David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

In sleep the child’s face relaxed, but her left hand still clutched his tunic. He pushed her yellow hair back from her eyes, gazing down into her face. She was a pretty little thing, like a doll stuffed with straw. As the night grew chill Lennox wrapped his blanket around her.

A strange thought struck him.

This was probably the most important moment of his life.

He was not normally a man given to abstract thoughts, but he couldn’t help thinking about the child. Here she was, tiny and helpless and full of fear. She had been suffering the worst days of her young life. And now she slept safe in the arms of a powerful man, content that he would look after her. With no more action than a gentle embrace Lennox had ended her terror. What in life, he wondered, could be more important to her?

If her parents were still alive and making for Vallon they must be sick with worry, he thought. But what if – as was likely – they were dead?

Lennox chewed the problem over for a while. He would take her to Maerie; she was a fine lass with only one child, who would take the girl in and love her into the bargain.

The girl’s eyes opened, she blinked and yawned. Lennox felt her move and glanced down, stroking her hair. Her eyes were brown and he smiled at her.

‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.

‘You’re not my papa.’

‘No, little dove. I’m your uncle Lennox.’

‘My papa’s gone. Wolfs et him up,’ she said, tears glistening. She blinked. ‘Et up Jarka too.’

‘Wolves?’ asked Lennox.

‘Big wolfs. Big as you. Et him up.’

‘You’ve been dreaming, little one. There’s no wolves, and certainly none as big as me.’

‘Lots of wolfs,’ she persisted. ‘They chased me, to eat me up.’

‘Uncle Lennox won’t let them. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.’

‘Did you know my papa?’

‘No. Was he nice?’

‘He played games.’

‘He sounds a good man. Where is your mama?’

‘Men with swords took her away. She was all bleeding.’

‘Well, it’s over now. You’re with your uncle Lennox, and he’s the strongest man in all the world. Nothing will harm you.’

‘Are you stronger than the wolfs?’ she asked.

‘Aye, lass. And I swear upon my soul no harm will come to you while you’re with me. You believe me?’ She smiled, closed her eyes and put her thumb in her mouth.

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.