Summer drifted into a mild autumn and on into a vicious winter.
Caswallon and Gaelen spent their time forking hay to the cattle and journeying high into the mountains to rescue sheep trapped in snowdrifts. It was a desperately hard time for all the clans, yet Gaelen absorbed the knowledge Caswallon imparted readily.
In winter, Caswallon told him as they sheltered from a fierce blizzard high on the eastern range, it is vital not to sweat. For sweat turns to ice beneath the clothing and a man can freeze to death in minutes. All movement should be slow and sure, and all camps prepared hours before dusk.
That afternoon, trapped by a fierce snow-squall, Caswallon had led them to a wooded ridge. Here he had pulled four saplings together, tying them with thongs. Then he carefully threaded branches between them and built a fire in the centre. As the snow continued it piled against the branches, creating a round shelter with thick white walls. The fire within heated the walls to solid ice and the two men were snug and safe.
‘Make the storm work for you,’ said Caswallon, stripping off his sheepskin jerkin and allowing the fire’s heat to reach his skin. ‘Take off your outer clothes, Gaelen.’
‘I’ll freeze,’ answered the young man, rubbing his cold hands together.
‘Clothes keep heat in, but similarly they can keep heat out. Remove your coat.’
Gaelen did as he was told, grinning sheepishly as the heat in the shelter struck him.
Later Gaelen found himself staring into the glowing coals, his mind wandering. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at the jagged scar above.
‘What are you thinking?’ Caswallon asked.
‘I was thinking of the Queen.’
What about her?’
‘About her coming again.’
‘She is dead, Gaelen. Dead and buried.’
‘I know. But she seemed so sure. I wonder who she was.’
‘A Queen – and I would guess a great one,’ said Caswallon. Silence settled around them, until Caswallon suddenly grinned. ‘What’s this I hear about you and Deva?’
At the mention of Agwaine’s sister Gaelen began to blush.
‘Aha!’ said Caswallon, sitting up. ‘There is more to this business than rumour.’
‘There’s nothing,’ protested Gaelen. ‘Really, there’s nothing. I’ve hardly even spoken to her. And when I do, my tongue gets caught in my teeth and I seem to have three feet.’
‘That bad?’
‘It’s not anything. I just…’ Glancing up, he saw Caswallon raise his right eyebrow, his face mock-serious. Gaelen began to giggle. ‘You swine. You’re mocking me.’
‘Not at all. I’ve never been one to mock young love,’ said Caswallon.
‘I’m not in love. And if I was, there would be no point. Cambil cannot stand me.’
‘Do not let that worry you, Gaelen. Cambil is afraid of many things, but if young Deva wants you he will agree. But then it’s a little early to think of marriage. Another year.’
‘I know that. And I was not talking about marriage… or love. A man can like a girl, you know.’
‘Very true,’ admitted Caswallon. ‘I liked Maeg the first moment I saw her.”
‘It is not the same thing at all.’
‘You’ll make a fine couple.’
‘Will you stop this? I’m going to sleep,’ said Gaelen, curling his blanket around him. After a few moments he opened his eyes to see Caswallon was still sitting by the fire looking down at him.
Gaelen grinned. ‘She’s very tall – for a girl, I mean.’
‘She certainly is,’ agreed Caswallon, ‘and pretty.’
‘Yes. Do you really think we’d make a good couple?’
‘No doubt of it.’
‘Why is it that whenever I talk to her the words all tumble out as if they’ve been poured from a sack?’
‘Witchcraft,’ said Caswallon.
‘A pox on you,’ snorted Gaelen. ‘I’m definitely going to sleep.’
The winter passed like a painful memory. Losses had been high among the sheep and calves, but spring was warm and dry, promising good harvests in summer.
Cambil accepted an invitation from Asbidag, leader of the Northern Aenir, to visit Ateris, now called Aesgard. Cambil took with him twenty clansmen. He was treated royally and responded by inviting Asbidag and twenty of his followers to the Summer Games.