Calgaich the Swordsman by Gordon D. Shirreffs Page B

warriors from Caledonia have washed against and over their damned wall. There were times when even the Novantae were driven back from this land. The Red Crests established forts and outposts in the lands of the Selgovae and the Novantae, but in time they couldn't stand the constant pressure of the tribesmen and fell back themselves. When I was first a warrior, I fought against them. You saw the fort I set fire to with my own hands. It became a funeral pyre for a turma of Roman auxiliary cavalry. Not one of diem escaped! Aye, they've been in this land too long, like a festering wound that must be cleansed and healed. Someday, someday . . .” His voice trailed off.
    There was intense hatred of the Romans in his words and yet there was Roman blood in his veins.
    “Come,” Calgaich said. “It will soon be dark and the wolves are the owners of the nights in these glens.”
    The sun was almost gone when Calgaich motioned for Cairenn to drop to the ground. Then he vanished into the bracken and woods as silently as a hunting cat.
    A faint whickering sound soon came from the direction where Calgaich had disappeared. A few minutes later the sound came again. Then it was quiet except for the wind soughing through the trees.
    Suddenly Calgaich appeared. “Guidd comes,” he said.
    Nothing moved except the leaves of the trees.
    Cairenn wet her dry lips and looked uneasily from one side of her to the other. The shadows seemed to have taken on the appearances of strange and grotesque creatures who shifted and changed before her very eyes.
    Calgaich glanced toward Cairenn. “The forest is alive,” he said mysteriously.
    Suddenly she seemed to feel a presence. A curious musky odor came on the wind. She turned quickly and could not help but cry out. She backed toward Calgaich and pressed herself against him.
    A wolflike shape stood between two of the trees, almost like part of their shadow. Its head was held up high and its mouth gaped widely. Its forepaws were thrust out in front of the body and held a short hunting spear. A picture flashed through Cairenn's mind—the punch marks on Calgaich's spear and sword showed two such figures with their forepaws holding them erect against a bell-shaped tower.
    The wolf came closer and Cairenn finally saw a human face under die wolfs-head cap. The man moved so noiselessly it seemed as if he were not a man of flesh and blood at all but some creature of the night conjured up out of the dark forest.
    "Guidd, old wolf!” Calgaich called.
    "Calgaich! Calgaich! Calgaich!” Guidd cried. There was a catch in his hoarse voice. His brown, seamed face glistened with tears from his one yellowish eye. He drew close to Calgaich and Cairenn. Cairenn stepped hastily aside. Guidd’s head hardly reached to Calgaich’s chin, but he dealt him such a buffet with his right hand that it sent Calgaich staggering backward. Calgaich returned the blow with such force that Guidd went sprawling backward in the bracken and his wolf’s-head cap fell off to reveal his gray poll. His foxlike face split into a wide grin. He got to his feet and flopped the headpiece back into position and Cairenn could see that it was still attached to the pelt, which was over Guidd’s shoulders and belted about his waist. He wore wolfskin leggings and a necklace of wolf’s claws about his neck.
    Guidd studied Cairenn with his one piercing eye. He nodded in appreciation.
    "She’s not my wife, Guidd. She is a cumal only, gifted to me by Crann of the Five Hostages,” Calgaich explained hastily.
    Cairenn again heard his words with sorrow. Their night together had meant much to her, but for him it had been something whiskey had caused, something to shrug off and forget. She straightened her tired shoulders and forced herself to meet Guidd’s stare.
    Guidd tilted his grizzled head to one side. His eye flicked over Cairenn from head to foot and then back again, slowly, as if he could see beneath her dusty boy’s clothing to her young girl’s