‘Get back, you fools!’ shouted Asbidag, punching men aside. Oracle struggled to rise, but the Aenir War Lord pushed him back to the earth, kneeling beside him.
‘You got your wish, old man. But you’ll be blind in Valhalla, for I’ll cut out your eyes unless you tell me what I wish to know.’
Oracle heard his voice as from a great distance, and then another sound burst upon his mind: a woman’s voice, screaming in hatred.
He thought he recognised it, but his vision swam and he did not feel the knife-blade that pierced his throat.
Asbidag turned as Morgase plunged the knife again and again into the old man’s neck. Tears were falling from her eyes and her sobbing screams unsettled the warriors around her. Asbidag hauled her to her feet, slapping her face; she calmed down then, her eyes misting over as she exerted her will, blanketing down the hatred that had overwhelmed her.
‘You knew this man?” asked Asbidag softly.
‘Yes. He was a general in the army that saw my father slain. He raped my mother and after that she killed herself. He was Caracis, Sigarni’s general.’
‘I don’t know these names,’ said Asbidag. ‘You told me your land was ten thousand leagues from here. You must be mistaken. This old man was a clansman.’
‘Do you think I would forget such a man?’
‘No, I do not. But there is something you have left out, my little dark lady. How is he here?’
‘I thought he was dead. He … vanished twenty-five years ago.’
Asbidag grunted, then kicked the corpse. ‘Well, whatever he was, he’s dead now,’ said Asbidag, but his gaze rested on Morgase as she walked back to the house.
Drada wandered to his father’s side. ‘Do you really think she would remember? She must have been a small child twenty-five years ago.’
‘It worries me,’ answered Asbidag, still watching the woman. ‘I’ve never heard of her realm. I think she’s bewitched.’
‘What will you do?’
‘What I choose. I think she’s lying about something, but it can wait. She’s far too good a bed partner to spoil now.’
‘And the Farlain, Father?’
‘We’ll set after them tomorrow. Ongist has driven the Pallides west and outflanked them, driving them back towards the east, and Barsa’s Timber-Wolves. Tomorrow we march, and if Vatan favours us we’ll arrive while there is still a little sport.’
The journey deep into the mountains was difficult, for many of the clan folk were old, while others struggled to carry babies and
infants. Even among the young and strong, the defeat and the flight that followed it brought a strength-sapping sense of despair. Rain made the slopes slippery and treacherous, but the straggling column moved on, ever closer to Attafoss. Maeg passed the sleeping Donal to a clansman, who grinned as he settled the boy’s head on his shoulder. Then she walked away from the column to where Caswallon was issuing orders to a group of warriors. He saw her coming and waved the men away. Maeg thought he looked tired; there was little spring in his step and his eyes were dull. He smiled and took her hand.
‘You’re not resting enough,’ she said.
‘Soon, Maeg.’
Together they watched the clan make their way towards the last slope of the mountains before Attafoss. Already in the distance they could hear the roaring of the great falls. Day by day more stragglers joined the exodus and now almost six thousand people followed Caswallon. The long column of men, women and children was moving slowly, suffering from the frenzied pace of three days’ marching. The old and the very young were placed at the centre of the column. Behind these came the rearguard, while young women strode at the head armed with bows and knives. There was little conversation. The young men were desperate to leave their families in safety on Vallon, so that they could turn back and rend the enemy. The old men were lost in thoughts of youth, regretting their inability to wreak vengeance on the Aenir and ashamed of their faltering pace. The women, young and old, thought of homes lost behind them and the danger their men would face in the days ahead.