David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

‘We must. It’s not far; I threw it as I saw the slope.’

‘What can be that important?’ asked Layne. ‘Even now the beast may be coming.’

‘You set off then and I’ll catch up,’ said Agwaine.

‘Damn you, cousin, you know we cannot do that.’

‘Let’s find the cursed thing,’ said Gaelen. ‘I don’t want to spend all night discussing this.’

Agwaine led them back to the woods. Gaelen was furious, but he held himself in check. He knew what Agwaine was seeking. The sword. Agwaine had found the sword.

The woods loomed dark and threatening and the boys drew their knives. Little good would they be, thought Gaelen. He glanced at Gwalchmai. His friend’s face was pinched and ashen in the moonlight. Only Lennox seemed unconcerned.

Agwaine held up his arm and then stopped. The Hunt Lord’s son disappeared into the bushes, returning quickly with a long closely-tied package.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, and led them away down towards the falls. The shifting wind made them take wide detours to avoid their scent being carried to the beast, and dawn found them below Attafoss with the river to the left, a section of woods before them. They were tired, but the fear of the beast was upon them and they hesitated before entering the wood.

Daggers held firm, they walked warily, but as they moved under the overhanging branches a voice jolted them. Gwalchmai dropped his dagger in fright, then scooped it up swiftly.

‘Good morning, boys.’

To their right, in a circular clearing, a woman was sitting on a fallen oak. At her feet was a blanket on which was laid a breakfast of black bread and cold meat.

She was dressed in a manner they had never seen before. Upon her shoulders was a mail scarf of closely-linked silver rings. Beneath this she wore a fitted breast-plate of silver, embossed with a copper hawk, its wings spread wide, disappearing beneath the mail scarf.

About her waist was a leather kilt, studded with copper and split into sections for ease of movement. She wore dark leggings and silver greaves over riding boots. Her arms were bare save for a thick bracelet of silver on her right wrist; on her left was a wrist-guard of black leather.

And she was old. Thick silver hair swept back from a face lined with wisdom and sorrow. But her eyes were bright, ice-blue, and her bearing straight and unbending.

Gaelen watched her closely, noting the way she looked at them all. She must have been beautiful when young, he thought. But there was something in her expression he could not pinpoint; it seemed a mixture of wonder and regret.

‘Will you join me for breakfast?’ she invited.

‘Who are you?’ asked Agwaine.

The woman smiled. ‘I am Sigarni – the Queen,’ she said.

‘We have no queens in the Farlain,’ said Layne.

‘I am the Queen Beyond,’ she said, with a slow smile.

‘You are on Farlain land,’ Agwaine told her sternly. ‘No stranger is allowed here. Are you from the Aenir?’

‘No, Agwaine. I am a guest of the Lord Taliesen.’

‘Can you prove this?’

‘I don’t feel the need to. You boys are here on the Hunt. Taliesen asked if he could borrow my sword for it. If you open the package you will find it – a beautiful weapon of metal which one of you will have seen. The hilt is of ebony, and shaped for a warrior to hold with both hands, while the guard is of iron decorated with gold and silver thread. The scabbard is embossed with a hawk, even as on my breastplate. Now open the package and return what is mine.’

‘Open it,” said Layne. ‘If it is true, then the sword must be returned to its rightful owner.’

‘No, it is mine,’ said Agwaine, flushing. ‘I won the Hunt and this is my proof.’

‘You don’t need proof,’ said Gaelen. ‘We know you won, the sword is only a symbol. Open the package.’

Agwaine drew his dagger and sliced the leather thongs binding the oilskins. As the woman had predicted, the sword was indeed a wondrous weapon. Reluctantly Agwaine handed it over. The woman swiftly buckled the scabbard to her waist. Had there been any doubt as to the ownership, it was laid to rest as she placed it at her side. It was like watching a picture completed, thought Gaelen.

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