Leaping Wolf, page 6
part #2 of Caledon Saga Series
Boryn was of a height with Gawan but a little narrower in the shoulders and much greyer in his hair. His beard was trimmed close to his chin but his moustache drooped heavily over his lip as if to compensate. Naturally he was wearing a green cloak over one shoulder which he had fastened with a swirling brooch of yellow gold. Gawan gave him a polite nod of his head. While Boryn had his humorous moments he was generally a very serious man, and he returned the nod with his face grave. He was probably feeling both honoured and awkward at having been invited to this moot and would want to represent their tribe with dignity.
A rumble of conversation began which Owain would soon silence when he called for the moot to begin. Gawan got the feeling that things would go well for the Wildcat today but that a lot of old men would do a lot of talking before they were finished. He took a sip of ale and sank onto a bench. It all had to be done he supposed, and it was right that he should be there as it happened, but that didn’t mean he was in for an interesting time of it. He sat up as straight as he could and put his cup down on the table, and told himself firmly not to let his boredom show.
*
Fearghal was fairly sure that he was dying. His wound had been bleeding intermittently for days and even if that did not kill him, in his weakened state something else almost certainly would. He found himself wondering about what would happen when he crossed over. Ordinarily he would have been confident that Mabonac would guide him safely; that his bridge would be broad, and that Annwn would welcome him as he handed him Hardbiter. He’d served his tribe well after all and had done little enough to displease the god. Now he was not so sure. Besides his many other faults he had abandoned his chieftain to die and had run away from a fight instead of rushing towards it. But you had little choice in that and you did right by coming here, you know that. He grimaced inwardly. The words were a hollow comfort.
The boat hit the stony beach and Fearghal winced as his wound bit at him again. He cursed Aerona’s name for her cowardly attack but reminded himself that cursing wouldn’t bind his flesh together. He tried to focus on the dragonfire in his body’s centre but even that was fading fast. He sighed. It had been blind chance that he had fallen from the pier and been able to crawl to a boat, and even more so that Dyfan had been in it and able to tend to him. He should be grateful to the gods for that blessing and not waste what favour they gave on impotent cursing at his brother’s wife.
Dyfan, a simple but decent Darin who’d been horrified by what he’d seen, had hidden Fearghal from sight and bound his side up as best he could. He’d then gone a step further and sailed him over the Glaswair Sea, landing them both on the Caderyn coast. If Fearghal was to redeem himself to Mabonac and Taran then he had to get word to Kyran, who was presumably at Bryngarth. It was a long damned way and he might well die before he reached him, but the First Man had to be warned that Caserach had murdered Ierryn, and would even now be seizing all of Niswyn in a stranglehold. The Dariniae were strong-willed but they had lost many warriors and headmen, and many would follow Caserach because they saw no other choice. Even Fearghal, if he were honest, could see few other options open to them. But that wasn’t the point. Ierryn had been murdered, and by his own kin no less. He had to be avenged and their people saved from this treacherous bastard.
Dyfan leaped from the boat and began making it fast to something. Fearghal wasn’t paying much attention. What Dyfan lacked in conversation he made up for in the milkwine he made, and Fearghal was hardly able to focus his gaze on anything. He was reasonably sure that enough of that stuff would eventually make him blind, but it also managed to dull the pain in the wound that bitch had given him, and he had the feeling that ‘eventually’ was not a problem he would have to face up to. But that didn’t matter, so long as he reached Kyran. If he could at least set things in motion for vengeance against Caserach then he could say to Mabonac that he had done all that he could. It might not make his bridge that wide but it should be enough that he might cross it in safety. Perhaps.
Fearghal shoved the doubts from his drink-sodden mind and tried hard to focus his thoughts. Mabonac’s fire was dim but it was still there and he tried to kindle it in his centre. It was a long journey to Bryngarth and he would not get there without the Dragon God’s help, and certainly by sitting here and fretting. With what felt like the effort of scaling a mountain he heaved himself to his feet and looked out to see the green grass and rolling hills of Caderyn land. There’ll be a lot of that to cross before I get to Kyran. Mabonac please, just keep me alive until then.
