Fire Bringer by David Clement-Davies Page A

stag,’ whispered Eloin. ’Coming down the hill.’ Blindweed had heard it too and was with them again.
    ‘Brechin?’ said Bhreac.
    The branches parted and, as the deer emerged, Eloin shook her head.
    ‘No,’ she sighed sadly as she spied Bandach running towards her. He raced straight over to the group. He was panting heavily and drenched in blood and sweat.
    ‘Forgive me stealing up on you,’ said the young stag as he reached them.’ Captain Brechin sent me.’
    ‘Brechin? He’s all right?’ Bandach lowered his head.
    ‘No, Eloin, I’m sorry,’ he answered. ‘The Outriders are gone.’
    Eloin began to shake. Her haunches flinched and she walked backwards as Rannoch tried to stay under her soft belly.
    ‘What have they done?’ cried Blindweed. ’Stags do not kill each other.’
    ‘Drail has gone mad,’ said Bandach. ’He has forbidden Anlach.’
    ‘But he can’t.’
    ‘The Draila are everywhere. And Eloin, I have come to warn you. They are coming to take you to Drail.’
    ‘Drail?’ cried Eloin. ’Never.’
    ‘It is worse than that,’ whispered Bandach, looking down at Rannoch. ’Sgorr. He is coming to kill your calf. I must get you all away.’
    Suddenly the terrible sadness that was filling Eloin’s heart was swept away. Now all she could think of was saving her fawn. She would gladly die if she had to, but she must protect her little one.
    ‘We will go west over the valley to the next glen,’ said Bandach. ’From there into the high mountains. Perhaps even into the High Land itself.’
    Bhreac looked fearfully at the hind. To the Low Land deer the High Land was a distant, sinister place, surrounded by legend and fable and cloaked in mystery.
    ‘But the little one,’ said Bhreac, ‘he’ll never survive the journey.’
    ‘We must try. It’s his only hope.’
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Eloin, ‘we must try.’
    ‘It’s too late,’ cried Blindweed.
    Blindweed was looking across the stream. In the distance, no more than thirty trees away, Sgorr and five Draila were hurrying towards them.
    ‘We’re lost,’ said Bhreac.
    ‘Hush,’ snapped Blindweed. ’I’ve an idea. If only we had more time.’
    ‘If time is all you need,’ cried Bandach, ‘you shall have it. But hurry with your plan, for Herne’s sake.’
    Bandach leapt forward on his front haunches and, tossing back his antlers, he splashed through the stream. Up the facing bank he ran and then, bucking and kicking, he shot forward diagonally across Sgorr’s path. He was out in the middle of the valley when the Draila spied him and, as he had gambled, the whole group swung away to follow him. Bandach had guessed that Sgorr would not risk depleting his own bodyguard, nor deprive himself of such a prize.
    On Bandach sped, with the wind in his ears and anger pumping his heart. He was fast and young and for a while he held them off. But at last the day’s terrible exertions and the fight on the hillside began to catch up with him. He slowed and the Draila drew nearer. Then they caught him. He kicked out behind him but an antler caught him in the leg and he tripped. Bandach would never get up again.
    Sgorr led the Draila slowly back across the stream. He wanted to savour this moment. As they reached the far verge, he saw Eloin ahead of him, along with the fool of a storyteller Blindweed and an old doe he didn’t recognize. From Eloin’s shape he knew instantly that she had already calved.
    ‘Eloin,’ he said in a silken voice as he ran up. ‘I hope you are well.’
    ‘Don’t bring your foul, lying tongue here, Sgorr,’ spat Eloin, backing away.
    ‘My dear, such manners hardly befit a captain’s hind.’
    ‘You’ll pay dearly for what you have done, Sgorr.’
    ‘What I have done? Ah, but of course. You’ve been consorting with traitors and spies. Then you know everything?’
    ‘I know that you have poisoned the herd. I know that you have killed Brechin and the others. I know that you have broken the Lore.’
    ‘That is