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.