Chapter 4. Preparing for the Dragon God
It had indeed taken a damned long time but Rhianwyn had eventually been confirmed as High Chieftain of the Caderyn. Gawan shook his head at the futility of it. The only ones who might have come close to challenging her were Merwyn and Alraig, and Merwyn had stated from the beginning that he was happy follow her, with Alraig agreeing to the same before the moot had even sat down. All these clan chiefs had trudged all the way to Bryngarth only to trudge all the way back home again, having done nothing but confirm what everyone else already accepted. Madness.
Gawan leaned back against the stone wall of the longhouse and looked out across the green hills to the west. Belenos was sinking but there was still plenty of light left, and the Gorvic had to admit, it was quite a view. Though nothing to the view from White Ridge of course. Beside him Emeryn was sipping contentedly at some sweet mead, her golden hair looking reddish in the evening light.
‘So what did they say about the Caledon?’
Gawan tilted his head a little.
‘Nothing definite. The alliance is to stay together it seems and none objected when she suggested drawing up some common laws, with important issues to be taken before the whole of the Caledon. She will be seen as a figurehead but has sworn not to seek to rule the other tribes and to respect the rights of her fellow High Chieftains. Even Boryn and his fellows were content with it.’
Emeryn wrinkled her nose. It was quite a pretty thing for her to do, not that Gawan would ever tell her that of course. He’d never hear the end of it.
‘I still don’t know about all this. I mean, we’ve been fighting the Caderyn for years, what happens when they remember that? And what happens when the Dariniae start raiding the coast again?’
Gawan shared some of her doubts but thought he might as well tell her the arguments that had been made to him.
‘Hopefully we will all remember how much stronger we are when we fight together, and besides, some good may yet come of this. It would make it harder for criminals to flee from punishment, for one. If Rhianwyn has her way we shall have one set of laws and a man caught anywhere in Caledon territory will face the same justice as if he were at home.’
Though she was also in favour of putting these things, among others, in writing the way the Gaians did, which Gawan did not like. If they needed to wave about a piece of paper to show that something had been agreed, Gaians either had bloody short memories or else their spoken words could not be trusted. It might be their way, and peace and trade with them might be nice ideas, but the Wildcat mustn’t forget that our way is most important.
Emeryn nodded half-heartedly.
‘I suppose it makes sense. But if the Caderyn think they can tell us what to do in our own land then they have another thing coming.’
Gawan almost smirked. Emeryn might look fair but she had a fierceness to her that a man was foolish to underestimate. She’d fought Caderyn, Dariniae and Gaian alike in her time and had been a credit to her clan in every battle.
‘That I don’t deny, but Rhianwyn’s not fool enough to risk warring with us again, not with the Gaians still bitter about defeat.’
Rhianwyn could call the Blackbirds friends all she wanted, Gawan knew fighting men and he knew they would be feeling resentful that an army of barbarians had defeated Gaian legions, rebel-led or otherwise. Emeryn shifted slightly to look at him more directly. It gave Gawan a generous view down her tunic and he suspected that was part of her reason for doing it.
‘Did she say that she would make the Blackbirds leave?’
Gawan nodded, bringing his eyes back up to meet hers. There was a hint of satisfaction mixed in with the curiosity on her face.
‘In a way. They are permitted to remain here another moon’s turn while they hunt down more missing Panthers. After that no Gaian legion may cross Caledon lands again.’
Emeryn looked approving and Gawan didn’t blame her. It had been a popular decision, and even Gawan hadn’t minded its being written down. Rhianwyn had already had the Blackbird general put his mark on it and she insisted it would bind him to the words of it. Just how bound he’d be might remain to be seen but it was a good idea at least. Emeryn took another sip of her mead.
‘I’ll be glad to see the backs of those bastards. If nothing else we’d bleed hard if we wound up having to fight them.’
