David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

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?’

The man shook his head. ‘There is Citadel town. The Outlanders control it now. And I ask you again – who are you?’

‘I am a clansman, as I have said.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Were our positions reversed, my friend, and you were to tell me the story of how you found the babe, I would think you mad.’

‘I am not you,’ said the man. ‘So speak.’

Quietly Caswallon told him of the Aenir invasion and of his journey through the Gateway, of the dying priest, and the men and hounds who had sought the death of the child. The man did not interrupt, but listened intently. As he finished Caswallon stood and looked down into the man’s deep-set grey eyes, awaiting a response.

At that moment the ground trembled. Thrown off-balance, Caswallon lurched to the right. The moonlight brightened and gazing up, both men saw two moons shining in the sky. For moments only the land was bathed in silver brilliance, then the second moon faded.

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