The Hawk Eternal

Chapter Four

Gaelen awoke at Gwalchmai’s touch, his eyes flaring open, his troubled dreams fragmented and instantly forgotten.

“I can’t keep my eyes open any longer,” whispered Gwalchmai. “I don’t think there’s anything out there. I saw a fox, that’s all.”

Gaelen sat up and yawned. “It’s chilly,” he whispered. Gwalchmai rolled himself swiftly into his blanket, laying his head on his pack. Within seconds he was asleep. Gaelen stretched, then crept to the fire, easing himself past Lennox. Taking a dry stick he poked around the embers of the dying fire, gently blowing it to life. Adding more sticks, he watched the flames flicker and billow. Then he looked away. Caswallon had told him never to stare into a fire, for the brightness made the pupils contract, and when you looked away into darkness you would be blind.

Gaelen wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and leaned back against the granite boulder. An owl hooted and the boy’s fingers curled around the hilt of his hunting knife. You fool, he told himself. You’ve never been afraid of the dark. Calm down. These are your mountains, there is nothing to harm you.

Except wolves, bears, lions, and whatever made that bestial howling…

Gaelen shuddered, and fed more sticks to the fire. The supply was growing short and he didn’t relish the prospect of entering the menacing darkness of the surrounding trees to replenish the store.

Slowly the fire died and Gaelen cursed softly. He had hoped it would last until first light, when the woods would become merely trees and not the frightening sentinels they now appeared. He stood up, loosening the dagger in its sheath, and walked carefully toward a fallen elm at the edge of the woods. Swiftly he collected dead wood and thicker branches. Back at the fire, relief washed over him. He was comforted by the sound of Lennox snoring and the sight of his other two friends sleeping soundly.

It was ridiculous. If danger was upon them they would be no use to him, sleeping as they were. And yet he felt at ease.

Layne muttered in his sleep and turned onto his back. Gaelen gazed down at his square, honest face. He looked so much younger asleep, his mouth half open and childlike.

Gaelen turned his gaze to Lennox. Where Layne was clean-cut and athletic, Lennox was all bulk, with sloping shoulders of tremendous power, barrel-chested, thick-waisted. His hands were huge and the strength in them awesome. A year before he had straightened a horseshoe at the Games, having seen it done in the Strength Test. Too young to be entered, he had shamed several of the contestants and caused great merriment among the Farlain clan.

Later that day a dozen youths of the Haesten clan, having seen their man shamed, lay in wait for Lennox as he strode home. They came at him out of the darkness bearing cudgels and thick branches. As the first blow rapped home against his thick skull Lennox had bellowed in anger and lashed out, sending one luckless youngster through a bush. Two others followed him as Lennox charged among them; the rest fled.

Gaelen had heard the story and chuckled. He believed it. He wished he had seen it.

To the east the sky was brightening and Gaelen stood and wandered through the trees, on and up, scrambling over the lip of the hollow to stare at the distant mountains. In the trees around him birds began to sing, and the eldritch menace of the night disappeared. The boy watched as the snowcapped peaks to the west began to burn like glowing coals, as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. Fields below were bathed in glorious colors as blooms opened to the golden light.

Gaelen breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the sweet mountain air. He slid back down the slope and burrowed into Lennox’s large pack, more than twice the weight of his own, and produced a copper bowl. Stoking up the fire, he placed the bowl upon it, filling it with water and adding the dry oats Maeg had wrapped for him.

Layne was the first to wake. He grinned at Gaelen. “No monsters of the night, then?”

Gaelen grinned back and shook his head.

Had he remained on the rim of the hollow for a minute more he would have seen a Farlain hunter racing back toward Cambil’s village, his cloak streaming behind him.

Badraig was a skillful huntsman whose task it was to set the trails for those of the boys traveling toward Vallon. He enjoyed his role. It was good to see tomorrow’s generation of clansmen testing their mettle, and his son Draig and foster son Gwalchmai were among them.

But today his mind was on other matters. During the night, as he made cold camp by a narrow stream, he had heard the howling that so disturbed Gaelen and his companions. They had half dismissed it as a hunter’s prank; Badraig knew it was not, for he was the only hunter in the area.

Being a cautious man, with over twenty years’ experience, Badraig waited until near dawn before checking the source of the cry. With infinite patience he had worked his way through the woods, keeping the breeze in his face. As it shifted, so too did he.

And he found the butchered, broken remains of Erlik of the Pallides. In truth he didn’t know it was Erlik, though he had seen the man many times at the Games. But no one could have recognized the bloody meat strewn across the track. Badraig lifted a torn section of tunic, recognizing the edging as Pallides weave. In the bushes to the left he found part of a foot.

At first he thought it was the work of a bear, but he scouted for tracks and found six-toed footprints the like of which he had never seen. There were also the tracks of foxes and other small carrion creatures, but they had obviously arrived long after the killing beast had departed.

The prints were enormous, as long as a short sword. Badraig measured the stride. He was not a tall man, neither was he the shortest clansman in the Farlain, but he could not match the stride except by leaping. He gauged the height of the beast as half that again of a tall man. And it walked upright. The deepest impression was at the heel. He followed the track for a little way until he reached the foot of the slope. Here the spoor changed. The creature dropped to all fours and scrambled up at speed, gouging great tears in the clay. Badraig dug his fingers into the earth with all his strength, then compared his efforts with those of the killer. He could barely scratch the surface.

So it was big, bigger than a bear, and much faster. It could run on all fours or walk upright like a man. Its jaws were enormous-the fang marks in the leg he had found proved that. He considered following the beast up the slope, but dismissed the idea.

From the remains he could see that the Pallides hunter had been carrying his bow with the arrow notched. He had been given no time to shoot. Badraig was confident of his own skills, but his strength lay also in the understanding of his weaknesses. Armed with only a hunting knife and a quarterstaff, he was no match for whatever had wreaked this carnage. His one duty was to carry the news to Cambil and clear the mountain of youngsters.

Luckily, so he believed, no teams had passed his vantage point, so he would be able to stop any he came across as he returned. By midafternoon every village in the Farlain had the message and by nightfall six hundred clansmen, in groups of six, were scouring the mountains. By noon the next day forty-eight puzzled and disappointed youngsters had been shepherded back to their villages.

Only two teams remained to be found, those led by Layne and Agwaine. At dusk on the second day Cambil sat with his advisers around a campfire half a day’s march into the mountains.

“They’ve just vanished,” said Leofas. “Layne’s group made camp near the elm grove, and then moved northeast. After that the tracks cease.”

“It was a cunning ploy,” said Badraig. “They obviously thought they had a clue and didn’t wish to be followed. It doesn’t make it any easier for us, though-except that we know they didn’t head for Vallon.”

