David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

In the meantime, Caswallon gathered round him more than a hundred clansmen, and several of these he paid to scout around Aesgard and report on Aenir movement.

Cambil had been furious, accusing Caswallon of amassing a private army. ‘Can you not understand, Caswallon, that such deeds make war more likely?’ said the Hunt Lord. ‘You think me foolish for trying to forge friendships among the Aenir, I know that. As I know they are a warlike people, harsh and cruel. But as Hunt Lord I must consider the long-term well-being of my people. We could not win a war with the Aenir; they would swamp us. What I have tried -and will continue to try – to do is to make Asbidag aware of the futility of war in the highlands. We have no gold, no iron. There are no riches here. This he understands. What is more important is that he must feel no threat from us. It is in the Aenir nature to see enemies all around. If we can make them our friends, there will be no war.’

Caswallon listened in silence until Cambil had finished speaking. ‘Under different circumstances I would agree with every word, cousin,’ he said at last. ‘War is the last beast an intelligent man would let loose. Where I think you are wrong is in believing that the Aenir see war as a means to an end. For them it is the end in itself. They live to fight, they lust for slaughter and blood. Even their religion is based on the glory of combat. They believe that only if they die in battle will their souls be blessed with an eternity of pleasure. Now that their war with the lowlanders is over where else can they turn for war, save with us? I respect you, cousin – and I mean that truly. You have acted with honour. Yet now is die time to open your eyes and see that your efforts have been in vain. The Aenir are massing troops on the southern borders.’

Cambil shook his head. ‘Asbidag assures me that the troops are being gathered in order for the majority of them to be disbanded and offered land to farm, as a reward for loyal service. You are wrong, Caswallon. And the wisdom of my course will be appreciated in the years to come.’

Despite Cambil’s assurances Caswallon advised the Council to marshal a militia against a spring invasion. They refused, agreeing with the Hunt Lord that there were no indications the Aenir nursed any hostile intent towards the clan. The feeling was not unanimous. Badraig and Leofas supported Caswallon openly. Beric, a tall balding warrior from the northern valley, voted with them, but said nothing.

‘You have a hundred men, Caswallon,’ said Leofas as the four met after the spring banquet. ‘I can muster eighty crofters. Badraig and Beric the same between them. When the Aenir come it will be like a sudden storm. Three hundred men will not stop them.’

‘Let us be honest,’ said Badraig. ‘The Farlain united could not stop them. If every man took up his sword and bow we would have … what?… five thousand. Against a force five times as great.’ Badraig had changed since the beast killed his son. His hair was grey and he had lost weight, growing haggard and lean.

‘That is true,’ agreed Caswallon, ‘but we can wear them down. We’ll fight no pitched battles; we’ll harry them, cutting and running. Soon they’ll tire and return to Aesgard.’

‘That will depend on why they’re here,’ said Beric. ‘If they take the valleys we’ll have no way to support ourselves. We’ll die in the mountains, come winter.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Caswallon. ‘But that debate can wait for a better time. What worries me is not the long-drawn-out campaign, but the first strike. If they hit the valleys unawares, the slaughter will be horrific.’

There is not a day we do not have a scout watching them,’ said Leofas. ‘We should get at least an hour’s warning.’

Six hours’ march to the east, the crofter Arcis breathed his last. His arms had been nailed to the broad trunk of an oak and his ribs had been opened, splaying out from his body like tiny tattered wings.

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