He watched from the doorway as the old woman and the child made their way across the snow, waving when Evai looked back. Arian saw him there and joined him.
‘It’s going to be very crowded here for a while,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll make my way back home.’
‘There’s another blizzard coming,’ he told her, pointing to the lowering sky. ‘Two or three days and it should be safe for a journey. Come inside and share a goblet of wine. It’s good; ten years old.’
Without waiting for a response he moved back into the hall and wandered to a blazing fire. For a moment Arian stood in the doorway, unsure. But she was lonely; Llaw avoided her company and now Nuada was living with the dark-eyed refugee, Kartia. Removing her sheepskin cloak, she went over to the fire, accepting a silver goblet filled with blood-red wine. She sipped it and sat facing Groundsel.
‘An old woman like that is no guardian for a child. She may not last the winter,’ he said, staring into the dancing flames.
‘You would be a better mother?’
His dark eyes swung on her. ‘Do not mock me, girl,’ he hissed.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean it the way it sounded.’
He shrugged and the anger faded from his gaze. ‘Truth in it, though. I couldn’t raise a child; I wouldn’t know how. But you could.’
‘I’ll have children of my own, when I’m ready.’
‘I don’t doubt it; you’ve the hips for it. But that’s not what I meant. You could stay here… with me. We could raise the child — and some of our own. There is no better catch for you in the forest. I have everything here. And when I am ready I’ll sail for Cithaeron. And, by the gods, I’ll be one of the richest men there!’
Arian took a sip of wine, her mind racing. How could this ugly ape believe that she would marry him? The thought of him touching her made her feel ill. Yes, he was strong — and yes, he would undoubtedly become rich with his thieving and slaying. But a partner for life?
‘I have no love for you,’ she said, at last, bracing herself for his anger. But his response surprised her.
‘Love? You believe it is an arrow from Heaven? It is not. I have seen men and women without love living contented lives. Anyway, love is something that grows through companionship. I do not love you, Arian; I desire you. But that is a beginning. And I know what you see when you look at Groundsel; I am not blind. I am not tall and handsome like Llaw Gyffes, nor a talented wordsmith like Nuada. But I am strong, and I’ll still be here when they are long dead.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I could not marry you. You talk of desire as a beginning. I believe that… and I do not desire you. Your wealth does not interest me, nor a life of riches in Cithaeron. I wish I could say this in a manner less hurtful, but I am not clever with words.’
He nodded, his face showing no emotion. Then he smiled. ‘For most of my life I was denied all that I desired. When I broke away and came here, I decided that never again would I be denied anything. I have asked for your hand — as a man should. But I will have you, Arian, with or without your consent. So take a few days to think over my proposal.’
‘I do not like being threatened,’ she said, eyes blazing. ‘And if you think to take me, think again. I will kill you.’
‘You think you could?’
Suddenly she laughed. ‘Take me to your bed, Groundsel, but be careful never to sleep.’
‘It might still be worth it,’ he told her. ‘You’ll never know,’ she retorted, rising. Sweeping her cloak over her shoulder, she moved back into the daylight. Snow was falling fast as she trudged towards her hut. As she approached it, she saw two sentries pulling open the main gates and watched as they bowed to an old man in faded robes of dyed blue wool. His head was bald, but a long, forked white beard flowed to his chest. The sentries backed away from him and Arian stood transfixed. The stranger seemed to float over the snow, leaving barely a trace of footsteps. He stopped in the centre of the village and sat down in the snow. One of the sentries ran to him, bringing him bread; other villagers came from their homes and clustered round him. Puzzled by the commotion, Arian strolled over and Llaw Gyffes joined her.
‘What is he doing?’ asked Arian, as the old man spread out some thirty black stones on the packed snow before him.
Llaw grinned. ‘You have heard of him, Arian — now is your chance to see. He is the Dagda. Have you the courage to question him?’ She glanced up into his mocking gaze.
‘I’ll follow you,’ she said, but he shook his head.
‘I have no wish to know the future, and I’ve not the skill to question the old man. He knows it all, right up to the moment of every death.’
‘He’ll freeze sitting there,’ she said.
Llaw turned, then tapped Arian’s shoulder, pointing to the hall. Groundsel was walking forward bearing a heavy sheepskin cloak. ‘It’s part of the ritual in any village he stops in — he will wait for the head man to invite him to his quarters. Very few will refuse.’
‘Why? Does he curse them?’ she asked.
‘Worse than that… he tells them the truth.’
The crowd pa’rted for Groundsel, who bowed to the Dagda. The old man gathered his black stones, tipping them into a leather pouch; then he rose and accepted the cloak. The crowd followed as Groundsel led the yay to the warmth of the hall.
‘Would you like to see his skills in action?’ asked |Llaw. Arian nodded.
Inside the hall a space was cleared by one of the | fires and once again the old man squatted down and spread the stones. He looked up at Groundsel, who shook his head. The crowd stirred. Groundsel pointed to Arian, waving her forward. Llaw came with her and they sat before the Dagda.
‘You first,’ said Arian and Llaw cleared his throat. The Dagda gave a thin smile.
‘Pick eight of the stones,’ he said, his voice hissing like a wind through the branches of a dead tree. Llaw looked down at them; they were flat and mostly round, obviously gathered from a stream-bed. Slowly he picked his eight, then the old man turned them over one by one, examining the different runes on each. His pale eyes came up.
‘Ask me of your life, Llaw Gyffes.’
Llaw swallowed. ‘I do not know what to ask, Dagda,’ he muttered, reddening.
‘Then shall I tell you all?’
‘No!’ snapped Llaw. ‘All men die — I have no wish to know the time and the place. Tell me if we will have a good spring, with game aplenty.’
‘The spring will be fine,’ said the Dagda, with another thin smile. ‘It will come early, and the game will be more than plentiful. But you will have little time to hunt, Llaw Gyffes, for your enemies are gathering. And they will be here as the snows melt.’
‘I have no enemies,’ stated Llaw.
‘Your enemies are terrible: men of awesome evil. They fear you, Llaw; they fear your army and they fear your name. They must destroy you, and they will come to you with bright swords and dark magic.’
‘Then I shall leave for Cithaeron. Let them come there.’
‘You will never see Cithaeron, Llaw Gyffes.’
‘Can I defeat these enemies?’
‘All men can suffer defeat. I see two armies. Do you wish to know the outcome?’
‘No. Thank you for your counsel.’
The Dagda smiled and turned to Arian. He turned the stones and spread them under his long, bony fingers. She chose her eight and waited.
‘Ask, Arian, and I shall enlighten you.’
‘Will Llaw win?’ she asked. Llaw cursed and pushed himself to his feet, but before he could retreat out of hearing the old man’s voice sounded.
‘I see him lifeless on the ground before the forest, and a demon stalking the hilclass="underline" a red demon with a dark sword.’