“I disagree,” said Caswallon.

“A pox on you, Caswallon,” snapped Badraig. “That was my area. Are you saying I’m that poor a huntsman that I could have missed eight callow boys?”

“What I am saying is that we’ve searched everywhere and found no sign,” answered Caswallon softly.

Badraig snorted. “Then maybe it’s you who’ve missed the trail.”

“Enough of this quarreling,” ordered Cambil. “What shall we do now?”

“Look in Vallon,” said Caswallon. “We have two missing teams. Both are led by the brightest, most able of our young men. The rhyme was not easy, but the answer was there for those with the wits to work at it. Agwaine I am sure would have deciphered it. Do you not agree, Cambil?”

Cambil bit his lip and stared into the fire. “Yes, he misses little.”

“Now, all the boys who headed west say they saw no sign of Agwaine. Or Layne. In fact, after the first night they just dropped from sight. No team headed for Vallon, because none of the others deciphered the rhyme. To my mind the conclusion is inescapable.”

“So you are saying I’m lacking in skill!” stormed Badraig.

“Please be calm, cousin,” said Caswallon. “We are talking about two teams who traveled carefully so that no rivals would spot them. It doesn’t mean you lacked skill because you missed them.”

“I still say they headed west.”

“Then go west and find them,” said Caswallon. “I’m heading for Vallon.”

Badraig swore, but Cambil cut across him. “Hold your tongue, man! In this I think Caswallon is right. Now we have men hunting the west, and we’ll lose nothing by visiting Attafoss. I just wish that druid would get here. I’d like to know what Hell spawn we’re facing.”

“Well, ‘that druid’ can help you,” said Taliesen, moving out of the tree shadows and seating himself among them. “The beast crossed a Gateway and it is following the youngsters toward Attafoss. Caswallon is right. Let these arguments cease.”

“Are you sure, Lord Druid?” asked Badraig.

“As sure as death,” answered Taliesen. “You had best move now, for there is tragedy in the air, and more blood to be spilt before you find them.”

“A curse on your prophecies,” said Cambil, lurching to his feet. “Is this beast more of your magic?”

“None of mine, Hunt Lord.”

“Have you seen who will die?” asked Badraig. “Can you tell us that?”

“No, I cannot tell you.”

“But my son is with Agwaine.”

“I know. Go now, for time is short.”

The men rolled their blankets and set off without a backward glance at the druid, whose dark eyes followed them seemingly without emotion. Taliesen watched them go, his heart heavy, a great sadness growing within him. The threads were beginning to come together now. In another time the sorcerer Jakuta Khan had sent a beast to kill the young Sigarni. That beast had vanished into the mists of time. Now it was here, in the Farlain, and being drawn inexorably toward the frail and wounded Queen. And between the hunter and his victim were the boys of the Farlain. Taliesen longed to intervene. He remembered the long nights sitting at the Queen’s bedside, in the cave on Druin’s flanks. He had told her to say nothing of events in her own world, lest the knowledge cause even more fractures in the Time Lines. But when she became delirious with fever she had spoken in her sleep, and Taliesen had felt the weight of sorrow bear down on him like a huge rock.

He longed to rescue the boys. And he could not. “It rests with you now, Gaelen,” he whispered.

And with the Hawk Eternal, he thought.

The four men walked for most of the night, stopping only to snatch an hour’s sleep before dawn. Then they moved on, crossing hills, running across narrow valleys, scaling tree-lined slopes. During the afternoon they were joined by six hunters cutting in from the east. A hurried conference was held. One man was sent back to the village to fetch more bowmen, and the remaining nine hoisted their packs and ran single file toward the towering peaks of the northeast.

They drove themselves hard, calling on reserves of endurance built during years of tough mountain living. Only Leofas, the oldest of them, struggled to maintain the pace; but maintain it he did, giving no sign of the pain from his swollen knee.

Just before nightfall Badraig halted the column, spotting something to the right of the track; it was a half-eaten oatcake. Badraig picked it up, breaking it into crumbs. At the center it was still dry.

“Yesterday,” he said. Then he scouted carefully around the area. Rather than destroy any faint traces of spoor, the other hunters squatted down to wait for Badraig’s report. Within minutes he returned.

“Four lads,” he said. “One is very large and can only be Lennox. You were right, Caswallon; they passed me.”

The group pushed on into the mountains, and as the sun sank, Caswallon found the hollow Layne had chosen for their camp. The men gathered around.

“Tomorrow should be easier going,” said Cambil, stretching his long legs in front of him and resting his back against the granite boulder. “The tracks will be easy to find.” His strong fingers kneaded the muscles of his thigh, and he grunted as the pain flowed.

Leofas sank to the ground, his face grey, his eyes sunken. With great effort he slipped his pack from his shoulders and unrolled his blanket. Wrapping himself against the night chill, he fell asleep instantly.

Badraig took two huntsmen and began to scour the area. The moon was bright and three-quarters full and the tracks left by the boys could be clearly seen. Badraig followed them halfway up the north slope of the hollow. Here he stopped.

Overlapping Lennox’s large footprint was another print twice as long. Badraig swore, the sound hissing between clenched teeth. Swiftly he returned to the men in the hollow.

“The beast is hunting them,” he told Cambil. “We must move on.”

“That might not be wise,” the Hunt Lord replied. We could miss vital signs in the darkness. Worse, we could stumble on the beast itself.”

“I agree,” said Caswallon. “How close behind them is it, Badraig?”

“Hard to say. Several hours, perhaps less.”

“Damn all druids!” said Cambil, his broad face flushed and angry. “Damn them and their Gates.”

Caswallon said nothing. Wrapping himself in his blanket, he leaned back, closed his eyes. He thought of Gaelen and wondered if Fate could be so cruel as to save the boy on one day, only to have him brutally slain thereafter. He knew that it could. All life was chance.

But the Gates were a mystery he had never been able to fathom.

The elders had a story of a time just before Caswallon was born, when a leather-winged flying creature had appeared in the mountains, killing sheep and even calves. That had been slain by the then Hunt Lord, a strong proud man who sought to be the first High King since Earis. But the people had voted against him. Embittered, he had taken thirty of his followers and somehow found a way to cross the churning waters of Attafoss to the island of Vallon. There he had overpowered the druids and led his men through the Forbidden Gate.

Twenty years later he returned alone, gravely wounded. Taliesen had asked for his death, but the Druid Council denied him and the man was returned to the Farlain. No longer Hunt Lord, he would tell no man of his adventures, saying only that a terrible vision had been revealed to him.

