Midnight Falcon

Chapter Eight

Bendegit Bran stood before the emperor and bowed low. Beside him the huge general Fiallach followed his lead. Straightening Bran waved his hand and Fiallach stepped forward, bearing an ornately carved wooden box. 'I bring you greetings from my king,' said Bran, 'and a gift.'

Jasaray, seated on a gilded throne, summoned the tribesman forward. Bran noted that the three guards in silver armour standing close to the emperor were tense and ready to spring forward at the first sign of treachery. Hardly surprising, thought Bran. Fiallach was a massive man, with fierce blue eyes and a long-standing – and well-chronicled – hatred of Stone. Jasaray himself seemed perfectly at ease. Fiallach lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestling on velvet, was an exquisite dagger, with a blade of silver steel and a hilt of gold, encrusted with pale blue gems. The pommel held a huge black opal, which had been superbly carved into the shape of a panther's head. Jasaray reached out and lifted the dagger clear. It seemed to Bran that the weapon looked incongruous in the old man's hand, and he understood in that moment why he was once known as Scholar to his men. Jasaray could not have looked less like a warrior emperor. He was skinny and slightly round-shouldered, his hair thinning, his face long and ascetic. He could have been a philosopher or a teacher, rather than the most gifted general Stone had produced.

'It is a charming piece,' said Jasaray to Bran, ignoring Fiallach. 'Please convey my gratitude to your brother, Connavar.'

Bran looked into the emperor's eyes and felt the thrill of fear. For in that gaze he saw the keen intelligence of the man. 'My king says to tell you that he remembers with great affection the time he spent with you on the Perdii campaign, and he will be delighted to hear that you are in good health.'

'Indeed I am, Lord Bran. Which is more, I understand, than can be said for your brother. How are his wounds?'

'I had not realized the news had travelled this far, Majesty. Connavar is well, his wounds minor. The assassins, however, did not fare so well. He slew three himself. The fourth was taken and put to the questioning.'

'Do you mean tortured?' asked Jasaray, still examining the dagger.

'No, Majesty. We have a druid with great skill. He spoke to the man and elicited the truth from him.'

'Ah the truth. And what was the truth?'

'He and the others were hired by a merchant to kill the king.'

'Tricky creatures, merchants,' said Jasaray, replacing the dagger in its box. 'They yearn only for money. I take it the king had refused him some request?'

'We have yet to ascertain that, Majesty. The merchant fled across the water and took refuge in Stone.'

'Well, you must supply the name and I will see he is hunted down and brought to trial.' Jasaray rose from his throne. 'My men will show you and your aide to your quarters, where you may bathe if it pleases you. This afternoon you will both be my guests at the Palantes Stadium. Later we can talk of political matters.'

'Thank you, Majesty,' said Bran, offering another bow. He waited until Jasaray had left the throne room. One of the king's guards took the dagger box, then he and Fiallach followed another silver-garbed soldier to a suite of rooms. Once inside Bran sat down in a deep chair, while Fiallach cast off his cloak and stretched out on a couch.

'He's a cold man,' said Fiallach, speaking in Keltoi.

'Aye, but canny. He showed no reaction when we spoke of the merchant. Perhaps he knew nothing of it.'

Fiallach said nothing. Brother Solstice had warned them both about hidden chambers behind the walls, where spies might lurk, noting down their conversation.

Beyond the main room was a garden, and Bran gestured Fiallach to follow him out. Once outside they wandered along a curving, neatly paved path, stopping here and there to look at the many flowers. Bran glanced around, sure that from here they could not be overheard. 'You kept your temper well, my friend,' he said.

'Perhaps I'm getting older and wiser,' said Fiallach, but there was anger in his eyes.

'They all know of you, and your skills. They probably also know of your legendary temper. It is vital you do not react to any… discourtesy.'

'I know that, Bran. By Taranis, you have been labouring the point for the entire journey!'

