The Hawk Eternal Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the thin north-facing window. In the yard beyond, stripped to the waist, Caswallon was preparing the winter fuel. An hour a day through spring and summer and the logs would be stacked against the side of the house three paces deep, thirty paces long and the height of a tall man. In this way the wood performed a double service, keeping the fire fed and the north wind away from the wall, insulating their home against the ferocity of the winter.
     
    Caswallon's long hair was swept back from his face and tied at the nape of the neck in a short pony-tail. The muscles of his arms and shoulders stretched and swelled with each smooth stroke of the axe. Maeg grinned as she watched him, and rested her elbows on the sill. Caswallon was a natural showman, imbuing even such a simple task as chopping wood with a sense of living poetry. His movements were smooth and yet, every now and then, as he swung the axe, he twisted the handle flashing the blade in a complete turn before allowing it to hammer home in the log set on an oak round. It was almost theatrical and well worth the watching. It was the same with everything he did, Maeg knew; it wasn't that he needed to impress an audience, he was merely creative and easily bored, and amused himself by adding intricacy and often beauty to the most mundane of chores.
     
    'You will win no prizes at the Games with such pretty strokes,' she called as the last log split.
     
    He grinned at her. 'So this is why my breakfast's late, is it? You're
     
    too busy gawking and admiring my fine style? It was a sad day, woman, when you bewitched me away from the fine Farlain ladies.'
     
    'The truth of it is, Caswallon, my lad, that only a foreign woman would take you - one who hadn't heard the terrible tales of your youth.'
     
    'You've a sharp tongue in your head, but then I could expect no more from Maggrig's daughter. Do you think he'll find the house?"
     
    'And why shouldn't he?'
     
    'It's a well-known fact the Pallides need a map to get from bed to table.'
     
    'You tell that to Maggrig when he gets here and he'll pin both your ears to the bedposts,' she said.
     
    'Maybe I will, at that,' he told her, stooping to lift his doeskin shirt from the fence.
     
    'You will not!' she shouted. 'You promised you'd not aggravate the man. Did you not?'
     
    'Hush, woman. I always keep my promises."
     
    'That's a nonsense. You promised you'd seal the draught from this very window.'
     
    'You've a tongue like a willow switch and the memory of an injured hound. I'll do it after breakfast - that is, if the food ever sees the inside of a platter.'
     
    'Do the two of you never stop arguing?' asked Oracle, leaning on his quarterstaff at the corner of the house. 'It's just as well you built your house so far from the rest.'
     
    'Why is it,' asked Maeg, smiling, 'that you always arrive as the food is ready?'
     
    'The natural timing of an old hunter,' he told her.
     
    Maeg dished up hot oats in wooden platters, cut half a dozen slices of thick black bread and broke some salt on to a small side dish, placing it before the two men. From the larder she took a dish of fresh-made butter and a jar of thick, berry preserve. Then she sat in her own chair by the fire, taking up the tiny tunic she was knitting for the babe.
     
    The men ate in silence until at last Caswallon pushed away his plate and asked, 'How is the boy?'
     
    Maeg stopped her knitting and looked up, her grey eyes fixed on the old man's face. The story of Caswallon's rescue of the lad had spread among the Farlain. It hadn't surprised them, they knew
     
    Caswallon. Similarly it hadn't surprised Maeg, but it worried her. Donal was Caswallon's son and he was barely four months old. Now the impulsive clansman had acquired another son, many years older and this disturbed her.
     
    'He is a strong boy, and he improves daily,' said Oracle. 'But life has not been good to him and he is suspicious.'
     
    'Of what?' Caswallon asked.
     
    'Of everything. He was a