Many thought him mad. They mocked him and the once-proud lord took it all, making his home in a mountain cave where he lived like a hermit. Caswallon had befriended him, but even with Caswallon the man would not speak of the world beyond the Druid’s Gate. But of the Gates themselves he spoke, and Caswallon had listened.

“The feeling as you pass through,” Oracle had told him, “is unlike any other experience life can offer. For a moment only you lose all sense of self, and experience a great calm. Then there is another moment of sense-numbing speed, and the mind is full of colors, all different, moving past and through you. Then the cold strikes marrow-deep and you are human again on the other side.”

“But where did you go?” Caswallon asked.

“I cannot tell you.”

The wonder of it, Caswallon knew, was that Oracle had returned at all. There were many stories of people disappearing in the mountains, and even rare occasions when strange animals or birds appeared.

But Oracle was the only man he had heard of-save for Taliesen-to pass through and return. There were so many questions Oracle could have answered. So many mysteries he could lay to rest.

“Why can you not tell me?” Caswallon asked.

“I promised the druids I would not.”

Caswallon asked no more. A promise was a thing of steel and ice and no clansman would expect to break such an oath.

“All will be revealed to you, Caswallon. I promise you,” Oracle had told him cryptically.

Now as the young clansman sat beneath a moonlit sky his mind harked back to that conversation. He wasn’t at all sure he desired such knowledge. All he wanted was to find the boys and return them safely to the valley.

Badraig prepared a fire and the men gathered around it silently, fishing in their packs for food. Only Leofas slept.

Cambil pushed back the locks of blond hair from his forehead and wiped sweat from his face. He was tired, filled with the exhaustion only fear can produce. Agwaine was his only son, and he loved him more than anything else the world could provide. The thought of the lad being hunted by a beast from beyond the Gates filled him with terror; he could not face the possibility that Agwaine might die.

“We will find them,” said Caswallon softly.

“Yes,” answered the Hunt Lord. “But alive?”

Caswallon saw the man’s angular, honest face twist, as if a sudden pain had struck him. Beneath the wiry yellow-gold beard Cambil was biting his lip hard, seeking to prevent the collapse into tears of frustration.

“What did you think of the pack incident?” asked Caswallon suddenly.

“What?”

“Gwalchmai dropping his pack and outstripping Agwaine.”

“Oh, that. Clever move. Agwaine did not give up, though. He ran him to the end.”

“Bear that in mind, Cambil. The boy is a fighter. Given half an opportunity he will survive.”

“The thing will probably seek to avoid Man,” said Badraig. “It is the way with animals of the wild, is it not? They know Man is a killer. They walk warily around him.”

“It didn’t walk too warily around the Pallides scout,” said a balding bearded clansman from the west.

“True, Beric-but then, from the tracks, the Pallides was stalking it, though I can’t see why. Still, it is well known the Pallides are long on nerve and short on brain.”

Slowly, as the night passed, the men drifted off to sleep until at last only Cambil and Caswallon remained sitting side by side before the fire.

“It’s been a long time since we sat like this, cousin,” said Cambil, breaking a lengthy silence.

“Yes. But we walk different paths now. You have responsibility.”

“It could have been yours.”

“No,” said Caswallon.

“Many would have voted for you.”

“They would have been wrong.”

“If Agwaine is taken I shall take my daughter and leave the Farlain,” said Cambil, staring into the glowing ashes of the dying blaze.

“Now is not the time to think of it,” Caswallon told him. “Tomorrow we will talk as we walk the boys home.”

Cambil said nothing more. He unrolled his blanket, curled it around his shoulders, and settled down against his pack.

Caswallon stood and made his way slowly up the farthest slope into the deep, cool pine woods beyond. From the tallest point he gazed to the northeast, seeking sign of a campfire, yet knowing he would see nothing. The boys were too well trained.

Sixteen miles northeast the four companions were arguing over the choicest morsels of a freshly cooked rabbit. Lennox, who had cooked the coney and served it, was protesting innocence, despite his plate bearing twice as much meat as any other.

“But I am bigger,” he said seriously. “My pack carries all the cooking equipment. And it was my snare.”

Gwalchmai broke from the argument for long enough to pop a small piece of meat in his mouth and begin chewing. He dropped from the discussion instantly, tugging surreptitiously at Gaelen’s cloak. Gaelen saw the expression on his face. He tried his own meat, chewed for a moment, then removed the offending gobbet. Lennox and Layne were still arguing furiously. “I think Lennox is right,” said Gaelen suddenly. “He is the largest and he has the greatest burden. Here, take mine too, my friend.”

“I couldn’t,” said Lennox, his eyes betraying his greed.

“No, truly. One small rabbit is scarce enough to build your strength.” Gaelen tipped the contents of his plate on Lennox’s own. In the meantime Gwalchmai had whispered to Layne.

“I’m sorry, brother,” said Layne, smiling. “Gaelen has made me realize how selfish I am. Take my portion too.”

“And mine,” added Gwalchmai eagerly.

Lennox sat back on his haunches. “You are all true friends,” he said, gazing dreamily at his plate. Discarding his knife he scooped a handful of meat into his mouth. For several seconds he chewed in silence, then his face froze. His three companions waited in nerve-tingling silence until he doggedly finished the mouthful and swallowed.

“Is it good?” asked Layne, his face set and serious.

“Yes, it is,” said Lennox. “But look, I feel bad about taking it all.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Gwalchmai swiftly. “Your need is the greatest.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you cooked it,” put in Gaelen.

“I know, but…”

“Eat on, brother,” said Layne. “See, it grows cold and… congeals.”

The dam burst and all three broke into giggling laughter. Realization struck Lennox and he hurled the diseased meat into the bushes. “Swine!” he said.

A hundred paces above them, on the edge of the trees, the beast squatted on its haunches glaring down at the fire. The laughter puzzled it, for the sound was similar to the screeching of the small apes of its homeland. Its black nostrils flared, catching the aroma of scorched flesh-rancid-smelling sickly flesh.

The beast snorted, blowing the scent away. It stretched its powerful legs, moving several paces left. Here the flesh scent was different, warm-blooded, salty, and alive. The creature’s eyes glittered. Hunger urged it to charge the camp and take the meat. Instinct made it fear the fire.

The beast settled down to wait.

Gaelen’s dreams were troubled. Once more the Aenir killers pursued him, the pounding of their horses’ hooves drumming fear into him as he ran. His legs were heavy, his movements sluggish. Suddenly a calming blue light filled his mind and the warriors faded. A face appeared, wrinkled and ancient, only the dark eyes giving a hint of life.

“The fire,” said a deep melodious voice, though the lips did not move. “The fire is dying. Awake!”

