“You are fine the way you are,” she said, feeling guilty and a little ashamed. “I’m sorry. I should not have teased you.”
“You could have picked a better time,” he said, smiling.
“Yes. Do you think the clan will be at Attafoss?”
“I hope so.”
“You are a fine man, Gaelen. Truly fine.”
“I am glad that you think so. Will you wed Layne?”
“No,” she told him softly. “When I was born an old tinker woman made a prediction for me. She said I would be the mother of kings.”
“What does that mean? There are no kings.”
“Not here in the Highlands,” she said, “but there are tales of faraway lands where kings and princes rule. One day a man will come-and I will wed him.”
“I don’t begin to understand,” he said. “What is so important about wedding a king? Or being the mother of one, for that matter? What about love, Deva? Happiness?”
“How could you understand?” she said. “You were an orphan and a thief. It wasn’t your fault. But I shall live in a palace, and my name will be known throughout the world. Perhaps forever.”
He stood silently for a moment. “I would marry you,” he said, “and spend my life making you happy. It is a dream I have had since first I saw you. But I cannot give you a palace, Deva.”
She looked up at him and, for a single heartbeat, felt like taking him in her arms and turning her back on the dream she had nurtured. But the dream was too strong and Deva shook her head. “I know that I love you, Gaelen. Truly. But you must find another,” she said softly, surprised that the words left her feeling empty and more than a little frightened.
Taking her hand he kissed it. “I’ll not ask again,” he told her. “I wish you well in your quest, Deva. I hope your king comes for you.”
Caswallon pushed his people hard throughout the days following the invasion. He sent a screen of warriors to the northeast and west, led by Badraig and Onic. Then he chose five hundred men and held them back to form a rear guard against any force the Aenir should send against them. He was desperate for news of Laric and Maggrig. Had the Pallides survived as a clan, or were they sundered throughout the mountains, leaderless? He needed to know. He called for volunteers from among the single men, skilled hunters and trackers, to journey back to the southeast and gather information. Among those who came forward were Layne, Gwalchmai, and Agwaine. Caswallon chose five men, Agwaine among them.
He took them aside, briefing each one, until at last only Agwaine was left. Caswallon placed both hands on the young man’s shoulders. “I am truly sorry about what happened to your father,” he said. “He was a fine man, a man of honor and great nobility.”
“He was a fool, Caswallon. But I loved him well. Better than he knew.”
“I doubt that. You meant everything to him. When we tracked you, as you fought the beast, he told me he would leave the Farlain if you did not survive. You were his joy. And as to his being a fool, I want you to think on this: He was made to look foolish by the brutal stupidity of the Aenir. Cambil was right in his philosophy, Agwaine. Sensible men will go to great lengths to avoid the vileness of war. Yet it is also a tragic truth that when war is inevitable, there is no place for sensible men. Intelligence can be a double-edged weapon. One of the blessings of a fine mind is that it allows a man to see both sides of a problem, therefore preventing him from acting in a blind or blinkered way. Your father was such a man. He believed that the Aenir would also see the wisdom of his view. That they did not is not a reflection on him, but a judgment upon them.”
Agwaine shook his head. “I would like to believe all that. But you are an intelligent man-and the Aenir did not fool you, did they?”
“No,” answered Caswallon slowly, “but then I did not have thousands of lives resting on my deeds, coloring my thoughts, feeding my hopes. Cambil knew that war would mean colossal loss of life. It does make a difference, Agwaine.”
“Thank you, cousin, for your words. As you advise, I will think on them. Now what do you want me to do?”
“Find Maggrig and gather as many of the Pallides as you can. Then make for the eastern shore of the lake above Attafoss. There we will plan the destruction of the enemy.”
“Do you believe we can win?”
“Be certain of it, Agwaine of the Farlain.”
Agwaine grinned. “It would be nice to be certain.”
Caswallon took the young man by the arm and led him away from the column. They sat down on the hillside, the stars gleaming above them like gems on a velvet cloak.
“Your father and I grew up together, you know that. You also know we were never friends,” said Caswallon softly, meeting Agwaine’s glance and noting, with sadness, the man’s resemblance to Cambil. “He did not like me, but I don’t blame him for that. I never did. He saw in me everything that could destroy the clan: selfishness; disregard for the customs that bound us together. I see that clearly now, and I wish he was here so that I could tell him. Instead, I tell his son.
“The clan thrives because we care for one another. Being Clan is as much a state of mind as a racial fact. Without it we are no different from the Aenir. Cambil understood this. Caring makes us strong, gives us courage.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Agwaine.
“Have you noticed,” countered Caswallon, “how nature gives and takes? The weakest dog in the litter is always the most cunning, the short man often more competitive, the ugly woman given the disposition of an angel. So it is with character. You saw it at the Games. Borak was faster than you, stronger. He even had an accomplice in the woods to ensure victory. And yet he lost, as his kind will always lose. For courage is born of caring. Evil has no depth of character to call on. You want certainty, Agwaine? I give it to you. They cannot conquer the clan.”
Agwaine bowed his head. “At this moment,” he said, “we are in flight. They outnumber us and they have killed thousands.”
“Yes, and many more clansmen will die,” said Caswallon, “but we shall not lose. Do not think of their numbers. It means nothing if the terrain is right. Think of your father, and his few hundred men. Aye, and women. Think of how the Aenir broke upon that sword ring. I would wager three Aenir died for every clansman. Think on it. For the Aenir will.
“Deep in their hearts they know the truth. Let you know it too. We are the Farlain, and though we may be ill-suited to it, we carry the torch of light in this war. And the Aenir darkness will not extinguish it.”
Agwaine chuckled suddenly, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “Caswallon, you’ve only been with the Council for a few months and already you’re spouting rhetoric.”
“I know, and it surprises me. But what is more surprising, perhaps, is that I believe it. With all my soul.”
“You believe the force of good will always defeat the force of evil?”
“I do-ultimately.”
“Why?”
“I can’t argue it, for it springs from the heart and not the mind. Why did the Queen come when you needed her?”
“Chance?”
“From where did you get the strength to beat the faster man?”
“I don’t know. But why did the Lowlanders fall? They were not evil.”
“I don’t say that darkness does not have small triumphs. But we are not Lowlanders, we are the Farlain.”
“Now that I will agree on,” said Agwaine. “And now I’d better be heading for Maggrig.”
“Are you more certain?”
“I don’t know, but I feel the better for talking.”
“Then that must be enough,” said Caswallon, rising.
“Take care, Caswallon-and look out for Deva. She should be clear of them. She was visiting Lars with her friend Larain.”
“I will send out scouts.”
The clan had made camp on the northern slope of a group of hills, where their campfires could not be seen from the south. As night stole over the countryside Caswallon ordered the fires doused, lest the glow be seen against the sky. He sought out Taliesen and together they walked to the hilltop, the old druid leaning heavily on his oak staff. He wore his birds’-feather cloak over a white robe. Caswallon thought him dangerously tired.