There is a cave behind this abbey; a chalice is carved upon the entrance. Let the muster of the Queen’s men continue, and on the appointed day walk into the Chalice Cave and approach the far wall. It will appear as solid rock, but you will pass through it, for this Gate has not vanished but only shifted. On the other side, I shall be waiting.’
‘But you are dying!’
‘We are speaking of events which have already happened, my boy. I was working upon a complex formula in my study when the Gateway flickered and you appeared. You told me that I had sent you, and you told me why. More I cannot say.’ The old man sighed, then gave a weak smile. ‘We are to be great friends, you and I. Closer than father and son. And yet I must say farewell to a stranger who is yet to be my friend. Ah, the tricks time plays .. .’
The old man fell silent and his eyes closed. Caswallon sat beside him, his mind tired, his burdens heavy. Was the Abbot to be trusted? How could he tell? The future of his people rested with the promise of a dying monk. He sat with Astole until dawn’s first light seeped through the wooden shutters of the window, then he lifted the Abbot’s hand from his arm.
Caswallon stood and gazed down at the old man. He was dead. The clansman lifted the blanket and pulled it over the Abbot’s face, pausing to study the man’s expression. A faint smile was on the lips and a great feeling of peace swept over Caswallon.
He walked to the window, pulling open the shutters. The woods beyond shone in the early morning light. Behind him the door opened and the lancer Bedwyr stepped into the room.
‘Did you find what you hoped for, Redhawk?’
‘Time will tell.’
The old man died then,’ said the lancer, glancing at the bed.
‘Yes. Peacefully.’
‘They say he knew great magic. Does that mean his spirit will return to haunt us?’
‘I certainly hope so,’ said Caswallon.
Unaware of the growing drama, Gaelen led the Haesten women north-west, stopping only to meet the Pallides warriors. The eighty-man force had now swelled to one hundred and ten, as other warriors crept in from the mountains and woods where they had hidden their families in derelict crofts or well-disguised caves. Ten men were to be left behind, to hunt and gather food for the hidden children, but the others were set to follow Gaelen.
The young clansman was truly concerned now, for he had never led such a force and was worried about the route. He conferred with Agwaine, Onic and Gwalchmai. It was one thing for a small party to thread its way through the Aenir lines, quite another for an army numbering almost a thousand.
‘We know,’ said Onic, ‘that the main army is before us, pushing north. We should have no real trouble for at least two days.’
‘You are forgetting Orsa,’ said Gaelen. ‘His force destroyed Laric in the south. We don’t know if he will head north now and join his father. If he does, we will be trapped between them.’
‘Ifs and buts, cousin,’ said Agwaine. ‘We will solve nothing by such discussion. We are expected at Axta Glen and one way or another we must move on. We cannot eliminate all risks.’
True,’ admitted Gaelen, ‘but it is as well to examine them. So be it, we will head due north, and then cut west to Atta, and then on to the Glen. That way we should avoid Orsa. But we’ll push out a screen of scouts west and east, and you, Gwal, shall go ahead of us in the north with five men to scout.’
The self-appointed leader of the Pallides, a burly clansman named Telor, caused Gaelen’s first problem. ‘Why should you lead, and make such decisions?’ he asked when Gaelen told him of the plan.
‘I lead because I was appointed to lead.’
‘I follow Maggrig.’
‘Maggrig follows Caswallon.’
‘So you say, Blood-eye.”
Gaelen breathed deeply, pushing aside his anger. He rubbed his scarred eye, aware that Lara and the others were watching this encounter with detached fascination. Such was the way of warriors among the clans. Telor had now implied that Gaeien was a liar, and the two men were hovering on the verge of combat.