Gaelen groaned and rolled over, trying to force the man from his mind.

“The fire, fool! Your life is in danger! Awake!”

The calming light disappeared, to be replaced by a red haze. Within the haze was a monster, black and menacing. Its huge jaws slavered, and its taloned hands reached for him.

Gaelen awoke with a jolt, eyes opening to the bright moonlight and the glittering stars in the velvet-dark sky. He glanced at the fire. As the dream had told him, it was failing fast, the last flickering twigs turning to ash and glowing embers.

The boy did not want to leave the warmth of his blanket, but the dream left an edge of fear in him. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair, scratching at the scar beneath the blaze of white above his left eye. Swiftly he broke twigs and small branches, feeding them to the tiny blaze and blowing life back into the fire. He felt better as the flames danced.

A rustling to his right made him turn. A large bush quivered and a low growl reverberated in the clearing. Gaelen drew his hunting knife and narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness. He felt a fool. Had Caswallon not warned him endlessly about staring into fires? Now he could not see clearly. A giant shadow rose above the bush and Gaelen screamed a warning to the others.

Layne rolled from his blanket with knife in hand, standing in a half crouch beside Gaelen. “What is it?” Gaelen pointed at the thing beyond the bush. It was at least eight feet high, its head round like a man’s except that the jaws were huge and rimmed with curving fangs. Gwalchmai and Lennox had left their beds and were staring horror-struck at the creature.

Gaelen pushed his trembling hand toward the fire, grasping the last of the branches they had stacked. It had not been stripped of its dry leaves for they would be good tinder for the morning blaze. Lifting the branch, Gaelen held it over the flames. The leaves caught instantly, flaring and crackling. On trembling legs, Gaelen advanced toward the beast, holding the torch before him.

Layne and Lennox exchanged glances, then followed behind him. Gwalchmai swallowed hard, but he could not force his legs to propel him forward and stood rooted to the spot, watching his friends slowly advance on the nightmarish beast. It was colossal, near nine feet in height, and the light from the blazing branch glinted on its dagger-length talons.

Gaelen’s legs were trembling as he approached the monstrosity. It reared up and tensed to leap at the youth but he drew back his arm and flung the blazing brand straight at the creature’s face. Flames licked at the shaggy fur around its eyes, flaring up into tongues of fire on its right cheek. A fearful howl tore the silence of the night and the beast turned and sprang away into the night. The boys watched until it blended into the dark woods. Layne placed his hand on Gaelen’s shoulder. “Well done, cousin,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I’m glad you woke.”

“What in the seven hells was that?” asked Gwalchmai as they returned to the comfort of the fire.

“I don’t know,” said Layne grimly. “But from the look of those jaws it’s not after berries and grubs.”

Gwalchmai retrieved the blazing torch and examined the beast’s tracks. Returning to the fire he told Layne, “It’s the same track we saw in the valley. And we know no hunter made it. Congratulations, Gaelen, you saved our lives. There is no doubt of that.”

“I had a dream,” Gaelen told him. “An old man appeared to me, warning me.”

“Did you recognize him?” asked Layne.

“I think he was the druid with Cambil on Hunt Day.”

“Taliesen,” whispered Gwalchmai, glancing at Layne.

“What are we going to do?” asked Lennox. “Go back?”

“I don’t see that we need to,” said Layne. “We turned the beast away easily enough. And most animals avoid men anyway. Also, we will be at Attafoss in the morning, so we might just as well see it through.”

“I’m not sure,” said Gwalchmai. “That thing was big. I wouldn’t want to face it without fire.”

“If it’s hunting us,” said Gaelen, “it can do so equally well whether we go forward or back.”

“Are we all agreed, then?” Layne asked them. Gwalchmai longed to hear Lennox suggest a swift retreat back to the valley, but Lennox merely shrugged and donned his pack.

Dawn found the companions on the last leg of their journey, climbing the steep scree-covered slopes of the last mountain before Attafoss. As they crossed the skyline the distant roar of the falls could be heard some miles ahead.

“Always roaring, never silent,” quoted Gwalchmai. “Whenever I hear it I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.”

Layne hitched his pack into a more comfortable position. “No sign of the beast, anyway,” he said, leading them on down the slope to cross a narrow stone bridge and on to a winding trail through gorse-covered countryside. Layne bore right down a rock-strewn slope and on, at last, to a narrow strip of black sand nestling in a cove below the falls. Here they loosened their packs and settled down for breakfast. The jutting wall of rock deadened the thunder of the falls, but the wind carried the spray high into the air before them, and the sun made rainbows dance above the camp.

“It occurs to me,” said Gwalchmai as they ate, “that we have not come across a single clue. No pouches. No stones marking the trail. It is an unpleasant thought, but we might be wrong.”

“I’ve been thinking that,” said Layne, “but then the rhyme is clear. Perhaps the clues are all at the falls.”

After the meal they gathered at the water’s edge to indulge in the age-old sport of stone-skimming, at which Gwalchmai excelled, beating Layne by three jumps. Refilling their water canteens, the boys picked their way up the slope and into the timberline above the falls.

Lennox prepared a fire in the afternoon and Layne suggested a quick search of the woods for clues. Leaving their packs by the fire they set off to scout, traveling in pairs-Lennox and Layne moving south, Gaelen and Gwalchmai north.

From a highpoint on the hillside Gaelen gazed once more at the majesty of Attafoss, watching the churning white water thunder to the river below.

“That, my friend, is the soul of the Farlain,” said Gwalchmai.

Gaelen turned to his comrade and grinned. “I can believe it.”

Gwalchmai’s face shone with pride and his green eyes glittered.

“Everything we are is contained there,” he said. “All the poetry, the grandeur, and the strength that is Clan.”

Gaelen watched him as he soaked in the sight. Gwalchmai was not built on the same powerful lines as Lennox or Layne-he was slight and bird-boned, his face almost delicate. But in his eyes shone the same strength Gaelen had come to see in all clansmen-a sense of belonging that rooted them to the land, allowing them to draw on its power.

“Come on, Gwal, let’s find the clues,” he said at last, and the two of them reentered the timberline.

By midafternoon they had found nothing, and then Gwalchmai discovered a set of tracks that set him cursing loudly.

“What is it?” asked Gaelen. “Hunters?”

“No,” snapped Gwalchmai. “It’s Agwaine. They reached here this morning. That’s why there are no clues; he’s taken them. Curse it!”

“Let’s follow them,” said Gaelen. “We have nothing to lose.”

The trail led south and was easy to follow. After less than an hour they reached a gentle slope, masked by thick bushes. Here Gwalchmai stopped.

