Gaelen awoke, rolling to his back and rubbing his eyes. The night was silent, save for the movement of bats in the trees above him and the skittering sound of badgers in the undergrowth off to the left. These were sounds he knew well. But something else had pierced his dreams, bringing him to wakefulness. His mind was hazy, confused. It had seemed as if horns were blowing far away, whispering in the night breeze.
But now there was silence as Gaelen sat up and looked around him. Render was gone, hunting his supper, and the fire had died down within its circle of rocks. Gaelen added fuel, more for light than heat. As the blaze flared he pushed back his blanket and stood up, stretching the muscles of his back. He was hungry. The sky was lightening and the dawn was not far off. Gathering his bow and quiver, he made his way to the edge of the wood, looking down on to a gently sloping field, silver in the waning moonlight. Upon it were scores of rabbits nibbling at grass and clover. Gaelen settled down on his knees and strung the bow; he then selected an arrow and notched it to the string. Spotting a buck some twenty paces distant, he drew and loosed the shaft. As the buck fell, the other rabbits disappeared at speed. Returning to the fire he skinned the beast, gutting and slicing it for the pot. Render loped through the bushes, jaws bloody, and squatted down beside him, waiting expectantly for the remains.
Gaelen threw the offal to the hound, who set to work on his second meal of the night. As dawn light seeped into the sky, Gaelen found himself thinking of the Queen Beyond. Often her face would come to him, sometimes in dreams but more often as he went about the chores of the day. She had died for him – for them – and Gaelen wished, with all his heart, that he could have repaid her. And what did she mean when she promised to come again?
By mid-morning Gaelen and Render were picking their way down a wooded slope alongside a tumbling stream. Every forty or fifty paces the water hissed over rocky falls, gushing at ever-increasing speed towards the valley below. Birds sang in the trees, and crimson flowers bloomed by the water. Every now and then, as they came to a break in the trees, Gaelen stopped and gazed on the mountains, still snow-capped, like old men in a line. Gaelen knew he should be feeling guilty about his leisurely pace and the wide western swing he was making, for there was plenty of spring work back home. But after the winter cooped up in the valley, he needed the solitude.
A woman’s scream pierced the glade. Render’s head came up, a deep growl starting in his throat. Gaelen flashed his hand up, palm outwards, and the dog fell silent. The scream came from the right, beyond a thicket of gorse. Gaelen eased his hunting-knife into his hand, released his pack and bow from his shoulders and moved forward silently. Render padded beside him.
Once in the thicket other noises came to them – the rending of cloth, and slapping sounds as if open-handed blows were being struck. Creeping forward, bent double, Gaelen came to the edge of the thicket. Three Aenir warriors had pinned a young girl to the ground. Two held her arms, the third crouched over her, slashing her clothes with a knife and ripping them from her.
Gaelen calmed the dog and waited. He couldn’t see the girl’s face, but from the clothes she was Farlain. The Aenir stripped her naked, then one forced her legs apart, dropping his hand to loosen his breeches. As he did so Gaelen pointed to the warrior holding the girl.
‘Kill!’ he hissed. Render leaped forward, covering the ground in three bounds, snarling ferociously. The three whirled at the sound, dragging their knives clear. Render’s great jaws closed upon the throat of his victim, the Aenir’s neck snapping with a hideous crack. Gaelen, long hunting-knife in hand, was just behind the dog. He hurdled the beast, batting aside a wild slash from the second Aenir, then himself back-handed a cut across the man’s face. The warrior’s cheek blossomed red and he fell back, dropping his knife. Gaelen threw himself forward to plunge his own blade through the man’s leather jerkin, up under the ribs, seeking the heart. The man’s eyes opened in shock and pain. Gaelen twisted the blade to free it from the suction of the man’s body and tore it loose, kicking him away. Spinning, he was just in time to parry a thrust from the third warrior who aimed a vicious cut at his head. Gaelen ducked beneath it, stepping inside to hammer the knife into the man’s groin. The Aenir screamed and fell. Gaelen dragged the knife clear, punching it to the man’s throat and cutting off his screams. Render, still growling, tore at his victim, though the man was long dead.