Bran smiled. 'You are right. My apologies. I wonder if Nalademus will be at our meeting.'

'I don't much care who is there,' said Fiallach. 'I still don't know why Conn accepted this invitation. And there is more than a chance we'll be held hostage.'

Bran nodded and the two men continued their walk around the garden. They came to a small man-made pond, over which a wooden bridge had been raised. Bran leaned on the rail and looked down into the still water, gazing at his reflection. Like Fiallach he had not relished this trip, and was missing Gwen and their three boys terribly. He thought of them constantly, wondering whether little Orrin had mastered his fear of riding, and if his eldest son, Ruathain, had regained his strength following the fever. The boy had been so weak. Brother Solstice had tended him well, but Bran knew that secondary illnesses could often prove fatal.

'We cannot refuse the invitation,' Connavar had told him. 'It would be seen as both weak and hostile. Obviously Jasaray needs something from us. Find out what it is, and report it back.'

'What about Wing?' Bran had asked, referring to their brother Braefar by his soul-name, Wing over Water. 'He is skilled with words, and might enjoy a trip to Stone. He has no wife, no sons. And he constantly talks of being bored.'

'You are more suited to this task, Bran. Take Fiallach with you.'

This had surprised Bran. Fiallach was known for his seething hatred of all things Stone. 'Would that not cause offence, brother? After Cogden, Fiallach cut the heads from thirty Stone officers, and had them set on spears at the border. According to Brother Solstice only two Rigante names are well known to the people of Stone – yours and Fiallach's.'

'Precisely why he should go,' said Connavar. 'Although you are wrong about two names. There is a third. Many of the merchants who seek our favours are talking about a Rigante warrior who fights in the arenas of Stone.'

Bran had heard the stories, but had never spoken about them with Connavar. 'You want me to meet with him?' he asked.

'No. He has made his life, barren though it is.'

'I liked him,' said Bran.

Connavar's eyes had narrowed briefly, and he had scanned Bran's face for signs of criticism. Then he had sighed, and for a brief moment lost the haunted look Bran had come to know so well in the years since the death of Tae.

'I might have liked him too,' he said at last. 'He is one of many regrets I carry. If I could turn back the years, and live my life again, I would live it differently. I would have taken Tae to the lake. There would have been no war with the Pannone.'

'You know, Conn, this is something I have never understood. You are my brother, and I love you. But how long will you allow yourself to carry this burden? Take a wife, sire sons. You owe it to yourself-and to the people. You must have an heir, Conn.'

Connavar smiled. 'You are my heir, Bran. And your sons will follow you.' Connavar had walked to the window, and stared out over the countryside. Light clouds were casting dappled shadows over the flanks of the mountains.

'You could invite Bane back home,' said Bran.

Connavar swung round, his face once more set, his expression hard. 'We will talk of it no more.'

'As you wish, my king.' said Bran.

Connavar was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, brother. I had thought the hurt would lessen as the years passed. But it sits like a canker on the soul.'

'Ah, dammit! I am sorry too, Conn. I'll not mention it again. So, what is it you think Jasaray wants from us?'

'It is hard to say. He has many troubles. The war in the east has meant most of his regular troops are far from Stone. Brother Solstice tells me that there are now more Stone Knights in the city than loyal soldiers. Jasaray apparently believes Nalademus is loyal to him – and perhaps he is. But the political situation there is precarious. The arrival of Rigante ambassadors will cause a stir, and perhaps deflect criticism of the eastern campaign. In short, brother, I do not know.'

Bran had now been in Stone for ten days, he and Fiallach quartered at a villa to the south of the city awaiting the call from Jasaray. Now it had come, and still there had been no talks.

A servant came running down the path. 'The bathhouse is ready, sirs,' he said. 'And your clothes have been moved from the villa. I have taken the liberty of having them washed for you. They are currently drying.'

'That is kind of you,' said Bran.

