Twisting around, Caswallon saw that the child had reached the poolside. Two beasts were converging on her. Of Taliesen there was no sign. Dropping from the tree, Caswallon notched an arrow and raced down the icy slope. His foot struck a tree root hidden by snow and he was pitched forward. Releasing the bow, he tried to roll over and stop his slide, his hands scrabbling at the snow. Another tree root saved him, his fingers curling around it. Scrambling to his feet he saw the first of the beasts almost upon the helpless child. His bow was some twenty paces up the slope. Drawing his short sword and hunting knife Caswallon ran forward. As the beast reared up, he ducked under a sweeping slash from a taloned paw and stabbed his knife hilt deep into the creature’s belly. A backhanded blow took him high on the shoulder, lifting him from his feet and hurling him through the air. Falling hard, he struck his left shoulder against a tree trunk, paralyzing his arm. The mortally wounded beast staggered and fell, but the third demon reared up and advanced on the clansman.
With an angry curse Caswallon rose, eyes glittering.
“Run, you fool!” shouted Taliesen as the beast loomed before the clansman. Deep in his heart Caswallon knew that he should take that advice. There was so much to live for, so much still to be achieved.
The beast turned away from him-toward the child at the water’s edge. In that moment Caswallon felt relief flood over him. He was safe! I live and she dies, he thought suddenly.
Without further thought he took three running steps and hurled himself at the beast, plunging his sword into its broad back. The creature screamed and spun. The sword was ripped from the clansman’s hand, but remained jutting from the beast’s rainbow flesh. Talons ripped into Caswallon’s shoulder, pain searing through him as he was thrown to the ground.
In that moment a bright light blazed and Caswallon saw the massive, shimmering figure of Ironhand standing over the child, sword held two-handed and raised high. The beast gave a low growl and sprang at the ghost. The dead King stepped forward to meet it, his silver sword slashing through the air in a glittering arc; it passed through the creature seemingly without leaving a wound.
But the demon froze, tottered, and toppled backward to the snow.
Taliesen emerged from his hiding place in the undergrowth and ran to the child. Caswallon’s vision blurred, the spell placed over his eyes fading. He blinked and saw the druid kneeling beside Sigarni. The girl was sitting silently, her eyes wide open and unblinking. Taliesen placed his hands on the child’s head. “Is she hurt?” asked the Ghost King.
Taliesen shook his head. “Her body is safe, her spirit scarred,” he said.
With a groan Caswallon pushed himself to his feet. Blood was flowing freely from the gash to his shoulder. “What will happen to her now?”
“There is one coming who will look after her. His name is Gwalch; he is a mystic,” Taliesen told him.
“I hope this is an end to her adventures with demons,” said Caswallon.
“It is not,” whispered Taliesen. “But the next time she must fight them alone.”
“Not alone,” said the King. “For I shall be here.”
With time against him, Gaelen led the companions over the most hazardous terrain, skirting the Aenir army on the third day of travel. From their hiding place on a wooded hillside, the companions gazed down on the horde moving through the valley.
The size of the enemy force dismayed the clansmen. It seemed to stretch and swell across the valley, filling it. There were few horsemen, the mass of fighting men striding together, bearing round shields painted black and red, and carrying long swords or vicious double-headed axes.
Gaelen was worried. For the last day he had been convinced that the companions were being followed. Agwaine shared his view, though when Gwalchmai and Layne scouted the surrounding woods they found only animal tracks. Onic and Ridan, anxious to push on, accused Gaelen of needless caution.
That night they made late camp on open ground and lit a fire. The moon was hidden by a dark screen of storm cloud and the night covered them like a black fog. Gaelen was glad of the darkness and curled into his blanket. Onic had suggested they head for Carduil, a jagged, unwelcoming series of peaks to the east, and Gaelen had agreed. The companions had moved south at first, hugging the timberline, gradually veering toward the distant mountains. Tomorrow they would head into the rising sun over the most dangerous stretch, wide valleys with little cover. Making a cold camp in a hidden hollow, Gaelen took the first watch. After an hour Layne moved through the darkness to sit beside him.
“Can’t you sleep?” asked Gaelen.
“No, cousin. I wish you had brought Render with you. I feel uneasy.”
“He’s well trained,” said Gaelen, “but he’s still a hound, and his hunting might have alerted the Aenir.”
“It is not the Aenir that concern me,” whispered Layne.
“You are still thinking about the wolves?”
“Aye-and the beast which killed the Queen.” The moon cleared the clouds and Gaelen looked at his friend. Layne’s hair glinted silver in the moonlight.
Gaelen shivered. “You think they might be demons?”
“I hope not,” said Layne. “But if they are-and they continued to follow the child-I fear for Lennox.”
Gaelen put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “If any man can survive against such beasts, Lennox will. I have no fears for him.”
Layne smiled. “He is uncommonly strong.” For a time they sat together in silence, then Layne spoke again. “Did you propose to Deva?”
“Yes. She spurned me.”
“Me too. Some nonsense about birthing kings. I think she’ll grow out of it. Will you continue to court her?”
“No, Layne.”
“I shall. Once we have crushed the Aenir, I shall pursue her with such ardor that she will melt into my arms.” He grinned, looking suddenly boyish again.
Gaelen smiled. “I wish you good fortune, my friend.”
“I think I’ll get some sleep now,” said Layne.
“Layne!” whispered Gaelen as his friend rose.
“What?”
“I never really thanked you for standing up for me on that first day, when Agwaine drew his knife. You made me feel welcome among the Farlain and I’ll not forget it. And if ever you need me, I will be there for you.”
Layne said nothing, but he smiled and then moved back to his blanket. Gaelen kept watch for another two hours, then he woke Ridan.
“You’ve ruined a fine dream,” muttered the clansman, sitting up and yawning.
Gaelen crossed the clearing and lay down. Sleep came instantly, but a faint rustling brought him awake. Was one of the others moving around? He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and listened again.
Silence.
No! There was the sound again, away to the right.
An animal? A bird?
Gaelen curled his hand around the short sword lying next to him, gently easing it from the leather scabbard. He felt foolish, thinking back to the first night he had spent in the open with Caswallon, when the fox had terrified him.
A crunching noise, followed by a bubbling gurgle, brought him to his feet and the clouds above moved away from the moon. A scene of horror met his eyes. Five huge beasts were crouching in the camp. Ridan lay dead, his throat ripped apart, while another body was being dragged toward a screen of bushes.
Gaelen froze.
One beast, red eyes glinting, reared up on its hind legs and ran silently toward him. Gaelen shouted a warning and Onic rolled to his feet, his arm flashing back and then forward. His hunting knife shot across the camp to plunge deep into the beast’s back; it howled then, rending the night silence. Gaelen leaped forward, ramming his sword into the beast’s chest. Talons lashed at him and he jumped back, releasing the blade. Then Gwalchmai ran forward and hurled his knife, which thudded into the creature’s neck.