The group moved through Atta forest, past the swelling Aenir corpses and on into the first valley. They moved warily, knowing the Aenir could be close. Only in the high passes, where the woods were thick and welcoming and they trusted their skills above those of the enemy, did they relax.
Toward dusk Lennox scouted out a hollow where they made camp. It was set within a pine woods and circled by boulders and thick bushes. There was a stream nearby and Gaelen lit a small fire. It was a good campsite and the fire could not be seen outside the ring of trees. Lennox, as always, was hungry, having devoured his three-day rations by noon. The others mocked him as he sat brooding by the fire watching them eat.
Lennox had grown even larger in the last year, his shoulders and arms heavy with muscle, and he now sported a dark beard close-cropped to his chin. Coupled with the brown goatskin jerkin, it created the appearance of a large, amiable bear.
“We are comrades,” he pleaded. “We should share a little.”
“I saw some berries on a bush back there,” said Gwalchmai. “I am sure they will prove very tasty.” He bit into a chunk of oatcake, and swung to Agwaine. “I think the honey in these cakes is better this year, don’t you, Agwaine? Thicker. It makes the cakes so succulent.”
“Decidedly so. It gives them extra flavor.”
“You’re a bunch of swine,” said Lennox, pushing himself to his feet.
Laughter followed him as he walked into the darkness in search of berries. The woods were quiet, moon shadows dappling the silver grass. Lennox found the bush and plucked a handful of berries. They served only to heighten his hunger, and he toyed once more with the idea of appealing to his comrades. His stomach rumbled and he cursed softly.
A movement to his right made him turn, dropping into a half crouch with arms spread. He saw a flash of white cloth disappear beneath a bush, and a tiny leg hastily withdrawn.
Lennox ate some more berries and then ambled toward the bush, as if to walk past. As he came abreast of it he lunged down, pulling the child clear. Her mouth opened and her face showed her terror, but no sound came out. Lennox took her in his arms, whispering gentle words and stroking her hair. She clung to the goatskin tunic with her tiny hands clenched tight, the knuckles white as polished ivory.
“There, there, little dove. You’re safe. I didn’t mean to frighten you. There, there. Don’t worry about Lennox. He’s big, but he’s not bad. He won’t hurt you, little dove. You’re safe.” All the while he stroked her head. She burrowed her face into his jerkin, saying nothing.
Lennox made his way back to the camp. Instantly his companions gathered around, plying him with questions. He shushed them to silence. “She’s terrified,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “She must have lost her parents in the woods.” Looking at his comrades, he silently mouthed the words “Probably killed by the Aenir.”
Gwalchmai, always a favorite with children, tried to get the girl to speak, but she pushed her face deeper into Lennox’s jerkin.
“I have never seen a child so frightened,” said Agwaine.
“Where are you from?” whispered Lennox, kissing her head. “Tell your uncle Lennox.” But the child remained silent.
“I don’t recognize the girl,” he said. “Do you, Gwal?”
“No. She could be Pallides, or Haesten, or even Farlain. Or even a crofter’s daughter from the Outlands.”
“Well, we can’t take her with us,” said Ridan. “One of us must take her back to Vallon.”
“I’ll do it in the morning,” Lennox agreed.
The fire burned low and the companions took to their blankets, ready for an early rise. Lennox sat with his back to a boulder, cuddling the child who had fallen into a deep sleep. He felt good sitting there. Children had never been easy around him-Layne said his great size frightened them-but whatever the reason, it had always hurt Lennox, who loved the young.
In sleep the child’s face relaxed, but her left hand still clutched his tunic. He pushed her yellow hair back from her eyes, gazing down into her face. She was a pretty little thing, like a doll stuffed with straw. As the night grew chill Lennox wrapped his blanket around her.
A strange thought struck him.
This was probably the most important moment of his life.
He was not normally a man given to abstract thoughts, but he couldn’t help thinking about the child. Here she was, tiny and helpless and full of fear. She had been suffering the worst days of her young life. And now she slept safe in the arms of a powerful man, content that he would look after her. With no more action than a gentle embrace Lennox had ended her terror. What in life, he wondered, could be more important to her?
If her parents were still alive and making for Vallon they must be sick with worry, he thought. But what if-as was likely-they were dead?
Lennox chewed the problem over for a while. He would take her to Maerie; she was a fine lass with only one child, who would take the girl in and love her into the bargain.
The girl’s eyes opened, she blinked and yawned. Lennox felt her move and glanced down, stroking her hair. Her eyes were brown and he smiled at her.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“You’re not my papa.”
“No, little dove. I’m your uncle Lennox.”
“My papa’s gone. Wolfs et him up,” she said, tears glistening. She blinked. “Et up Jarka too.”
“Wolves?” asked Lennox.
“Big wolfs. Big as you. Et him up.”
“You’ve been dreaming, little one. There’s no wolves, and certainly none as big as me.”
“Lots of wolfs,” she persisted. “They chased me, to eat me up.”
“Uncle Lennox won’t let them. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Did you know my papa?”
“No. Was he nice?”
“He played games.”
“He sounds like a good man. Where is your mama?”
“Men with swords took her away. She was all bleeding.”
“Well, it’s over now. You’re with your uncle Lennox, and he’s the strongest man in all the world. Nothing will harm you.”
“Are you stronger than the wolfs?” she asked.
“Aye, lass. And I swear upon my soul no harm will come to you while you’re with me. You believe me?” She smiled, closed her eyes, and put her thumb in her mouth.
In the bushes beyond the firelight, bloodred eyes watched for the flames to die down.
Taliesen took Caswallon deep underground to a small chamber set with walls of shining silver and gold. Soft light filled the room, but Caswallon could not see the source. The druid beckoned him to a tall chair of white leather, then sat upon an oak-topped table.
“This is my inner sanctum,” he told the warrior. “Here I observe the Farlain and I keep my notes-notes no one will read in my lifetime.” He gestured to the shelves, but there were no books there, only small silver cylinders neatly stacked from floor to ceiling. The far wall was covered with sheets of paper, upon which were curious drawings and symbols.
Caswallon studied them. “What do these represent?” he asked. Taliesen joined him. “They are Time Lines, and chart my attempts to aid Sigarni.”
Caswallon ran his eyes over the symbols. “And the stars?”
“Each time Sigarni dies I mark the spot and pursue a new Time Line-a different reality. It is very complex, Caswallon. Do not seek to stretch your mind around it.”
“When must I seek the Queen?”
“As soon as you are ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“Then observe,” said the druid. Turning, he walked to the wall by the door and opened a hidden panel. The desktop slid back and a screen rose silently from it. Lights blazed from the screen, forming the image of a walled city.
“That is Citadel town, where the Queen currently resides-currently being a relative term,” added the druid with a dry chuckle.
“How is this done?” whispered Caswallon.