The private bathhouse was some forty feet long, with a sunken bath large enough to take perhaps twenty people. Bran and Fiallach removed their clothes and climbed in, sitting back and relaxing in the perfumed water. Fiallach sighed and ducked his head below the surface. He came up spluttering, water dripping from his braids and his long yellow and silver moustache. Bran chuckled. 'You are being corrupted by such decadence,' he said.

'It eases the pain in my back,' said Fiallach. 'I am not as young as once I was. I do not heal so swiftly.'

They lazed contentedly for some time, then two servants arrived, holding hot towels. The Rigante warriors climbed from the bath and dried themselves, then walked through to the massage room, where two young men waited.

Bran lay on his stomach and felt the warm oil poured to his back. He relaxed instantly, and the masseur expertly stroked and probed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, easing out the tensions. He glanced across at Fiallach, who was lying face down with his eyes closed. When the massage was finished, the oil gently scraped from their bodies with rounded ivory blades, they rose and dressed, and returned to their rooms. Food had been laid there, cold cooked meats and sweet pastries alongside two jugs, one of wine, one of water. They ate, then sat back to await the call from Jasaray.

'One could almost come to like this place,' said Fiallach.

The door opened and two silver-armoured warriors entered. 'Your chariot is here,' said the first, his voice echoing the contempt in his eyes.

Fiallach rose and strode across to tower over him. He looked at the man closely.

'Isn't that remarkable,' he said to Bran. 'Do you remember the first Stone head I rammed on the lance? It was just like his, though I think this man's neck is thicker. Probably take two cuts to sever it.' The soldier blanched, and licked his lips. Fiallach smiled at him. 'Do not concern yourself, little man. Today I am in a good mood.'

Horath bowed deeply as the emperor and his entourage entered the Royal Enclosure and took up their seats overlooking the golden sand of the arena. The sun was shining, and the stadium was almost full – twelve thousand citizens of Stone, waiting to see today's death bouts.

Horath led the emperor to his high-backed, velvet-covered chair. With Jasaray were two tribesmen, one handsome and beardless with golden hair, the other an enormous figure, with a long drooping moustache. The giant looked fearsome, and his bare arms showed many scars. He would have made a fine gladiator, thought Horath.

Six silver-garbed warriors filed in, and stood in a line behind the emperor. Jasaray sat down, leaning his back against a plump cushion. He glanced up at Horath. 'You are looking well, young man,' he said.

'Thank you, Majesty. You honour Circus Occian with your presence.'

'May I introduce my guests? This is Bendegit Bran, a lord of the Rigante tribe, and his aide Fiallach.'

'A pleasure to meet you, sirs,' said Horath, offering a slight bow. 'Have you come to see your comrade in battle?'

He saw the surprise in their faces. 'Bane is fighting today,' he said swiftly. 'He is Gladiator Seven now, a magnificent fighter, and a great asset to our circus. Today he meets Dex, from Circus Palantes. Dex is Gladiator Four and it should be a classic encounter. If you wish to gamble I would be delighted to have your bets placed with the circus bank.'

Bendegit Bran shook his head, and exchanged glances with Fiallach.

'Well, enjoy your day, sirs.' With a deep bow to Jasaray, Horath withdrew to his own seat. Every few minutes he cast nervous glances back towards the door. He had invited Nalademus and the Lord Voltan to the Enclosure, but had received no reply. Even so, chairs had been prepared for them. This had caused him some concern, for Nalademus was a large man, and needed a big chair. Which would have been fine, except that the emperor insisted upon a straight-backed seat for himself, with a single cushion. Horath could not seat Nalademus in a chair more grand than that of the emperor, and had instead placed a wide couch to the rear of the Enclosure.

Unfortunately this would mean that Nalademus, should he arrive, would be sitting behind Jasaray and his guests. Horath comforted himself with the rumour that the Stone elder had been in ill health for some time, and was, therefore, unlikely to attend.

