Taking two running steps he hurled himself through the Gateway. He fell heavily, bracing his arm and shoulder so that the babe would be protected.

Rolling to his feet he swung to face his enemies - and found himself staring at a solid wall of grey stone. The sound of a waterfall came to him and he sheathed his sword and walked towards it. I know this place, he thought. But the trees are different. This was Ironhand's Pool, and if he climbed above the falls he would see High Druin in the distance. The wind shifted, bringing the smell of wood-smoke to his nostrils. Moving to his left into the wind, the smell grew stronger. Ahead was a cottage of stone, with a thatched roof, and a cleared yard containing a small flower garden and a coop for chickens. Caswallon ran to the cottage, tapping softly at the door. It was opened by a young woman with long fair hair. 'What do you want?' she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

'Food for a babe,' he answered, handing her the child. Her eyes changed as she gazed at the small face.

'Come inside.'

Caswallon followed her. At a pine table sat a large man with a heavy beard of red-gold.

'Welcome,' said the man. Caswallon noticed that one of his hands was below the table, and guessed a blade was hidden there.

'I found the babe in the forest,' he said lamely.

The man and woman exchanged glances. 'Do you know whose child it is?' the man asked.

'I know nothing of her,' said Caswallon.

'We lost our own daughter three days ago,' said the man. That is her crib there, in the corner. You can leave the child with us, if you

will. My wife is still milk-swelled - as you can see.' The woman had opened her shirt and was feeding the babe.

Caswallon pulled up a chair and seated himself opposite the man, looking deep into his clear grey eyes. 'If I leave her with you, will you care for her as you would your own?'

'Aye,' said the man. 'Walk with me awhile.' He rose, sheathing the hunting-knife he had held below the table. He was taller than Caswallon, and broader in the shoulder. Stepping out into the night he walked to the far side of the cabin, seating himself on a bench crafted from pine. Caswallon sat beside him. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'Your clothes are clan, but you are not Loda.'

'I am Caswallon of the Farlain.'

'I have dealings with the Farlain. How is it I have never heard of you?'

Caswallon let out a sigh and leaned back against the bench. 'Is there a town near here, on the edge of the Lowlands, called Ateris?'