Gawan was reminded of yet another reason why he was so fond of his lover. She was no fool, yet still she had absolute faith that if it came to another battle her people would be victorious. So many Lurian spirits had been crushed by defeats, and while Second Nantwyn had done much to restore their courage, they still had a long way to go. In all honesty even Gawan wasn’t quite so confident as Emeryn was, given how battered the Dragon Legion now was. Not that the prospect of losing would stop him from trying if it came to it. His tribe had been servants of the Gaians in all but name, and the shame of that still made him want to punch every Gaian he saw. He took a slow breath. But we are at peace with them now. We are at peace with everyone. Once again Gawan wondered what a Gadarim would do in such a time but was spared from having to dwell on it by Emeryn’s next question.
‘Did she say if she’d be marrying again?’
Gawan shook his head.
‘I doubt it.’
Emeryn frowned.
‘You would think she’d want a father for her boy.’
Gawan tilted his head a fraction but said nothing. He didn’t like thinking about fatherhood. Emeryn continued, half to him and half to herself.
‘She’s still young, and she’d be wise to bear more children.’ She nudged him with her elbow. ‘A strong Gorvic in her bed would do her all sorts of good.’
Gawan wasn’t well-known for his humour but Emeryn was good at bringing it out in him.
‘Well I’m afraid I am spoken for, but I can ask some of the boys?’
Emeryn gave his arm a playful slap. If she’d noticed the hint about his intentions, or possible intentions anyway, she didn’t mention it.
‘I was thinking of Karadoc or Taliesyn. It would show that she takes us seriously.’ She slapped his arm again. ‘And don’t go thinking that I’d have you anyway! Gwydion’s closer to my age and I can tell he likes what he sees.’
Gawan knew she was teasing and merely shrugged again.
‘He’s not quite the fool he seems, I suppose.’
Emeryn sat up straighter and shoved him a little.
‘For a man so besotted with me you show an annoying lack of jealousy!’
She pouted prettily. For a grown woman she could pout remarkably well and but for her eyes she might have passed for a flirting maiden. But Gawan could see all too clearly that she was mocking him, and herself, by her act. He knew the best thing to do now would simply be to take her in his arms and kiss her but the sound of movement nearby made him hesitate. He turned on the spot to see Gwydion and Tarwyn making their way towards him, both of their faces serious. Gawan resisted the urge to frown. He might be annoyed at their timing but the duty they had tonight was important. Emeryn was clearly annoyed as well but simply gave his hand a quick squeeze.
‘Taran go with you.’
Gawan nodded his thanks as he heaved himself up. His two comrades stopped a few feet away and Tarwyn didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
‘Are you ready?’
Gawan nodded again.
‘Always. Where is it to be done?’
This time it was Gwydion who spoke.
‘They have gathered at the bottom of the slope, near to the treeline. Kyran is already on his way there.’
Gawan had taken off his belt to sit down and left Heartreaver leaning against the wall. Emeryn passed it up to him and Gawan took it without a word. The leather around the scabbard was soft and worn, and the weight of the iron weapon was comfortingly familiar. He let out a slow breath as he fastened his belt and shifted the sword into place on his hip. You and I have work tonight my old friend. Taran and Mabonac guide us both.
*
The sun was all but gone as the Gadarim gathered at the base of the hill. From the east the sky above was growing steadily blacker and Gawan even saw a star or two appearing in the north. Mabonac’s rituals were always performed at night, since one of the many legends about him told that he and Belenos had been rivals in the distant past. They had fought a great battle over who could truly be called the Master of Fire, and the world had suffered terribly as a by-product; having to live without fire’s warmth as both gods used all their strength to fight each other. They had eventually made peace for the sake of mankind’s survival but even after this, Mabonac had resented walking the earth beneath Belenos’ light. A quarrelsome fellow; Mabonac. But then what else would befit a god of war?
Gawan looked about him. Standing in the shadow of the darkening woods was the largest gathering of Gadarim he had ever seen. It was not unheard of for Gadarim of different tribes to attend one another’s rituals but it was a pretty rare occurrence, and tended to involve only one or two visitors at most. Tonight Gadarim from three whole tribes had come together, with the First Men of the Dariniae, the Caderyn and the Gorvicae all present. Such a thing must not have happened for generations.
