‘I’m with you, Caswallon,’ shouted Leofas.
‘And I,’ called Badraig. Others took up die shout, but not all.
Debates sprung up, arguments followed. In despair Caswallon once more sounded his war-horn. In the silence that followed he told them, There is no more time to talk. I am leaving now for the mountains. Those who wish to follow me, let them do so. To those who do not, let me say only that I pray you are right.’
Cambil had already begun the long walk back to his home and a score of others followed him. Caswallon led Maeg and Taliesen down from the hill and through the crowd. Behind him came Leofas, Layne, Lennox, Badraig and many more.
‘Ah, well, what’s a night on the mountains?’ he heard someone say, and the following crowd swelled. He did not look back, but his heart was heavy as he reached the trees. Of the three thousand people in the first valley more than two thousand had followed him. Many of the rest still stood arguing in Centre Field; others were returning to their homes.
It was at that moment that a ring of blazing torches flared up on the eastern skyline.
Cambil, who was almost home, stopped and stared. The eastern mountainside was alive with armed men. His eyes scanned them. At the centre on a black horse sat a man in heavy armour and horned helm. Cambil recognised the Aenir lord and cursed him.
‘May the gods preserve us,’ whispered Agwaine, who had run to join his father.
Cambil turned to him. ‘Get away from here. Now! Join Caswallon. Tell him I am sorry.’
‘Not without you, Father.’
Cambil slapped his face viciously. ‘Am I not Hunt Lord? Obey me. Look after your sister.”
On the hill above Asbidag raised his arm and the Aenir charged, filling the night air with strident screams that pushed their hatred before them like an invisible wall. It struck Cambil to the heart and he blanched. ‘Get away!’ he yelled, pushing Agwaine from him.
Agwaine fell back a step. There were so many things he wanted to say. But his father had drawn his sword and was running into the valley towards the Aenir. Agwaine turned away and ran towards the west, tears filling his eyes.
In Centre Field hundreds of stragglers drew swords ready to charge to the aid of their beleaguered kin, but Caswallon’s war-horn stopped them. ‘You can do nothing for them!’ he yelled in desperation. ‘Join us!’
The valley beyond was filled with Aenir warriors. Fires sprang up in the nearby houses. The clansmen in the Centre Field were torn between their desire to aid their comrades and their need to protect their wives and children beside them. The more immediate love-tie took hold and the crowd surged up the hillside.
Cambil raced down the slope, sword in hand, blinking away the tears of shame filling his eyes. Memories forced their pictures to his mind – unkind, ugly pictures. Maggrig, calling him a fool at the Games. Taliesen’s eyes radiating contempt. And, way back, the cruellest of all, his father Padris telling him he wasn’t fit to clean Caswallon’s cloak.
His feet pounded on the grass-covered slope. The Aenir force had swung ponderously round, like a giant horseshoe, to begin the encirclement of the defenders who waited, grim-faced, swords in hand.
Cambil increased his speed. Another hundred paces and he could die among the people he loved, the people he had betrayed with his stupidity. At least the enemy had not yet seen the exodus led by Caswallon.
Breathless and near to exhaustion, Cambil joined the circle, standing beside the councillor Tesk. ‘I am so … sorry,’ said the Hunt Lord.
Tesk shrugged. “We all make mistakes, Cambil, my lad. But be warned – I might not vote for you again.’ The older man gently pushed Cambil back into the circle. ‘Get your breath back and join me in a little while.’
Grinning, Tesk shifted his shield into place, transferring his gaze to the screaming horde almost upon them. He could see their faces now, feel their bloodlust strike him like a malignant breeze.
The stars are out, Farlain!’ he yelled. ‘It’s a fine night for dying.’