The Hawk Eternal by David Gemmell

Author:David Gemmell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780345486134
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

The Whorl Dance had begun around a dozen blazing fires, and the eligible maidens of the Farlain chose dancing companions from the waiting ranks of clansmen. There was music from the pipes, harsh and powerful; from the flute, wistful and melodic; and from the harp, enchanting and fey. It was mountain music, and stronger than wine upon the senses of the men and women of the clans.

Deva danced with Layne, the Spear Champion, while Gaelen sat alone, fighting a losing battle against self-pity. His leg ached and he eased it forward under the table, rubbing at the swollen thigh.

Gwalchmai found him there just before midnight. The young archer was dressed in his finest clothes, a cloak of soft brown leather over a green embroidered tunic. “No one should be alone on Whorl Night,” said Gwal, easing in to sit opposite his comrade.

“I was just waiting for a girl with a swollen left leg, then we could hobble away together,” said Gaelen, pouring more mead wine into his goblet.

“I have two legs, but have not found a partner,” said Gwal, helping himself to Gaelen’s wine.

“Come now, Gwal, there must be five hundred maidens here.”

“They are not what I want,” said Gwalchmai sadly. Gaelen glanced at his friend. Gwal’s hair was flame-red in the firelight, his face no longer boyish but lean and handsome.

“So what do you want . . . a princess?”

Gwalchmai shrugged. “That is hard to answer, Gaelen. But I know I shall never wed.”

Gaelen said nothing. He had known for some time, as had Layne and Lennox, that Gwalchmai had no interest in the young maidens of the Farlain. The boys did not understand it, but only Gaelen suspected the truth. In Ateris he had seen many who shared Gwalchmai’s secret longings. “You know what I am, don’t you?” said Gwalchmai, suddenly.

“I know,” Gaelen told him. “You are Gwalchmai, one of the Beast Slayers. You are a clansman, and I am proud to have you for my friend.”

“Then you don’t think . . . ?”

“I have told you what I think, cousin,” said Gaelen, reaching forward to grip Gwalchmai’s shoulder.

“True enough. Thank you, my friend.” Gwalchmai sighed—and changed the subject. “Where is Caswallon?”

“Escorting the Aenir back to Aesgard.”

“I am not sorry to see them go,” said Gwal.

“No. Did you hear about Borak?”

“The runner? What about him?”

“He was found this evening hanging from a tree on the west hill.”

“He killed himself?”

“It seems so,” said Gaelen.

“They’re a strange people, these Aenir. I hope they don’t come back next year.”

“I think they will, but not for the Games,” said Gaelen.

“You’re not another of those war bores?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What could they gain? There are no riches in Druin.”

“War is a prize in itself for the Aenir. They live for it.”

Gwalchmai leaned forward on his elbows, shaking his head. “What a night! First I lose in the archery, then I get maudlin, and now I’m sitting with a man who prophesies war and death.”

Gaelen chuckled. “You were unlucky in the tourney. The wind died as the Aenir took his mark, and it gave him an edge.

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