Around the stone stood the Hunt Lords of the clans, and in their midst Asbidag of the Aenir. The clan lords were clearly uncomfortable.
Maggrig of the Pallides was furious. The Games were a clan affair, yet last night Cambil had sprung upon them his invitation for the Aenir to enter a team. The argument had raged for over an hour.
‘Are you mad?’ Maggrig had stormed. ‘Has the addled Farlain mind finally betrayed you?’
‘I am the Games Lord this year. They are on Farlain land; it is my decision,’ Cambil answered, fighting to control his anger.
‘Be that as it may, Cambil,’ put in the white haired Laric, Hunt Lord of the Haesten, ‘but should any one man be allowed to set a precedent others will be forced to follow?’ He was known to be a man rarely aroused to anger. Yet his thin face was flushed now, his fists clenched.
‘It is my decision,’ Cambil repeated stonily.
Laric bit back his anger. ‘The Aenir have no friends – only vassals. They have tried to scout all our lands and been turned back. You realise that if they win outright we are obliged to allow them access? The Games Champions can travel and hunt where they will.’
‘They will not win,’ said Cambil. ‘They are not clansmen.’
‘Calling you a fool serves nothing,’ said Laric, ‘for you have proven that beyond my speculation. What breaks my heart is that one man’s foolishness could bring about the ruin of the clans.’ There was a gasp from the assembled Hunt Lords and Cambil sat very still, his face ashen.
Maggrig rose. ‘I am tempted to take the Pallides home, away from this stupidity, yet I cannot,’ he said, ‘for without them the Aenir would have a greater chance of victory. I suspect it is the same for every lord here. But I tell you this, Cambil. Until now I have had scant respect from you. From today even that is a thing of the past. It matters not a whit to me if the Farlain are run by a fool; that hurts only the Farlain. But when you put the Pallides at risk I cannot forgive you.’
Colour drained from Cambil’s face. ‘How dare you! You think I care what some pot-bellied out-clan thinks of me? Take your ragbag carles home. With or without the Aenir your Pallides would win nothing, only humiliation.’
‘Hark, the Aenir lapdog can still bark,’ snapped Maggrig.
‘Enough of this!’ stormed Laric, as Maggrig and Cambil moved towards one another. ‘Listen to me. I have no love for the Farlain, nor for the Pallides. But we are clansmen and no man will violate the spirit of the Games. There will be no violence among the Hunt Lords. The thing has been done and long will it be argued over. But it is done. Now let us consider the order of events, or we’ll be here all night.’
Later, as Maggrig and Laric walked back to their tents in the moonlight, the taller Haesten lord was deep in thought. Maggrig also kept silent. Laric – the oldest Hunt Lord in Druin, approaching sixty years of age – was also by far the wisest. Maggrig liked him, though he’d swallow live coals rather than tell him so.
They reached Lane’s tent first and the older man turned to Maggrig, resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Cambil is a fool. He cannot see that which should be clear to every clansman. The Aenir are tomorrow’s enemy. My land borders yours, Maggrig, and we have had many disputes ere now, but if the Aenir cross Pallides land I shall bring my clansmen to your aid.’
Maggrig smiled. It was a nice ploy, but the fact remained that for the Aenir to cross Pallides borders they must march through either Farlain land or Haesten – and the Haesten were less powerful than the Farlain. Laric was asking for an ally.
‘Between us we have perhaps two thousand fighting men,’ said Maggrig. ‘Do you think they could stop an Aenir army?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Agreed, then. We will be allies. I would expect, of course, to be War Lord.’
‘Of course,’ said Laric. ‘Good night.’