Tell me the soul-name story again, Grymauch,’ he urged.
‘By the Sacrifice, boy, do you never tire of it?’
‘No. It brings me closer to my father somehow.’
Jaim reached out and ruffled Kaelin’s black hair. ‘Where would you like me to start it? The fight with the Moidart, the flight to the mountain, the coming of the stag?’
‘The stag. Tell it from the stag.’
The sky was lightening as Jairn began his tale. ‘We were sitting on a ledge of glistening grey rock. Your father was mortally wounded and knew it. He had few regrets, he said, for he was a man who always did what he thought was right. In terms of the clan he led he had lived true. Yet he was filled with sorrow that he would not see you grow, and that he had found no soul-name for you.’
Kaelin closed his eyes, picturing the scene.
‘We sat quietly, him and me, and then we heard the howling of the wolves. They were hunting. Canny creatures, wolves. They know they cannot outrun a stag. It has far more stamina than any wolf. So they hunt as a team. Four or five of them will harry the stag, chasing it for a mile or two. The forest lord is not, at first, concerned. He knows the wolves cannot outlast him. What he does not know is that the wolves have formed a circle of death. And that others of the pack are waiting further down the trail. As the first wolves begin to tire the second group takes up the chase, driving the stag towards a third in a great circle. The killing run goes on and on, the wolves tightening the circle, until, at last, the exhausted forest lord turns at bay. By now all the wolves have come together for the kill. This, Kaelin, is what your father and I saw. A proud and massive stag, a right royal beast if ever there was one, upon the hill opposite where we sat. He had a wonderful spread of horn and he stood weary, yet defiant, as a dozen wolves closed in on him. Ah, but it was a sight to see. The bravest of the wolves darted forward, and was tossed high into the air, his body dashed against a tree, his back broken. Then the other wolves charged. There was no way for the stag to win. No way. It was finished.’
‘And then came Raven,’ prompted Kaelin, excitement in his voice.
‘Hush, boy! ‘Tis I who am telling this tale.’
‘I am sorry, Grymauch. Go on, please!’
‘No more interruptions, if you please. As I said, the stag could not win. Yet he fought magnificently, giving no ground. As the wolves closed in something dark came rushing from the undergrowth. At first I could not see what it was, but it charged into the wolves, scattering them. Your father had better eyesight than mine and I had both my eyes then! He said: “By heaven, it is Raven.” We had both thought the hound slain in the fight with the treacherous Moidart, but there he was, ripping into the startled wolves. There was blood on his muzzle and two more wolves dead when the others panicked and ran.’ Grymauch paused, lost in the memory. Kaelin did not prompt him. The warrior sighed. ‘And – for the merest heartbeat -I saw Raven and the stag standing together, looking at one another. Both were bloodied. The forest lord dipped its head towards Raven as if in thanks, though I doubt it was. Then it bounded away into the trees and the hound continued across the hills towards us. He had followed the scent, you see, and wanted to be reunited with Lanovar. I saw him stumble twice, but he carried on, more slowly than before. Aye, he was a brave hound, right enough. I swung round to see that your father was in his last moments. My heart was pierced as I watched him then. It has never mended. I held him close. We said nothing. Then the hound reached us, and I saw that he, too, would not survive the night. Musket balls had pierced him deep and he was bleeding badly. He settled down alongside Lanovar, his head on his master’s lap. I think they died together. If not, there were only a few heartbeats between.’ Jaim fell silent.