A blare of trumpets sounded and six horsemen rode into the arena. The crowd cheered as the men galloped their white mounts round the perimeter. Then, in unison, the riders lifted their feet and smoothly rose to stand on the backs of the horses. The mounts came into a line. The riders began to leap from one horse to another, landing lightly, timing each jump to perfection. Then they sat back in their saddles and rode from the arena. The crowd applauded their skills. Horath glanced at the two Rigante warriors. They sat, expressionless, arms folded across their chests. At that moment the rear door opened and Horath mouthed a silent curse.

The Stone elder, Nalademus, moved into sight, leaning on a long golden staff. Horath leapt to his feet. 'Welcome, lord,' he said. 'You honour us with your attendance.'

Nalademus nodded, then glanced at the couch. Jasaray rose. 'Good to see you, my friend,' he said warmly. 'Please, come sit beside me. Horath, have another chair brought in.'

Horath hurried out, signalled two servants and gave them instructions. Moments later they carried in a beautifully carved and gilded chair, which was taller and deeper than that used by the emperor. 'You should sit here, Majesty,' said Nalademus, as the chair was placed beside the emperor's.

'Nonsense, my friend. You have been ill, and your well-being is far more important to me than small matters of ego. Sit yourself and be comfortable.'

Nalademus bowed, and lowered his massive frame into the gilded chair.

Horath breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his place. Nalademus was introduced to the other guests, and then the party returned their interest to the events in the stadium. A precision cavalry display was followed by a lion hunt. Two beasts were set loose in the stadium, and two horsemen, armed with hunting bows, galloped out. The first lion was killed swiftly, but the second, wounded and enraged, charged at a rider. The horse reared, throwing the man to the sand. Instantly the lion was upon him, and the beast's talons ripped open his back. The satisfied roar from the crowd startled the lion, which swung its great head just as the second rider bore down, sending an arrow into its heart.

The audience applauded wildly as slaves ran out to carry the mutilated rider from the stadium. The bodies of the lions were dragged clear and slaves with buckets of sand and long rakes covered the blood.

'The riders are men of great courage,' said Horath to Bendegit Bran.

'The lions were starved,' said Bran, 'their strength almost gone.'

Horath smiled and turned away, casting his eyes over the crowd, which was more than two thousand higher than at the last event three weeks before. Circus Occian was close to becoming the most profitable circus in Stone. Ah, thought Horath, how that must taste like poison to the owners of Palantes. Part of the success was due to the tribesman, Bane, who had become immensely popular with the crowds, but the greater part was the influence of Rage, who now trained all the gladiators, driving them hard, building their strength and speed. It was rare now for an Occian man to lose a death bout.

The trumpets sounded for the intermission, and the party rose and moved back to the Long Room, where food and drink had been laid out on a twenty-foot table. Nalademus engaged Bendegit Bran in conversation, while Jasaray stood talking with Fiallach. Horath hovered close by, close to the silent guards lined up across the doorway.

'I understand you have children,' said Nalademus to Bran.

'Three now,' said Bran. 'All boys. The youngest is but four months.'

'The children are our future,' said the Stone elder. 'They should be cherished.'

'Indeed,' agreed Bran, visibly relaxing. 'It is a joy watching them grow and learn. Do you have children?'

'Sadly, no. The priesthood demands total abstinence from all desires of the flesh. It is a source of regret to me, which is perhaps why I take such joy from the happiness of family men such as yourself.'

Horath wandered away. The honey dripping from Nalademus was almost nauseating. Another figure moved into the room, the guards stepping aside for him. He was tall and wide-shouldered, wearing armour of black and silver. Horath hurried over.

'Lord Voltan, many, many thanks for taking the time to attend. Circus Occian is honoured by your presence.'

'Fetch me some wine,' said the tall warrior.

