Fire Bringer by David Clement-Davies

snapped Blindweed suddenly. ’Eloin, I am old and have strange ways and there is much trouble in the herd. I do not understand politics. But I know this: that fawn mark of little Rannoch’s will bring him nothing but trouble. Will you trust me, Eloin?’
    Eloin didn’t understand but as she gazed back into the old storyteller’s grave eyes she realized he was deadly serious. She nodded.
    ‘Come here, Rannoch,’ said Blindweed. He nudged the fawn and Rannoch swung round, startled. The old deer reached down and, with one swing, rubbed his nose across the little fawn’s forehead. The smear of mud stained Rannoch’s fur, almost completely masking the white leaf.
    ‘That’s better,’ said Blindweed. ’We can’t have you wandering around with a fawn mark like that and making the other deer jealous, can we now?’
    Rannoch blinked up at Blindweed, then, suddenly frightened of the huge mouth and great tongue, he turned back to his mother. Eloin let him come and stood gazing out across the home valley. She hardly knew why, but she felt better for what Blindweed had done.
    ‘Oh, Brechin,’ she whispered. ‘I wish you would hurry’.
    As Sgorr ran, his Draila behind him, he let the wind score his face and his lungs swelled with pleasure. The night’s success had surpassed even his wildest expectations. The Outriders, who he had tried to outmanoeuvre for so long, were crushed. Brechin was dead and now a new time was beginning in the Low Lands. Drail would not be challenged for three summers at least and thus Sgorr’s own position was secure.
    Drail. He’s an old fool, thought Sgorr to himself. But he won’t last. He’s lame and tired. But I must bide my time. Then they’ll see. Then let them talk, when a hornless stag is the Lord of Herds.
    Bitterness welled up in Sgorr’s stomach. He remembered the days of terrible humiliation when his antlers had first failed. Then the contempt with which he had been treated by stags so much stupider than himself. That was before he had been driven out and forced to wander the forests alone. Ah, but it had been fate that he had stumbled on this bunch of brailah. If it hadn’t been for the gullible, lame Drail, Sgorr thought, where would he be now?
    His thoughts turned to Brechin and he bared his teeth with satisfaction. Brechin had fought hardest to prevent him entering the herd; now Brechin was dead and he was on his way to fetch Eloin. The beautiful Eloin. Drail would have her. For now at least.
    As Sgorr pictured Eloin he felt a strange confusion enter him. It was the closest he had ever come to loving anything in his life. He thought of her sleek fur and her proud muzzle. Of her huge eyes and her bold temper. But as he thought and he tried to picture the two of them together, the vision failed. ‘How could she ever want to stand with me?’ he said to himself bitterly. With one eye. With no brave antlers to fight his place. But he must have her somehow. Then he hit on it. Eloin’s calf. Soon, Eloin, soon. Then he would have revenge for his own ugliness.
    Sgorr was shaken from his thoughts by a stag running towards them from across the valley. It was the Draila that Sgorr had sent off from the meeting place.
    ‘Well?’ he said as the stag came up to him and bowed.
    ‘Have you found her?’
    ‘No, Captain Sgorr. But a hind over there says she thinks she’s beyond the stream.’
    ‘Good. Then let us see.’
    Sgorr wheeled round and ran straight for the pasture towards Eloin and Rannoch.
    Blindweed was moving restlessly up and down the edge of the stream, trying to scan the valley for signs of movement or for any approaching Draila as Bhreac tried to reassure Eloin.
    ‘Brechin will be all right, my dear,’ the kindly old doe was saying, ‘you’ll see. He hasn’t ever been beaten.’
    ‘No,’ agreed Eloin nervously. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ From the corner of her eye Eloin saw Bracken flinch and the two deer heard the trees on the mountainside rustle.
    ‘A