David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

On the first night of camp Gaelen avoided her, talking long into the night with Gwalchmai, who had returned from his scouting trip with Telor. Telor and his companions had remained in the north, and Gwal was due to rejoin them at first light.

‘It was an uncomfortable day,’ said Gwalchmai. ‘I think we only exchanged three words.’

Tm sorry, Gwal. How does it look?’

‘So far the route is clear. That Telor gives me cold chills, though.’

‘Yes. Let’s hope he saves his anger for the Aenir.’

‘Let’s hope they cut his damned heart out,’ muttered Agwaine, joining them.

Gaelen shook his head. ‘No wonder the clans are always at war,’ he said.

‘How are you getting on with Lara?” asked Agwaine, his mouth spreading in a lecherous grin.

‘What does that mean?’ snapped Gaelen.

‘She likes you, man. It’s obvious.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Not beautiful exactly, but gorgeous. And those breeches . ..’

‘Will you stop this?’

‘I wish she liked me.’

‘I cannot believe this conversation is taking place. We are marching towards a battle, I’m trying to think about tactics, and all you can think about is … is … breeches.’

‘What about breeches?’ asked Lara, moving up to sit with them.

‘Yes, Gaelen, tell her about the breeches tactic,’ said Gwalchmai.

Gaelen closed his eyes.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘You’re the authority, Gwal. You explain it.”

Gwalchmai chuckled. ‘No. If I’m to be with Telor by dawn, I’d best tuck up in my blankets. Excuse me.’

Gwal moved off to fashion a bed below an overhanging pine. Agwaine grinned and also moved away -despite Gaelen’s imploring gaze. ‘So?’ said Lara. ‘What about breeches?’

‘It was a jest. The clouds are bunching – there could be rain tomorrow.”

‘Come with me,’ she said, taking his hand. He followed her into the trees and they stopped some forty paces away in a circular clearing, screened by dense bushes. She led him to where she had placed her blankets and pulled him down beside her. The clansman was supremely ill at ease.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked huskily.

‘I don’t want to talk, Gaelen.’ Leaning forward, she curled an arm around his neck and kissed him. Thoughts of Deva vanished like ice on fire.

Leofas and Maggrig walked the length of the Folly as darkness gathered around them. The slopes on either side were steep and pitted with rocks and boulders, while the pass itself showed a steady incline towards the narrow centre. The Aenir would be charging uphill and that would slow them. But not by much.

The two men were joined by Patris Grigor and a dozen of his archers. ‘It’s a magnificent killing ground,’ said Grigor. They’ll lose hundreds before they reach you – if they come in, that is. What if they bottle up the mouth of the pass?’

‘We attack them,’ declared Maggrig.

‘That’s not much of a plan,’ said Grigor, grinning.

Tm not much of a planner,’ admitted Maggrig, ‘but I think they’ll come at us. They’ve yet to learn fear.’

‘When your arrows are exhausted, we leave. If we can,’ said Grigor.

‘Understood,’ said Maggrig, walking back towards the camp-fires in the wide pass beyond.

The walls of the box canyon rose sheer, reflecting the red light from hundreds of small fires. Leofas, who had remained silent on the long walk, sat back on a boulder, staring out over the clan army as they rested. Some men were already sleeping, others were sharpening sword-blades. Many were laughing and talking.

‘What’s wrong, my friend?” Maggrig asked.

Leofas glanced up. In the flickering firelight Maggrig’s beard shone like flames, his blue eyes glittering, his face a mask of bronze.

‘I’m tired,’ said Leofas, resting his chin in his hands and staring out over the camp-fires.

‘Nonsense! You’ll be leading the victory dance tomorrow like a first-year huntsman.’

The Farlain warrior looked up, eyes blazing. ‘Will you stop for a moment. I’m not a first-year huntsman, and I don’t need you trying to lift me. I’m old. Experienced. I’ve seen war and death. Anyone who can tell a sword-point from a hole in the ground knows we have little chance tomorrow.’

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