“Oh, my soul!” he whispered. “Look!”

Overlaid upon the moccasin tracks was a huge print, six-toed, and as long as a man’s forearm.

Pale-faced, Gwalchmai looked at Gaelen. “Are we going up the slope?”

“I don’t want to,” answered his friend. “But is there a choice?” He licked dry lips with a dry tongue.

Slowly they made their way to the top of the slope and entered a grove of pine. The sun was sinking slowly and long shadows stretched away from them.

“The beast was upon them here,” hissed Gwalchmai. “Oh, Gods, I think it killed them all. Look at the tracks. See, they scattered to run, but not before one was downed. Look there! The blood. Oh, God.”

Gaelen could feel his heart racing and his breathing becoming shallow: the beginning of panic. Caswallon had told him to breathe deeply and slowly at such times, and now he did so, calming himself gradually. Gwalchmai was inching his way into the bushes, where he stood and covered his face with his hands at what he saw lying there. Gaelen joined him.

His stomach turned and bile filled his throat. He swallowed hard. Inside the screen of bushes were the remains of three bodies, mutilated beyond recognition. A leg was half-buried in rotting leaves, and a split skull lay open and drained beside it.

Everywhere was drenched in blood.

Gwalchmai stumbled back from the sight, and vomited onto the grass. Gaelen forced himself to look once more, then he rejoined Gwalchmai who was shivering uncontrollably.

“Gwal, listen to me. We must know where the beast has gone. Check the tracks. Please.”

There was no indication that Gwalchmai had heard him.

Gaelen took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. “Gwal, listen to me. We must find out; then we’ll tell Layne. Can you hear me?”

Gwalchmai began to weep, slumping forward against Gaelen, who put his arms around him, patting his back as with a child. “It’s all right,” he whispered.

After a few moments Gwalchmai pulled away, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said, drying his eyes on his sleeve.

“That’s all right, cousin,” said Gaelen. “They were your friends.”

“Yes. All right. Let’s see where the swine went.”

For several minutes Gwalchmai circled the scene of the massacre, then he returned.

“The beast waited for them, hidden at the top of the slope. It reared up and killed the first as he cleared the top. The second, it was Ectas I think, turned to run and he too was slain. The other two ran west. The beast overtook one of them, but the fourth-Agwaine-got clear. The beast has followed him now. But first it… it ate.”

“So,” said Gaelen, “the creature is in the west. Now let’s find Layne.”

Gwalchmai nodded and set off in a loping run, his green eyes fixed to the trail. Gaelen ran just behind him, eyes flickering to the undergrowth around them. Fate was with them and they found the brothers within the hour. They were sitting by a stream. Swiftly Gaelen explained about the slaughter.

“How long ago did this happen?” Layne asked Gwalchmai.

“This morning, while we sat on the beach. I think the beast was following us, but when we cut away down to the waterside it picked up Agwaine’s trail.”

“Do you think Agwaine survived?”

“He certainly survived the first attack, for the beast returned to the bodies. But then it set out after him once more. What kind of creature is it, anyway? I mean, it’s fed. Why hunt Agwaine?”

“I don’t know, but we must help our cousin.”

“We will not help him by dying, brother,” observed Lennox. “Gwal says the beast has gone west. If we follow the wind will be behind us, carrying our scent forward. And we will be walking straight toward it.”

“I know that’s true,” said Layne. “Yet we cannot leave Agwaine.”

“Would you mind a suggestion from a Lowlander?” Gaelen asked.

Layne turned to him. “You’re not a Lowlander, cousin. Speak on.”

“Thank you. But I am not as wise in these things as the rest of you, so my plan may be flawed. But I think we should find a hiding place where we can watch the… food store. Once the beast has returned, unless the wind changes we should then be able to travel west without it picking up the scent. What do you think?”

“I think you are more clan than you realize,” said Layne.

They left the stream at a brisk run and headed for the line of hills less than half a mile distant-Layne leading, Gaelen and Gwalchmai just behind, and Lennox at the rear.

Once on the hillside they settled down on their bellies to watch the trail. From their vantage point they could see clearly all the way to the lake above the falls and beyond, while to the northwest a range of rocky hills cut the skyline. Above them the sky was red as blood as the sun sank to the level of the western mountain peaks.

“I hope it comes back before nightfall,” said Layne.

Luck was with them for, in the last rays of the dying sun, Gwalchmai spotted the beast ambling on all fours along the trail. It moved carefully, hugging the shadows before disappearing into the bushes where the corpses lay.

The companions wormed their way back down the slope, cutting a wide circle around the beast’s lair before picking up its trail and beginning the long process of backtracking it to the west. They ran through the timberline and on toward the rocky hills. The moon had risen before they arrived, but the night sky was clear and Gwalchmai pointed up to the boulder-covered hillside.

“I think Agwaine sought refuge in the caves,” he said, and they climbed the slope, seeking a sign.

“We must bear in mind,” said Layne, “that the beast will come back tonight after it has fed.”

It was Gaelen who found the boy, wedged deep in a narrow cleft in the rocks halfway up the slope. “Agwaine, are you all right?” he called.

“Sweet Gods, I thought it was the beast come back,” said Agwaine. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he gritted his teeth to strangle the sobs he knew were close to the surface. Gaelen reached down as Agwaine climbed closer and he pulled him clear as the others gathered around. Agwaine was unhurt, but his face showed the strain he had endured. His eyes seemed sunken and blue rings stained the sockets.

“It came at us from nowhere,” he said. “It beheaded Cael. Ectas was next; as he turned to run, the beast opened his back with one sweep of its talons. There was nothing to do but run. I was at the back and I turned and sprinted away. Draig was right behind me. I heard his screaming, but it was cut short and I knew I was the only one left. I could hear it chasing me and I ran as never before. It found me here, but it couldn’t reach me.”

“We must get away, cousin,” put in Layne.

“Yes. No! First I must get something. I threw it away as we ran.”

“We can’t go back in those woods,” hissed Gwalchmai.

“We must. It’s not far; I threw it as I saw the slope.”

“What can be that important?” asked Layne. “Even now the beast may be coming.”

“You set off then and I’ll catch up,” said Agwaine.

“Damn you, cousin, you know we cannot do that.”

“Let’s find the cursed thing,” said Gaelen. “I don’t want to spend all night discussing this.”

Agwaine led them back to the woods. Gaelen was furious, but he held himself in check. He knew what Agwaine was seeking. The sword. Agwaine had found the sword.

The woods loomed dark and threatening and the boys drew their knives. Little good would they be, thought Gaelen. He glanced at Gwalchmai. His friend’s face was pinched and ashen in the moonlight. Only Lennox seemed unconcerned.

