Oracle shook his head. ‘I could – but I won’t. Trust me, Caswallon. All w’ll be revealed to you. I can say no more.’
During the months that followed the horror in the mountains the five survivors found their lives had changed substantially. They were now young men, accepted as clansmen, but more than this they were the ‘Five Beast Slayers’. A Farlain bard named Mesric had immortalised them in song and their deeds were the envy of the young boys of all clans.
The mystery of the Queen was much discussed, but upon that theme the druids remained silent. Taliesen had questioned the boys at length on their conversation with the woman, but he gave them no further hint as to her history. All five spent a great deal of time thinking back over the Hunt, and the changes it forced on them.
Layne, the deepest thinker, saw Gaelen with new eyes, seeking his company often and recognising in the scarred youngster the signs of a natural leader.
Lennox drove himself hard once his broken arm had mended. He hauled logs, lifted rocks, spent all his spare time building up his strength. The huge frame gathered power and added muscle and still he drove himself on. His strength had been something he could rely on in a world where his wits were not as keen as his brother’s. The beast had been stronger and Lennox was determined no enemy would best him again.
Gwalchmai no longer feared being unpopular, born as this had been from a sense of inferiority. He had always known Gaelen was a leader, and been happy to follow. But he watched Lennox pushing himself to greater limits and recognised in the young giant the kind of fear he once had himself.
For Gaelen the world had changed. He realised now that his life of loneliness in the city had been, by a freak of chance, the perfect apprenticeship. He had learned early that a man had to rely on himself. More than this – that such a man was stronger than his companions. And yet, having tasted the chilling emptiness of a life alone, he could value the clan as no other clansman ever would.
There was a natural arrogance now about the tall young man with the white blaze in his red hair. He ran like the wind, revelling in his speed. And though his bowmanship was merely average, he threw a spear with more accuracy than many tried warriors. He boxed well, emotions in check as Caswallon had taught him, and his sword-work was dazzling. Yet the arrogance he showed in his skills was missing in his life, and this made him popular without effort on his part.
The wise men among the Farlain marked him well, watching his progress with increasing interest. All of which hurt Agwaine, who saw in Gaelen a rival for the ultimate prize.
The Hunt had changed Agwaine more than any of them. He had been schooled to believe he was more than special, a talented natural leader to follow his father. And nothing that had transpired in the mountains had changed that. All that had changed was that Agwaine feared Gaelen was the better man. Before the encounter with the beast he would have hated Gaelen for bringing home such a truth. Now he could not.
They took pan in their first Games together in the five-mile run,
Gaelen beating Agwaine by forty paces, the boys arriving home in ninth and tenth place.
Cambil had been furious. ‘He is faster, Father,’ said Agwaine, towelling the sweat from his face. ‘There is nothing more to it.’
‘You must work harder: drive yourself. You must not let him beat you ever again.’
Agwaine was stricken, and for the first time he saw his father in a fresh light. ‘I will work harder,’ he said.
Layne and Gwalchmai delighted the younger clansmen by competing to the finals of their events, Layne in the spear tourney and Gwalchmai in the bow. Layne took third prize, beating the Loda champion into fourth place; Gwalchmai finished last of the eight finalists, but was satisfied, for by next year he would have added height and strength to his frame and believed he could win. For Lennox the Games were a sad affair, for his injured arm robbed him of the chance to lift the Whorl Stone.