“But your daughter lives: The babe sleeps in a cabin close by. And the hunters will come for her, the demons will stalk her.”
“What can I do, Taliesen? I am a spirit now.”
“You can do nothing against men of flesh, Ironhand. But I have planted a seed in the child’s mind. When the demons materialize she will flee here. The creatures, though flesh, are also summoned through spirit spells. You can fight them.”
“When you need me, call upon me,” said the Ghost King. The archway shimmered and vanished, and Caswallon once more felt the night breeze upon his skin.
“She is Ironhand’s daughter? Sweet Heaven!”
“Aye,” whispered Taliesen, “she is of the blood most royal. Now let us return to the fire. There is a spell I must cast before I leave you.” The druid banked up the fire, and once more began to chant. Caswallon sat silently until he had finished, then Taliesen took a deep breath. “There is a man I must see. He is a dreamer and a drunkard, but we will need him before long. Stay here, and do not for any reason venture from the fire.” He smiled. “I think what you are about to see will keep you well entertained until I return.”
Rising, he ambled away along the line of the pool. Caswallon leaned back against the rock face. Suddenly the moon sped across the sky, the sun flashing up to bathe the pool in brilliant light. Then as suddenly as it had come the sun fell away, and the moon reappeared. Astonished, Caswallon gazed around the pool. There was no sound now, but night and day appeared and disappeared in seconds. Beyond the firelight the grass grew long, withered and dried, died and was replaced. Trees sprouted branches before his eyes. Leaves opened, glistened, withered, and fell. Within the space of a moment snow appeared beyond the fire, thick and deep. Then it was gone, instantly replaced by the flowers of spring.
He watched the seasons pass by in heartbeats, in blazes of color and streams of light.
When the snow had appeared for the sixth time, the rushing of time began to slow. The moon reared up and stopped in mid-heaven.
The cold of winter now whispered past Taliesen’s spell and Caswallon shivered. Movement to his right caught his eye and he saw Taliesen trudging through the snow toward him. The old man was carrying a short hunting bow and a quiver of arrows. “How did you make the seasons move so fast?” asked Caswallon.
“Not even I can do that,” answered Taliesen wearily. “You are sitting beside a Gateway. I merely activated it. It flickered you through the years.”
“It is a memory I shall long treasure,” said the clansman.
“Sadly, we have no time to dwell upon it,” Taliesen told him, “for the evil is almost upon us.” He squatted down by the fire, holding out his long, thin fingers to the flames. “I am so cold,” he said, “and tired.” He handed Caswallon the bow and arrows.
“What are we facing?” asked the clansman, stringing the bow and testing the pull. It was a sturdy weapon.
“Men would call them demons, and so they are, but they are also flesh and blood from another dimension… another land, if you will. They are huge beasts, Caswallon, some reaching eight feet tall. In build they are much like great bears, but they move with greater speed, and are upright, like men. Their fingers are taloned, each talon the length of your hunting knife. They have fangs also, and short, curved tusks. They do not use the tusks in combat; these are for ripping flesh from the leather-skinned beasts they have hunted in their own world.”
“Should we not make our way to Cei’s cabin? He cannot face them alone.”
Taliesen shook his head. “Cei’s life is over, boy. It was over the moment he agreed to take the babe. The beasts will materialize there.”
“What?”
“They will be conjured there,” snapped Taliesen. “Jakuta Khan is a spellmaster; he has located Sigarni and will cause the beasts to appear inside the cabin. I have observed him, Caswallon. He has used these beasts before; he makes them invisible to the human eye. The first moment the victim knows of their existence is when the talons rip out his heart. Trust me, we do not want to be inside the cabin when that happens.”
“How then do we save the babe?”
“She is no longer a babe. You have seen the seasons fly by and she is six now. And she will make her way here. I planted a seed in her mind, and that of her mother. As soon as the terror manifests itself, both will act instinctively. The child will run here.”
Caswallon rose and tied the quiver to his belt. “And how am I to fight these invisible beasts?” he asked softly.
“As best you can, clansman. Come, kneel by me, and I will give you all that I can.”
Dropping to one knee, Caswallon looked into the old man’s eyes. The druid was more than tired. His eyes were dull and purple-ringed, his skin dry. Lifting his hand, Taliesen covered Caswallon’s eyes and began to chant. Heat emanated from his fingers, lancing into Caswallon’s brain like an arrow of fire. The clansman groaned but Taliesen’s voice whispered to him: “Hold on, boy, it will not last much longer.”
The hand fell away and Caswallon opened his eyes. “What have you done?” he whispered. The trees by the pool had changed now, becoming sharp and unreal, like a charcoal sketch upon virgin paper. Taliesen’s features could no longer be seen; he was merely a glowing form of many colors, red in the belly and eyes, purple over the heart, the rest a shifting mix of orange, yellow, and white.
“Now you will see them, Caswallon,” said the shimmering druid. “They will come from the south, hard on the heels of the child. Best you find a place to smite them.”
“How many will come?”
“I would guess at two. It needs a mighty spell to summon just one. Jakuta Khan will expect little resistance from a crofter. But there might be more; he is young and arrogant in his strength.”
Caswallon moved out onto the frozen pool and headed south, moving high into the tree line. An old oak stood beside the trail, its two main branches-some ten feet high-spreading out like the arms of a supplicant. Caswallon climbed to the right-hand branch and sat with his back to the tree bole.
His thoughts were many as he waited for the beasts. He had never lacked physical courage-in fact, he had often courted danger merely for the thrill of it. But now? The Farlain were under threat, and his wife and child were in peril in another world. No longer able to afford the luxury of danger, he felt fear rise within him. What if he died here? What would become of the Farlain, or Maeg, and Donal? His mouth was dry. His thoughts swung to the child, Sigarni: an innocent hunted by demons. Yet what was her life when set against his entire clan?
“I will fight, but I cannot die for you,” he said softly. “I cannot risk that.
His decision made, he relaxed. Looking down at the glimmering colors that were his hands, he realized that the fingers had become difficult to see, and they were cold. He rubbed his palms together and looked again. For a few heartbeats they shone with a dull red light, then faded once more. Tugging his fleece-lined gloves from his belt, he pulled them on. Ice formed in his beard as he waited in the tree. Glancing back, he saw the shimmering colors he recognized as Taliesen moving across the ice. The old man must be frozen, he thought. The cloak of feathers would do little to keep out the bitter cold.
A bestial scream tore through the silence of the night. Caswallon removed his gloves and notched an arrow to the bowstring. For some moments there was no movement, then a small figure ran into sight, the colors glowing around her bright and rich. The figure stumbled and rolled in the snow.
Pulling his gaze from her, Caswallon looked back up the trail. Something huge loomed over the hillside, then another. To his left was a third, moving through the trees. Caswallon cursed, gauging the beasts to be around eight feet tall. The first of the creatures lumbered down the slope. Its colors were strong, mostly purple, orange, and red; the purple area spread from the neck to the belly in two vertical circles joined by a red ridge. Caswallon drew back on the bowstring until it touched his right cheek, then he let fly. The arrow hammered home in the upper circle of purple and instantly the color changed, flowing from the wound as golden light. Caswallon loosed a second shaft that punched through the lower circle. The creature gave a terrifying shriek, tottered to the left, and fell heavily.