Agwaine held up his arm and then stopped. The Hunt Lord’s son disappeared into the bushes, returning quickly with a long closely tied package.

“Let’s go,” he said, and led them away down toward the falls. The shifting wind made them take wide detours to avoid their scent being carried to the beast, and dawn found them below Attafoss with the river to the left, a section of woods before them. They were tired, but the fear of the beast was upon them and they hesitated before entering the woods.

Daggers held firm, they walked warily, but as they moved under the overhanging branches a voice jolted them. Gwalchmai dropped his dagger in fright, then scooped it up swiftly.

“Good morning, boys.”

To their right, in a circular clearing, a woman was sitting on a fallen oak. At her feet was a blanket on which was laid a breakfast of black bread and cold meat.

She was dressed in a manner they had never seen before. Upon her shoulders was a mail scarf of closely linked silver rings. Beneath this she wore a fitted breastplate of silver, embossed with a copper hawk, its wings spread wide, disappearing beneath the mail scarf. About her waist was a leather kilt, studded with copper and split into sections for ease of movement. She wore dark leggings and silver greaves over riding boots. Her arms were bare save for a thick bracelet of silver on her right wrist; on her left was a wrist guard of black leather.

And she was old. Thick silver hair swept back from a face lined with wisdom and sorrow. But her eyes were bright, ice-blue, and her bearing straight and unbending.

Gaelen watched her closely, noting the way she looked at them all.

She must have been beautiful when young, he thought. But there was something in her expression he could not pinpoint; it seemed a mixture of wonder and regret.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” she invited.

“Who are you?” asked Agwaine.

The woman smiled. “I am Sigarni-the Queen,” she said.

“We have no queens in the Farlain,” said Layne.

“I am the Queen Beyond,” she said, with a slow smile.

“You are on Farlain land,” Agwaine told her sternly. “No stranger is allowed here. Are you from the Aenir?”

“No, Agwaine. I am a guest of the Lord Taliesen.”

“Can you prove this?”

“I don’t feel the need to. You boys are here on the Hunt. Taliesen asked if he could borrow my sword for it. If you open the package you will find it-a beautiful weapon of metal which one of you will have seen. The hilt is of ebony, and shaped for a warrior to hold with both hands, while the guard is of iron decorated with gold and silver thread. The scabbard is embossed with a hawk, even as on my breastplate. Now open the package and return what is mine.”

“Open it,” said Layne. “If it is true, then the sword must be returned to its rightful owner.”

“No, it is mine,” said Agwaine, flushing. “I won the Hunt and this is my proof.”

“You don’t need proof,” said Gaelen. “We know you won, the sword is only a symbol. Open the package.”

Agwaine drew his dagger and sliced the leather thongs binding the oilskins. As the woman had predicted, the sword was indeed a wondrous weapon. Reluctantly Agwaine handed it over. The woman swiftly buckled the scabbard to her waist. Had there been any doubt as to the ownership, it was laid to rest as she placed it at her side. It was like watching a picture completed, thought Gaelen.

The sword in place, she returned to her seat on the tree. She gestured at the food. “Come. Eat your fill,” she said. “I was expecting eight of you. Where are the others?”

The boys exchanged glances.

“They are dead,” said Gaelen.

“Dead?” asked the Queen, rising to her feet gracefully. “How so?”

Gaelen told of the beast and their flight from the mountains.

“Damn!” she said. “Taliesen came to me in a dream yester-eve. He told me you were lost upon the mountain and that I should seek you here. He said nothing of a beast.”

“He came to me also,” said Gaelen. “And he said nothing of a queen.”

She smiled without humor. “So be it, then. The ways of wizards are a mystery to me and I pray they’ll stay that way. Now, describe this creature.”

All of them started to speak at once, but she waved them to silence and pointed to Agwaine. “You saw it closely. You speak.”

Agwaine did as he was bid, recalling vividly the power of the brute and its awesome size, its speed, and its semihuman appearance.

“You are right to consider running,” said the woman when he had finished. “I have seen the like of the beast before in my own kingdom. More than once. They are terrible-and hard to slay. Although it kills to eat, once it has fixed on a prey it will pursue it damn near forever. This beast has-in a way-been hunting me for forty years.”

“Why you?” whispered Gaelen.

“It was sent a long time ago by a sorcerer named Jakuta Khan. But that is a story for another day, Gaelen.”

“What can we do?” asked Layne.

“You can eat breakfast and put some strength in your limbs. Then we will plan for battle.”

The companions seated themselves at her feet and dug into the loaves and meat. The bread tasted fresh-baked and the beef was tender and pink. They ate without gusto, except for Lennox who tore great chunks of bread and crammed them into his mouth.

The Queen watched him, eyebrows raised. “You were perhaps expecting a famine?”

“Either that or he’s going to cause one,” observed Gwalchmai.

Agwaine said nothing. The appearance of this strange woman had angered him, and he was loath to hand over the great sword-their only real defense against the beast-to a woman.

“How will we fight this beast?” asked Layne.

“How indeed?” she replied, her pale eyes showing sorrow.

“We could make spears,” suggested Gaelen, “by fastening our daggers to poles.”

“Come to that, I could make a bow,” said Gwal. “It wouldn’t be a great weapon, or very accurate. But it might serve at close range.”

“Then do it swiftly,” said the Queen, “and we will talk again.”

The boys rose and spread out nervously into the woods, searching for saplings or stout straight branches. Gaelen and Agwaine selected an infant elm and began to hack at it with their daggers.

“What do you think of her, Lowlander?” Agwaine asked as the sapling snapped.

“I think she is what she says she is,” snapped Gaelen. “And if you call me Lowlander again, you’ll answer for it.”

Agwaine grinned. “I don’t like you, Gaelen, but you are right. Whatever your pedigree, you are now a clansman. But I’ll never call you cousin.”

“I don’t care about that,” Gaelen told him. “You are nothing to me.”

“So be it.”

They stripped the sapling of twigs and leaves and shortened it to a manageable five feet. Then Gaelen unwound the thongs of his right legging and bound his knife to the wood. He hefted it for balance and hurled it at a nearby tree. The spear hammered home with a dull thud. Gaelen tugged it loose and examined the binding; it remained firm.

It seemed a formidable weapon, but he summoned the image of the beast to mind and then the spear seemed puny indeed.

“Were you surprised I found the sword?” Agwaine asked him.

“No, disappointed.”

“That was a good trick with the pack.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t, but it was good anyway.” Gaelen nodded. He waited while Agwaine fashioned his spear, then wandered away; he didn’t enjoy Agwaine’s company and he knew the feeling was reciprocated.