'Indeed so,' said Horath, holding to his smile. As he filled a goblet Horath became aware of a change in the atmosphere within the room. He glanced back to where the former gladiator stood. The guards looked nervous and ill at ease, and even the emperor was watching him closely. Jasaray strolled over to where Voltan waited. For a moment it seemed the Stone Knight was not going to bow, but then he dipped his head. Jasaray summoned the captain of his guards. The man stepped forward.

'The Lord Voltan', said Jasaray, 'is a loyal and good friend, and I can see from the dust on his cloak that he has ridden hard to be with us today. Which is why I excuse him for coming into my presence armed with a sword. In his haste to pay his respects he probably forgot he was wearing it. What, then, pray, is your excuse for allowing him to enter?'

'I am sorry, Majesty,' said the man. 'It will not happen again.'

'Indeed not. You are dismissed from my service. Report to your commander and await my pleasure.'

'Yes, Majesty,' said the man, bowing deeply. He backed away.

'Before you go,' said Jasaray, 'be so good as to remove the weapon of which we were speaking.'

With a speed that made Horath blink Voltan's sword flashed into his hand, and for a moment the air was charged with danger. Then Voltan reversed the blade, handing it to the disgraced captain, who swiftly left the room. Horath stepped in, handing the goblet to Voltan, who received it without a word of thanks. Nalademus introduced him to the guests, and Horath saw his gaze lock to that of the mighty Fiallach. 'Ah yes,' said Voltan, 'you fought at Cogden Field. I have heard of you. Are you not the general who beheaded captured Stone officers and raised their heads on poles at the Cenii border?'

'The very same,' said Fiallach.

'A sound strategy,' said Jasaray. 'Terror is a potent weapon in war. The placing of the heads on the border sent a clear and concise message to the enemy, while at the same time instilling fear in them. Now let us take a little refreshment before the main events.'

Bane grunted as Telors probed the injured rib. Blood was still oozing from the four-inch-long gash on Bane's left side.

'The rib's broken,' said Telors. 'You were lucky, Bane.'

'Oh yes, I feel really lucky,' said Bane, wincing as Telors wiped away the blood.

'Damn careless,' snapped Rage. 'I spent many hours watching Dex, and I told you how fast he is on the counter-attack. Did you read the notes I left with you last night?'

'Yes, I read them,' lied Bane. 'And I didn't fail. Dex is dead, isn't he?'

'Yes, he's dead,' agreed Rage, 'but a better man would have cleaved your ribs or disembowelled you. A man like Brakus, perhaps.'

Suddenly Bane grinned. 'You are never satisfied, are you? After my last duel you were telling me how if I fought like that when I met Dex he would cut my head off. And before that there was the deadly Kespus. Now both are dead.'

'Perfection is what we strive for, boy,' said Rage.

'No-one achieves perfection,' said Telors. 'You know that, Vanni.'

Rage sighed. 'If it could be achieved, it wouldn't be worth striving for. The object is to get as close as you can.' He looked at Bane. 'You fought well for most of the bout. Good footwork, fine concentration. But right at the start he lured you in with a feint. Only your speed saved you, and even with that he snapped a rib. An extra ounce of pressure and that rib might have pierced a lung.'

Telors opened a small leather medicine bag, removing a crescent needle and some dark thread. For some moments he tried to thread the needle. Finally Bane took it from him, threaded it, then handed it back. 'My eyes aren't what they were,' grumbled Telors.

'That's because you're getting old,' Rage told him.

'I'm ten years younger than you,' Telors responded.

Rage smiled at him. 'That's true.' The big man sat down alongside Bane. 'Don't mind me, boy. You frightened me out there. For just a moment I thought he had you.'

'I thought so too,' admitted Bane. 'And you are right. I was careless. But the shock of seeing Bendegit Bran and Fiallach with the emperor rocked my concentration.' He swore as Telors tightened the first stitch.

'Be brave, little soldier,' said Telors, with a grin.

Rage patted Bane's shoulder. 'Well, you are Gladiator Four now, and you are almost at your best. You've done well, Bane.'

'Well enough?'

'To take Voltan? I don't think so. