‘You will win no prizes at the Games with such pretty strokes,’ she called as the last log split.
He grinned at her. ‘So this is why my breakfast’s late, is it? You’re
too busy gawking and admiring my fine style? It was a sad day, woman, when you bewitched me away from the fine Farlain ladies.’
‘The truth of it is, Caswallon, my lad, that only a foreign woman would take you – one who hadn’t heard the terrible tales of your youth.’
‘You’ve a sharp tongue in your head, but then I could expect no more from Maggrig’s daughter. Do you think he’ll find the house?”
‘And why shouldn’t he?’
‘It’s a well-known fact the Pallides need a map to get from bed to table.’
‘You tell that to Maggrig when he gets here and he’ll pin both your ears to the bedposts,’ she said.
‘Maybe I will, at that,’ he told her, stooping to lift his doeskin shirt from the fence.
‘You will not!’ she shouted. ‘You promised you’d not aggravate the man. Did you not?’
‘Hush, woman. I always keep my promises.”
‘That’s a nonsense. You promised you’d seal the draught from this very window.’
‘You’ve a tongue like a willow switch and the memory of an injured hound. I’ll do it after breakfast – that is, if the food ever sees the inside of a platter.’
‘Do the two of you never stop arguing?’ asked Oracle, leaning on his quarterstaff at the corner of the house. ‘It’s just as well you built your house so far from the rest.’
‘Why is it,’ asked Maeg, smiling, ‘that you always arrive as the food is ready?’
‘The natural timing of an old hunter,’ he told her.
Maeg dished up hot oats in wooden platters, cut half a dozen slices of thick black bread and broke some salt on to a small side dish, placing it before the two men. From the larder she took a dish of fresh-made butter and a jar of thick, berry preserve. Then she sat in her own chair by the fire, taking up the tiny tunic she was knitting for the babe.
The men ate in silence until at last Caswallon pushed away his plate and asked, ‘How is the boy?’
Maeg stopped her knitting and looked up, her grey eyes fixed on the old man’s face. The story of Caswallon’s rescue of the lad had spread among the Farlain. It hadn’t surprised them, they knew
Caswallon. Similarly it hadn’t surprised Maeg, but it worried her. Donal was Caswallon’s son and he was barely four months old. Now the impulsive clansman had acquired another son, many years older and this disturbed her.
‘He is a strong boy, and he improves daily,’ said Oracle. ‘But life has not been good to him and he is suspicious.’
‘Of what?’ Caswallon asked.
‘Of everything. He was a thief in Ateris, an orphan, unloved and unwanted. A hard thing for a child, Caswallon.’
‘A hard thing for anyone,’ said the clansman. ‘You know he crawled for almost two hours with those wounds. He’s tough. He deserves a second chance at life.’
‘He is still frightened of the Aenir,’ said Oracle.
‘So should he be,’ answered Caswallon gravely. ‘I am frightened of them. They are a bloodthirsty people and once they have conquered the lowlands they will look to the clans.’
‘I know,’ said the old man, meeting Caswallon’s eye. ‘They will outnumber us greatly. And they’re fighters. Killers all.’
‘Mountain war is a different thing altogether,’ said Caswallon. ‘The Aenir are fine warriors but they are still lowlanders. Their horses will be useless in the bracken, or on the scree slopes. Their long swords and axes will hamper them.’
True, but what of the valleys where our homes are?’
‘We must do our best to keep them out of the valleys,’ answered Caswallon with a shrug.
‘Are you so sure they’ll attack?’ asked Maeg. ‘What could they possibly want here?’
‘Like all conquerors,’ Oracle answered her. They fear all men think as they do. They will see the clans as a threat, never knowing when we will pour out of the mountains on to their towns, and so they will seek to destroy us. But we have time yet. There are still lowland armies and cities to be taken, and then they must bring their families over from the south land and build their own farms and towns. We have three years, maybe a little less.’