Caswallon rose and tied the quiver to his belt. ‘And how am I to fight these invisible beasts?’ he asked softly.
‘As best you can, clansman. Come, kneel by me, and I will give you all that I can.’
Dropping to one knee, Caswallon looked into the old man’s eyes. The druid was more than tired. His eyes were dull and purple-ringed, his skin dry. Lifting his hand, Taliesen covered Caswallon’s eyes and began to chant. Heat emanated from his fingers, lancing into Caswallon’s brain like an arrow of fire. The clansman groaned but Taliesen’s voice whispered to him: ‘Hold on, boy, it will not last much longer.’
The hand fell away and Caswallon opened his eyes. ‘What have you done?’ he whispered. The trees by the pool had changed now, becoming sharp and unreal, like a charcoal sketch upon virgin paper. Taliesen’s features could no longer be seen; he was merely a glowing form of many colours, red in the belly and eyes, purple over the heart, the rest a shifting mix of orange, yellow and white.
‘Now you will see them, Caswallon,’ said the shimmering druid. ‘They will come from the south, hard on the heels of the child. Best you find a place to smite them.’
‘How many will come?’
‘I would guess at two. It needs a mighty spell to summon just one. Jakuta Khan will expect little resistance from a crofter. But there might be more; he is young and arrogant in his strength.’
Caswallon moved out on to the frozen pool and headed south, moving high into the tree-line. An old oak stood beside the trail, its two main branches – some ten feet high – spreading out like the arms of a supplicant. Caswallon climbed to the right-hand branch and sat with his back to the tree bole.
His thoughts were many as he waited for the beasts. He had never lacked physical courage – in fact, he had often courted danger merely for the thrill of it. But now? The Farlain were under threat, and his wife and child were in peril in another world. No longer able to afford the luxury of danger, he felt fear rise within him. What if he died here ? What would become of the Farlain, or Maeg, and Donal ? His mouth was dry. His thoughts swung to die child, Sigarni: an
innocent hunted by demons. Yet what was her life when set against his entire clan?
‘I will fight, but I cannot die for you,’ he said softly. ‘I cannot risk that.’
His decision made, he relaxed. Looking down at the glimmering colours that were his hands, he realised that the fingers had become difficult to see, and they were cold. He rubbed his palms together and looked again. For a few heartbeats they shone with a dull red light, then faded once more. Tugging his fleece-lined gloves from his belt, he pulled them on. Ice formed in his beard as he waited in the tree. Glancing back, he saw the shimmering colours he recognised as Taliesen moving across the ice. The old man must be frozen, he thought. The cloak of feathers would do little to keep out the bitter cold.
A bestial scream tore through the silence of the night. Caswallon removed his gloves and notched an arrow to the bow-string. For some moments there was no movement, then a small figure ran into sight, the colours glowing around her bright and rich. The figure stumbled and rolled in the snow.
Pulling his gaze from her, Caswallon looked back up the trail. Something huge loomed over the hillside, then another. To his left was a third, moving through the trees. Caswallon cursed, gauging the beasts to be around eight feet tall. The first of the creatures lumbered down the slope. Its colours were strong, mostly purple, orange and red; the purple area spread from the neck to the belly in two vertical circles joined by a red ridge. Caswallon drew back on the bow-string until it touched his right cheek, then he let fly. The arrow hammered home in the upper circle of purple and instantly the colour changed, flowing from the wound as golden light. Caswallon loosed a second shaft that punched through the lower circle. The creature gave a terrifying shriek, tottered to the left and fell heavily.