He made his way back to the clearing where the old woman sat. She was deep in thought and Gaelen watched her for some time from the edge of the woods. It was easy to believe she was a queen, for her bearing was proud and confident and she was clearly used to being obeyed. But there was more to her than that: a kind of innate nobility, an inner strength, which shone through.

“Are you going to stand there all day, Gaelen?” she asked without moving her head.

Gaelen stepped forward. “How did you know I was here? And how do you know my name?”

“Let’s leave it at the first question. I heard you. Come and join me for a while, and eat something. To work efficiently the body must be fed.”

“Are you no longer a queen?” asked Gaelen, seating himself cross-legged before her.

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “A queen is always a queen. Only death can change that. But I am, at present, without a realm. Yet I hope to return soon. I promised my people I would-just as my father did before me.”

“Why did you leave your land?” Gaelen asked.

“I was wounded, and likely to die. And so the prophecy was fulfilled and… my captain… sought the Gate and passed me through. Taliesen healed me.”

“How were you wounded?”

“In a battle.” She looked away, her eyes distant.

“Did you win?”

“I always win, Gaelen,” she said sadly. “My friends die and yet I win. Winning is a hard habit to break; we can come to feed on it to the exclusion of all else.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not when you’re young,” she said, smiling again.

“Why have you stayed up here and not in the village?”

“As I told you, I am a guest of the Lord Taliesen. He felt it would be wiser to remain near Vallon. Now, enough of questions. Look around you. Is this a good place to face the beast?”

“Is there a good place?” countered Gaelen.

“There are places you should avoid, like open ground.”

“Is here a good place?”

“Not bad. You have the trees to shield you, and yet there is no dense undergrowth so it cannot creep up on you unnoticed.”

“Except at night,” said Gaelen.

“Indeed. But it will be over, for good or ill, long before then.”

“What about you? You have no spear.”

The Queen smiled. “I have my sword; it has been with me these forty years. I thought it had been left behind when I passed through the Gateway, but Taliesen brought it to me. It is a fine weapon.”

Lennox came into view carrying an enormous club of oak. “I found this,” he said. “It will do for me.”

The Queen laughed loud. “There is nothing subtle about you, Lennox, my lad. Nor ever will be. Indeed it is a fine weapon.”

Gwalchmai had fashioned a short bow and had found six pieces of wood straight enough to slice into shafts for it. “It’s a clumsy thing,” he said, “and the range will be no greater than twenty paces.” Squatting down, he began to shape pieces of bark into flights for his arrows.

By noon they had completed their preparations and they sat waiting for the woman’s instructions. But she said nothing, merely sitting among them slowly chewing the last of the bread. Gaelen caught the Queen’s eye and she smiled, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He turned to Gwalchmai. “You are the lightest of us, Gwal. Why don’t you climb that tree and keep a watch for the creature?”

Gwalchmai nodded. “Wouldn’t the oak be better? It’s more sturdy.”

“The beast might be able to climb,” said Gaelen. “The elm would never support its weight.”

“How will you tackle it when it comes?” asked the Queen, staring at Gaelen.

“We must confuse it,” he said, his mind racing. He had no idea how five boys and an old woman should tackle a creature of such speed and strength, but the Queen asked him a question and seemed to expect a rational reply. “If we spread out, the beast must attack us one at a time. Each time it does, one or all the others must stab at it, turning the creature all ways. Gwal, you will stay in the tree,” he called to the climbing boy. “Shoot when you have a clear target.”

“That is all good thinking,” said the Queen, “but, even so, to confuse the beast you must surprise it. Once it is sighted, and we know which direction it is coming from, you must hide yourselves, forming a rough circle. But one of you must act as bait and stay in plain sight. With luck the beast will charge; I’ve seen that before. Ideally we must make it charge onto a spear. That way its weight will carry the point home far more powerfully than any thrust of yours.”

“I will be the bait,” said Gaelen, surprising himself.

“Why you?” asked Agwaine. “I am the fastest here, and I’ve outrun it before.”

“Speed is not usually required of bait,” Gaelen told him.

Agwaine chuckled and shook his head. “All right. I will stay on your right, Lennox and Layne can take the left. And may God give us luck.”

“Do not ask for luck, ask for courage,” said the Queen.

“How will you fight?” Agwaine asked her.

“With my sword,” she replied softly. “As I always have, against man and beast. Don’t worry about me, boy.”

“Why should you fight for us at all?”

“That is a mystery you will one day understand, but it is not for me to explain to you.”

“It’s coming!” called Gwalchmai from high in the elm. They could all see where he was pointing; the beast was moving from the northwest.

“Take up positions,” said the woman. Lennox and Layne ran to the left, crouching behind a large bush. Agwaine moved to the right, spear held before him, and squatted behind the bole of an oak. High in the elm Gwalchmai strung his bow, hooked his leg around a thick branch, and wedged himself in position, notching an arrow to the string.

The Queen drew her sword and held the blade to her lips. Then she smiled at Gaelen. “This should be something to tell your five children,” she said.

Gaelen did not reply. Some fifty paces ahead the beast had come into view. This close it seemed even more colossal. Seeing Gaelen, the creature reared up to its full height and bellowed a bloodcurdling howl. Then it dropped to all fours and charged.

The boy glanced to his left, seeking assurance from the warrior. But the Queen had gone.

The ground beneath Gaelen’s feet shook as the beast thundered toward him. He gripped his spear and waited, all fear vanishing like mist in a breeze. In that moment a strange euphoria gripped him. All his life he had been alone, afraid, and unhappy. Now he was part of something; he belonged. Even if his life had to end in the next moments nothing could take away the joy he had known in these last few precious months.

He was no longer alone.

He was Clan.

The beast slowed, rearing to its full height with arms spread, fangs gleaming in the morning sun. Gaelen gripped his spear firmly, muscles tensed for the thrust. The beast came on, drawing abreast of the hidden Agwaine. Fear swept over the Hunt Lord’s son, shrouding him in a tidal wave of panic. He wanted to run. To hide.

But he too was Clan.

Rising up from his hiding place as the creature’s shadow fell across him, Agwaine rammed the spear into the beast’s side. A blood-chilling scream filled the clearing. Agwaine vainly tried to pull his weapon clear. A taloned arm swept backhanded, punching the boy from his feet; he hit the ground on his face and rolled to his back. The beast stepped over him, jaws slavering and talons reaching out. Agwaine screamed.

