David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

Drada smiled. ‘Yes, I always listen to wise counsel. But I saw no sign of the Farlain hunters you promised to send after us.’

They were there.’

‘I was surprised to find you are not a councillor, Caswallon.’

‘Why so?’

‘I gained the impression that you were a man of influence but Cambil tells me this is not so. He says you are a thief and a bandit.’

‘What do you think of the Farlain mountains?’ Caswallon countered.

They are beautiful. Most especially this valley.’

There are many valleys in the Farlain, and a vast number more in the Druin range,’ said the clansman.

‘I have no doubt I shall see them all eventually,’ Drada told him, with a wolfish smile.

Travel alone when you do so.’

‘Really, why?’

‘The mountains can be tranquil and a man alone can best enjoy their harmony.’

‘And if he is not alone?’ asked Drada.

‘If he travels with many, then the mountains can be hostile, even deadly. Why, even now two Aenir corpses are rotting in the mountains. And there is room for many more.’

That is no talk for new friends, Caswallon.’

Caswallon laughed with genuine humour; then the smile faded. ‘But then I am not your friend, my bonny. Nor ever shall be.’

More than fifty youngsters pounded up the slope, feet drumming on the hard-packed grass-covered clay of the hillside. Gwalchmai tucked himself in behind Agwaine, fastening his eyes on the other boy’s pack and running on grimly. After forty paces he loosened the straps of his own heavy pack and let it fall to the ground behind him. Then, as Gaelen had instructed him, he once more moved up behind Agwaine.

Here the hillside was at its steepest and the young Agwaine was breathing heavily, his legs began to burn as the body’s waste acids settled to the muscles of his calves. He did not look back. He could afford no wasted energy. And besides he was the fastest runner for his years in the Farlain.

Back down the slope, Lennox scooped up Gwalchmai’s pack and continued to lope alongside Gaelen, way to the rear of the other runners.

‘I hope this is allowed,’ shouted Lennox.

Gaelen said nothing. Caswallon had told him that the rules were specific. All runners had to start the race carrying their own provisions. Well, Gwalchmai had done that.

Layne had not been easy to convince, for he was a youth who lived on traditions of honour and would sooner lose than cheat. But Gaelen had called a vote, as was his right, and had won the day. Layne seemed to harbour no grudge.

Gwalchmai and Agwaine had now increased their lead over the following pack to fifty paces, and it was obvious that they would reach the trees well ahead of their rivals.

As the timberline neared Gwalchmai sped past his astonished opponent. Agwaine was furious. Sweat-soaked and near-exhausted, he released his pack and set off after the sprinting youth. Fury pumped fresh adrenalin to his tired legs and against all the odds he began to close the gap.

Fifty paces from the trees Agwaine was running in Gwalchmai’s shadow, but the canny youngster had one more ploy. As Agwaine came abreast of him Gwalchmai kicked again, releasing the energy he had held in reserve. Agwaine had nothing more to offer. In an agonising effort to match his opponent, he stumbled against a stone and pitched to the earth.

Gwalchmai ran ahead, eyes flickering from tree to tree, seeking the pouch. It was in plain view, fastened to a low branch. He pulled it clear, removing the small pieces of paper it contained. Reading them all, he selected one and tucked it in his belt. Then he re-hung the pouch and wandered back towards Agwaine.

The Hunt Lord’s son ignored him, racing past to tear the pouch clear. He read the three remaining strips, took one and replaced two. Then he turned after Gwalchmai.

‘You dog!’ he shouted, his breathing laboured. ‘You .. . cheating … cur!’

Frightened, Gwalchmai backed and opened his hands. The rules did not forbid it, Agwaine.’

Other runners came between them in the last frantic dash for clues, and Agwaine turned away to sit in the shade of a spreading elm.

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