His arm circled her back, pulling her to him. ‘What makes you think I am troubled?’
‘No games, Caswallon,’ she said seriously. She rolled from him and he sat up, bunching a pillow behind him.
‘The Council have voted to resume trade with Ateris, and allow an Aenir group to visit the Farlain.’
‘But we had to trade with them,’ said Maeg. ‘We always have dealt with Ateris, for iron, seed-corn, seasoned timbers, leather.’
‘We didn’t always, Maeg. We used to do these things ourselves. We’re no longer dealing with merchant lowlanders; this is a warrior race.’
‘What harm can it do to allow a few of them to visit us? We might become friends.’
‘You don’t make friends with a wolf by inviting it to sleep with the sheep.’
‘But we are not sheep, Caswallon. We are the clans.’
‘I think the decision is short-sighted and we may live to rue it.’
‘I love you,’ she said, the words cutting through his thoughts.
‘I can’t think why,’ he said, chuckling. Then he reached for her and they lay silently enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies and the closeness of their spirits.
‘I cannot begin to tell you what you mean to me,’ he whispered.
‘You don’t have to,’ she said.
One moment the mountainside was clear, rolling green slopes, the occasional tree, two streams meeting and foaming over white boulders. Sheep grazed quietly near a small herd of wild ponies.
Suddenly the air reeked with an acrid smell none of the animals recognised. Their heads came up. Blue light replaced the gold of the sun. Rainbows danced on the grass and a great noise, like locust wings, covered the mountainside. The ponies reared and wheeled, the sheep scattering in all directions.
For a fraction of a second two suns hung in the sky, then they merged and the golden sunlight bathed the mountain. But all was not as it had been …
In the shadow of a great boulder stood a towering figure, six-inch fangs curving from a wide snout, massive shoulders covered in black fur, huge arms ending in taloned fingers. The eyes were black and round, the brows deep, and it blinked as its new surroundings came into focus.
Lifting its shaggy head, the beast sniffed the air. The sweet smell of living flesh flooded its senses. The creature leaned forward, dipping its colossal shoulders until its talons brushed the earth. Its eyes focused on a three-year-old ewe, which stood trembling on the hillside.
Dropping fully to all fours, the beast bunched the muscles of its hind legs and leaped forward, bearing down on the sheep with terrible speed. Startled, the ewe turned to run. It had made only three running j umps before the weight of the hunter smashed its spine into jagged shards.
Taloned fingers tore aside the ewe’s flesh and the blood ran.
The beast ate swiftly, lifting its shaggy black head often, peering short-sightedly around the mountainside, ready for any enemy that might chance upon it. It was uncomfortable out in the open, unused to shimmering horizons and bright light. But the blood was good upon its tongue, the flesh rich and greasy. Casually it ripped out the ewe’s entrails, hurling them far from body, concentrating instead on the flesh of the loins. Slowly, methodically the giant creature fed, snapping bones and sucking out the marrow, splitting the skull with one blow and devouring the brains.
Hunger satisfied, the beast sank back to its haunches. It blinked in the sunlight as an image fashioned itself in its mind. A bright image. Grunting, it shook its head, then gave a low growl. Dimly it remembered the circle of stones and the red-clad sorcerer whose fingers danced with fire. The fire had entered the creature’s breast, settling there without pain. The beast howled as hunger returned.
It would always be hungry – until it devoured the image-woman. Angrily the beast slammed its hands against the ground.
Away to the left it saw the line of trees that merged into the forest above Vallon. Hunger returning, it began to lope towards them, stopping at a stream to drink. The trees were smaller than the ones it had known and climbed, less closely packed and strangely silent. No cluttering monkeys swung from the vines, few birds sang, and there was no sign of fruit upon the boughs.