David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

The druid was angry, though he showed nothing of it as he sipped water from a clay goblet. Cambil was uneasy and pulled at his golden beard. The stranger sat back in the leather-covered chair, his face expressionless.

‘It is rare,’ the druid said at last, ‘for a stranger to be present at the Youth’s Hunt – though it is not without precedent. There shall be no blessing today, for the words of power cannot be spoken in the presence of lowlanders. In this there is no disrespect intended for your guest, Cambil, it is merely the weight of tradition which forbids it.’

Cambil bit his lip and nodded.

‘May I ask,’ continued the druid, ‘that we speak privately?’

Cambil turned to the man beside him. ‘My apologies, Lord Drada, but please feel free to join the men at the food table beyond and refresh yourself.’

Drada stood and bowed to Cambil, then he turned to the druid. ‘I am sorry to have caused you problems. Had I known my presence would disrupt the ceremony I would have turned down the invitation.’ Neither Taliesen nor Cambil missed the stress he placed on the word invitation, and the Hunt Lord felt himself blushing.

The Aenir warrior carefully hung his black cloak upon his broad shoulders and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The ancient druid turned his dark eyes on the Hunt Lord and leaned forward across the table. ‘It was not wise to invite him into Farlain lands,’ he said.

‘He is friendly enough,’ insisted Cambil.

‘He is the Enemy to Come,” snapped the druid.

‘So you say, old man, but I am the Hunt Lord of the Farlain, and I alone decide whether a man is a friend or enemy. You are a druid and as such are to be respected in religious matters, but do not exceed your authority.’

‘Are you blind, Cambil, or merely stupid?’

Anger shone in the Hunt Lord’s eyes, but his response was calm. ‘I am not blind, druid. And I make no great claims to be wiser than any other clansman. What I do know is that war brings no advantage to either side. If the Aenir can be convinced that we offer them no threat, and that there is no wealth to be found in the mountains, I see no reason why we cannot exist together – if not as friends, then at least as good neighbours. Keeping them out will only cause suspicion, and make war more likely.’

Cambil walked to the door, wrenching it open. ‘Now, the boys are waiting and I shall send them off, and I don’t doubt the lack of your words of power will affect them not at all.’

At the edge of the field Caswallon sat with Maeg and Kareen, watching the boys line up for the first race to the trees. Once there, they would find a leather pouch hanging from the branch of the central pine. Within the pouch were four clues, written on parchment. The first team to reach the tree would be able to read all the clues, and remove one. The next team would find three clues, and remove one. And so on until the fourth team would find only one remaining.

Gaelen, who could not yet read, would be useless to his team on this first run, but they had chosen Gwalchmai to lead the sprint, and he was almost as fast as Cambil’s son Agwaine.

The teams sprinted away at Cambil’s command and Caswallon watched as Gwalchmai and Agwaine forged a lead over the rest, with Gaelen loping beside the lumbering Lennox at the rear.

At that moment Caswallon caught sight of the black-coated Aenir warrior standing by the grey house. Leaving Maeg and Kareen, he walked the short distance to the building. As he walked he gauged the man. The Aenir was tall and well-built, but slim of hip. He looked what he was – a warrior. As Caswallon approached the man turned and the clansman knew he was undergoing the same appraisal.

The lads move well,’ said the Aenir, pointing towards the youngsters who were now halfway up the hillside.

‘I see your men took my advice,” said Caswallon. ‘That was wise.”

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