At that moment Layne raced from the left, hurling his spear with all his strength. The weapon flashed through the air to bury itself in the beast’s broad back. It came upright, swinging to meet the new attack. Behind it Agwaine tried to stand, but his legs gave way and he pitched to the earth, nausea filling his throat. Layne, weaponless, stood transfixed as the beast bore down on him. Lennox grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him aside, then stood waiting for the creature, his club raised, his eyes defiant.

Gaelen ran in to attack, screaming at the top of his voice. The beast’s black eyes flickered toward the charging boy and in that moment Lennox struck, stepping forward to thunder the oak club against the creature’s head. It staggered, but blocked Lennox’s next blow with a raised arm. Gaelen’s spear sliced into the flesh above its hip, then broke, pitching the boy to the ground at the monster’s feet.

Now only Lennox remained in the fight. The young giant hit once more, but this time the beast was ready-it parried the blow with its paw and a taloned hand gripped the youth’s upper arm, smashing the bone and ripping the flesh from the shoulder. Lennox staggered back but did not fall. Transferring the club to his right hand, he waited for the beast’s next attack.

An arrow cut deep into the monster’s thigh, causing it to bellow in pain and rage. A second glanced from its thick skull. Lennox crashed his club into the creature’s mouth, but a backhanded blow hurled him from his feet.

Injured though the beast was, none of the wounds were mortal, and the battle had turned. From his precarious position in the tree, Gwalchmai fired a third shaft that buried itself in the ground by the beast’s right foot. Leaning out for the fourth shot, the young archer toppled from the branch, landing on his back.

Running behind the beast, Gaelen grabbed Layne’s spear and plucked it from the creature’s back. As it turned he stabbed at its face, the point slashing a jagged line up and into the sensitive nostrils. To Gaelen’s right Layne gathered up Lennox’s club and tried to help, but the monster turned on him, slashing the boy’s chest. The talons snaked out again. Gaelen leaped backward, tumbling to the earth.

The beast’s jaws opened and another terrifying howl pierced the air.

The boys were finished.

“Ho, Hell spawn!” shouted the Queen. The beast swung ponderously, glittering black eyes picking out the tall, armored figure at the center of the clearing. “Now face me!”

She stood with feet apart, her silver sword before her.

The beast reared to its full height-eight feet of black, merciless destruction. Before its power the woman seemed to Gaelen a frail, tiny figure. The monster moved forward slowly-then charged, dropping to all fours. The Queen sidestepped, her silver sword swung arcing down to rebound from the creature’s skull, slicing its scalp and sending a blood spray into the air. The beast twisted, launching itself in a mighty spring, but the woman leaped to the right, the sword cutting across the creature’s chest to open a shallow wound.

Agwaine crawled to where Gaelen crouched.

“She cannot win,” whispered the Hunt Lord’s son.

“Run, boys!” yelled the Queen.

But they did not. Gaelen scooped up the broken spear, while Layne helped Lennox to his feet and gathered once more the club of oak.

The old woman was breathing hard now. Taliesen had stitched her wounds, but her strength was not what it was. Under the breastplate stitches had parted and blood oozed down her belly. Sweat bathed her face and her mouth was set in a grim line.

Once more the beast reared above her. Once more she hammered the sword in its face. The creature shook its head, blood spraying into the air.

The woman knew she could last but a little longer, while the creature was only maddened by the cuts it had received. A plan formed in her mind and weighed down her heart. It had been her hope to return to her realm and lead it out of the darkness of war. Now there would be no going home. No future. No golden days of peace watching the nation prosper.

In that final moment, as the creature prepared to attack once more, it was as if time slowed. Sigarni could smell the forest, the musky brown earth, the freshness of the breeze. Images leaped to her mind and she saw again the handsome forester, Fell, the first great love of her life. He had died in the battle against the Baron, cut down by the last arrow loosed in that fateful battle. Faces from the past glittered in her memory: Ballistar the dwarf, who had sought a new life in a new world; Asmidir, the black battle captain; Obrin, the renegade Outlander; and Redhawk-above them all, Redhawk.

I will never see you again, she thought, though you promised to be with me at the end. You gave me your word, my love. You promised!

Talons lashed toward her. Ducking beneath them she leaped back, lifting her sword toward the beast. It sprang forward, but this time the Queen did not sidestep. With a savage battle cry she launched herself into its path, driving the blade deep into the creature’s huge chest. The silver steel slid between its ribs, plunging through its lungs and cleaving the heart.

As it screamed in its death throes its great arms encircled the woman. The breastplate buckled under the immense pressure and the Queen’s ribs snapped, jagged bone ripping into her. Then the beast released her and toppled to the earth. The woman staggered back, then fell. She struggled to rise, but agony lanced her.

The boys ran to her side, Gaelen kneeling by her and raising her head to lay it on his lap. Gently he stroked the silver hair from her eyes.

“Give the word to Taliesen,” whispered the Queen, blood staining her lips. She coughed weakly and swallowed. “We did it, lads,” she said. “You did well, as I knew you would.”

Agwaine knelt on her right, taking her hand.

“You saved us; you killed it,” said Gaelen.

“Listen to me, for I am dying now, but remember my words. I shall return to the Farlain. You will be older then. Men. Warriors. You will have suffered much and I will aid you again.”

Agwaine glanced at Gaelen. “What does she mean?”

Gaelen shrugged. The sound of running feet echoed in the clearing as Caswallon, Cambil, and the clansmen raced into view. Caswallon knelt by Gaelen. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. She saved us. She slew the beast.”

“Who is she?” asked Caswallon.

The Queen’s eyes opened. “Ah, it is you,” she whispered, smiling. “Now the circle is complete, for you told me you would be with me at my death. How well you look. How young. How handsome! No… silver in your beard.”

Caswallon gazed down into the bright blue eyes and saw that the woman was fading fast. Her hand lifted toward him and he took it, holding it firm.

“Did I do well, Caswallon? Tell me truly?”

“You did well,” answered Caswallon. “You saved the boys.”

“But my kingdom? Was I… truly the Queen you desired me to be?”

“Yes,” answered Caswallon, nonplussed.

She smiled once more, then a tear formed and slowly fell to her pale cheek. “Poor Caswallon,” she whispered. “You do not know whose hand you hold, but you will.” Tears filled her eyes.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the fingers. “I know you are brave beyond words,” he said, “and I do not doubt you were a queen beyond compare.”

Her eyes closed and a long broken sigh hissed from her throat. Caswallon sat for a moment, still holding on to the hand. Then he laid it gently across the Queen’s chest.

Cambil knelt beside him. “Who was she?” asked the Hunt Lord.

Caswallon stared down at the dead warrior woman. “Whoever she was, I mourn her passing.”

“She was the Queen Beyond,” said Gaelen, “and she always won.”

Then he began to weep.