‘Look in Vallon,’ said Caswallon. ‘We have two missing teams. Both are led by the brightest, most able of our young men. The rhyme was not easy, but the answer was there for those with the wits to work at it. Agwaine I am sure would have deciphered it. Do you not agree, Cambil?’
Cambil bit his lip and stared into the fire. ‘Yes, he misses little.’
‘Now, all the boys who headed west say they saw no sign of Agwaine. Or Layne. In fact, after the first night they just dropped from sight. No team headed for Vallon, because none of the others deciphered the rhyme. To my mind the conclusion is inescapable.’
‘So you are saying I’m lacking in skill!’ stormed Badraig.
‘Please be calm, cousin,’ said Caswallon. ‘We are talking about two teams who travelled carefully so that no rivals would spot them. It doesn’t mean you lacked skill because you missed them.’
‘I still say they headed west.’
Then go west and find them,’ said Caswallon. ‘I’m heading for Vallon.’
Badraig swore, but Cambil cut across him. ‘Hold your tongue, man! In this I think Caswallon is right. Now we have men hunting the west, and we’ll lose nothing by visiting Attafoss. I just wish that druid would get here. I’d like to know what Hell spawn we’re facing.’
‘Well, “that druid” can help you,’ said Taliesen, moving out of the tree shadows and seating himself among them. ‘The beast crossed a Gateway and it is following the youngsters towards Attafoss. Caswallon is right. Let these arguments cease.’
‘Are you sure, Lord Druid?’ asked Badraig.
‘As sure as death,’ answered Taliesen. ‘You had best move now, for there is tragedy in the air, and more blood to be spilt before you find them.’
‘A curse on your prophecies,’ said Cambil, lurching to his feet. ‘Is this beast more of your magic?’
‘None of mine, Hunt Lord.’
‘Have you seen who will die?’ asked Badraig. ‘Can you tell us that?’
‘No, I cannot tell you.’
‘But my son is with Agwaine.’
‘I know. Go now, for time is short.’
The men rolled their blankets and set off without a backward glance at the druid, whose dark eyes followed them seemingly without emotion. Taliesen watched them go, his heart heavy, a great sadness growing within him. The threads were beginning to come together now. In another time the sorcerer Jakuta Khan had sent a beast to kill the young Sigarni. That beast had vanished into the mists of time. Now it was here, in the Farlain, and being drawn inexorably toward the frail and wounded queen. And between the hunter and his victim were the boys of the Farlain. Taliesen longed to intervene. He remembered the long nights sitting at the Queen’s bedside, in the cave on Druin’s flanks. He had told her to say nothing of events in her own world, lest the knowledge cause even more fractures in the Time Lines. But when she became delirious with fever she had spoken in her sleep, and Taliesen had felt the weight of sorrow bear down on him like a huge rock.
He longed to rescue the boys. And he could not. ‘It rests with you now, Gaelen,’ he whispered.
And with the Hawk Eternal, he thought.
The four men walked for most of the night, stopping only to snatch an hour’s sleep before dawn. Then they moved on, crossing hills, running across narrow valleys, scaling tree-lined slopes. During the afternoon they were joined by six hunters cutting in from the east. A hurried conference was held. One man was sent back to the village to fetch more bowmen, and the remaining nine hoisted their packs and ran single-file towards the towering peaks of the north-east.
They drove themselves hard, calling on reserves of endurance built during years of tough mountain living. Only Leofas, the oldest of them, struggled to maintain the pace; but maintain it he did, giving no sign of the pain from his swollen knee.
Just before nightfall Badraig halted the column, spotting something to the right of the track; it was a half-eaten oatcake. Badraig picked it up, breaking it into crumbs. At the centre it was still dry.