David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

It took them an hour to cross the valley and climb the steep slope beyond. With one danger past, the next took its place.

They could not see anything within the trees; overhanging branches shut out the moonlight, creating a wall of darkness. Within the wood could be a hundred, a thousand, Aenir waiting for them.

They had no choice. Hand on knife, Gaelen walked into the darkness, leaning against a broad trunk and allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the Stygian gloom. They moved on, carefully. It was uncannily still among the trees, not a sound whispered in the night. The breeze had fallen away and above them the branches hung together forming an archway, the trees like colonnaded pillars. No bats skittered in the trees. No animals disturbed the undergrowth. It was like passing through a Hall of the Dead, murky and silent, pregnant with menace.

Render’s head came up and he sniffed the air. He made no sound but looked away to the left. Gaelen patted him softly. About twenty paces away he could just make out the silhouette of a seated man. Gaelen stood statue-still. As he stared he could see more men lying on the ground, wrapped in blankets.

An Aenir camp!

Gesturing to Deva, he dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl. The sentry coughed and spat. Gaelen froze. They eased their way past the group and into the forest beyond. They were climbing now and it became more difficult to move quietly. Sweat ran down Gaelen’s face and his breathing grew ragged. He knew that stress was sapping his strength as much as the flight itself. Deva was bearing up well. He smiled grimly. But then she was clan!

They climbed a steep slope and Gaelen peered over the rim, dropping back almost immediately. Beyond were another twenty Aenir asleep. A sentry was seated on a boulder on the far side. He had – thank God – been looking away when Gaelen appeared. Gaelen edged some thirty paces further along the slope. Carefully he raised his head over the rim. There was a screen of trees now between them and the Aenir sentry. Swiftly he levered himself over the rim. Render scrambled up after him. Deva handed Gaelen the bow, then smoothly climbed to join them.

Once more in the trees, they breasted the rise and pushed on into the second valley. There was more gorse here and Gaelen felt his confidence rising. Then the breeze picked up once more – and saved their lives.

Render growled, hurtling forward into the gorse. A man’s scream rent the night. Deva dropped to one knee, drawing the bow-string back to her cheek. Gaelen ran left, dropping his pack and drawing his knife. Three men ran from the bushes towards them. The first fell, Deva’s arrow jutting from his right eye. Gaelen leaped feet-first at the second, kicking him in the face; the man fell back. Gaelen hit the ground and rolled as the third Aenir raced past him towards Deva. The girl had no time to draw fully and let fly on half string. The arrow struck the man in the face, ripping open his cheek, but he tore it loose and kept coming. Deva hurled her bow aside as the man leaped upon her, bearing her to the ground.

‘I have you now, you bitch!’ he shouted, his knife poised above her throat. But a black shadow loomed, and Render’s huge jaws clamped down on the man’s face, fangs ripping away skin and flesh. Blood sprayed over Deva as the Aenir toppled from her. Weakly he tried to stab the hound, but then came the sound of crunching bones — and his skull shattered.

Gaelen rolled to his feet and hurled himself across the body of the second Aenir, who had been stunned by the kick and was struggling to rise when the young clansman dived upon him. Gaelen’s knife plunged into his back. He screamed and thrashed his arms as Gaelen ripped the knife loose, whipping the blade across the man’s throat.

Render padded towards him, jaws bloody. The silence that followed was broken by sounds of running men.

Grabbing his pack and bow Gaelen signalled to Deva and began to run, steering away from the pursuers and then cutting north. Beside him Deva ran easily, the bow looped over her left shoulder. Gaelen pushed the pace as hard as he dared, and Deva courageously matched him, though her lungs were burning and her legs aching.