A fire had been lit in an iron brazier carried down from the town, and the orange light made the battle-marks on the warriors’ skin seen almost black. They were talking quietly amongst themselves for the moment but they would all fall into silence when the testing of Rhianwyn began. Gawan found himself thinking back to his own first ritual, more than twenty long winters ago yet still as fresh in his mind as though it were only yesterday. Like Rhianwyn he had first been named to the Gadarim by his merit and courage alone, when at only sixteen he had saved his chief’s life from a wolf that might have torn the old man apart. It had already killed one of the headman’s dogs and even now Gawan could still see the hunger in the grey beast’s eyes. Young fool that he was he had leaped upon the beast and crushed its skull with his axe, too brave or too stupid to know how dangerous wolves could be. Their First Man, Hedrin, had named him the Leaping Wolf right there and then.
He looked down at the blackish-blue spirals on his left arm, the first battle-marks that had been made permanent on him. Even now he sometimes wondered if perhaps he’d been named as one of Mabonac’s sons too early. He’d fought in battles before he’d killed the wolf and he’d gained a fearsome reputation since but all the same, to be named a Gadarim so young was a rare thing indeed, and for all his testing he had never been quite sure. But then perhaps old Hedrin always intended it that way? Perhaps he saw potential in me and knew that giving me my name would make me work that much harder to earn it? He almost smiled. It was the sort of thing the sneaky old sod would have done.
Of course he’d still had to face the trials just as Rhianwyn would have to tonight. He could still remember the days leading up to them, listening to every word that Hedrin and Ioan had said as they tried to prepare him. They could not tell him the details of the tests themselves of course, but their teachings on calming his mind and the blessings of the War Gods had been vital. Owain will have done the same for the Wildcat these last few days, teaching her our ways and our legends. He’d best have done it well.
Gawan took a breath of the evening air and caught the distant smell of the trees over the woodsmoke. He thought back to when he’d first walked into a circle of Gadarim, waiting to be tested before both them and his people’s gods. He’d been so afraid on the walk towards them, unarmed and naked but for his painted marks, more afraid of what was to come than he could ever recall fearing an enemy. All his life he’d been a fighter and the tremor of combat was a fear he could easily conquer, but this… this had been something else entirely. To be Gadarim meant more than simply battling your way through people. It was to be a part of a brotherhood that went beyond everything, even a man’s tribe, and simply being a bold scrapper was not enough to be counted as one of them.
But old Hedrin taught me well, or else Mabonac had plans for me. Or both. Though his heart had hammered like a maddened smith as he’d approached the ring of men, the moment he’d found himself among them he’d felt the Dragon God’s fire in his belly. Mabonac had entered his spirit, and though Gawan had felt the eyes of gods and warriors watching him, his fear had been calmed by his focus. Looking back now he could remember how the tests had gone but at the time there had been no conscious thought at all, only instinct. He half-smiled, half-grimaced. And pain! Even through his focus the Test of Strength had been brutal, and the next morning he’d been struggling to walk. Though even that was nothing to the dreadful pain of the Test of Will. He looked down at the old scars on his hand and remembered the horrid, searing feeling of hot iron on his flesh. But then the pain of the tests had been good in its own strange way; it had been earned, and Gawan would not have wished away a single bruise.
He let out a sigh and hoped again that Owain had prepared their new sister well. If she failed it would reflect poorly on him, and it would be a bad omen for her tribe and for the whole Caledon as well. A few of the other warriors seemed anxious as they waited, though all of them were trying hard to conceal it. Gwydion and Tarwyn were chatting quietly enough but the set of their shoulders betrayed the tension they clearly felt. Hewin and Pryder were both shuffling their feet and more than one of the Caderyn men was pacing. Nearby stood a pair of female Dariniae that Gawan didn’t know, but he suspected that behind their blank expressions they were silently praying to the War Gods. Women were rare among the Gadarim simply because young warriors were so rarely accepted and then later on, once they had children, women’s priorities would naturally change. But all too many people assumed that females were so rarely accepted because they were weak, and for all that they might be of a different tribe, Gawan was sure the two Dariniae would be wishing Rhianwyn all the best. They would be glad of another woman wearing Mabonac’s marks, another living example of the strength of their sex.
