‘I will not lie to you, Caswallon,’ Padris had told him, his keen eyes sorrowful. ‘You have been a disappointment to me. I have raised you like my own son and you have great talents. But you are not worthy. You have a sharp mind, a good brain and a strong body. You will prosper. But you are not worthy. There is in you a fear that I cannot fathom. Outwardly you are brave enough, and you take your beatings like a man. But you are not clan. You don’t care. What is it that you fear?’
‘I fear nothing,’ Caswallon had told him.
“Wrong. Now I see two fears. The one that you hide, and now the fear of showing it. Go in peace, Caswallon of the Farlain.”
‘You were right, Padris,’ Caswallon whispered to the sky. ‘This is what I feared. Chains. Questions. Responsibilities.’
Giving judgements over land disputes, settling rows over cattle or sheep, or thefts, or wayward wives and wandering husbands. Sentencing poachers, granting tides, deciding on the suitability of couples in love, and granting them the right to wed. Every petty problem a double-edged dagger.
And so he avoided the elections.
But what had it gained? The Farlain invaded and thousands dead throughout Druin. And what price the future?
He swore as he heard footsteps approaching. Lcofas slumped down beside him, breathing hard. ‘No sign of pursuit,’ said the old warrior.
‘Good’
Talk, boy. Shed the burden.’
‘It would shed the burden if you agreed to lead.’
We’ve been over that before. I’m not the man for it.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘Whisht, lad! Don’t talk nonsense. You’re doing fine. So far we’ve saved the greater number of our cousins, and with luck there’s another two thousand crofters who would have heard the horns and taken to the hills.’
‘Damn you, old man. I never gave you much of an argument before, and I should have. You’ve been on the Council since before I was born. You’re respected, everyone would follow you. You’re the natural choice. What right have you to shirk your responsibility?’
‘None whatsoever, Caswallon. And I cannot be accused of it. A man needs to know his strengths if he is to prosper, and his weaknesses if he is to survive. I know what you are going through but, believe me, you are the best man we have. I’ll grant that you would make a bad Hunt Lord; you don’t have the application. But this is war. With luck it will be a short, sharp exercise, and you’re the man to plan it. Think of it as a giant raid. Ye gods, man, you were good enough at that.’
‘But it isn’t a raid,’ snapped Caswallon. ‘One mistake and we lose everything.’
‘I didn’t say it was easy.’
‘That’s true enough.’
‘You have faith in Taliesen, do you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he said you were the only man capable of pulling a victory from this catastrophic beginning. And I believe him.’
‘I wish I had your faith.’
‘It’s because you don’t that convinces me,’ said Leofas, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to say this once, boy, for I’m not given to compliments. There’s a nobility in you, and a strength you’ve not began to touch. Rescuing Gaelen showed it to me. It was a fine, bonny thing. But more than that, I remember when we hunted the beast. You lifted Cambil that night when his fear for his son threatened to unman him, and among men who despised you it was you they followed when you walked to the north. When the Queen was dying and delirious you gave her words of comfort. You it was who planned the victory at the Games, and you again who brought us out of the valley.
‘So don’t sit here bemoaning your fate. You are where you should be: War Lord of Farlain. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I should have spoken to you ten years ago,’ said Caswallon. ‘Maybe I would have been different.”
Ten years ago you wouldn’t have listened. Whoring and stealing filled your mind.’
‘Good days, though,’ said Caswallon, grinning.
‘Don’t say it as though you’re letting me into a secret. I was whoring and stealing before you were born. And probably making a better job of it!’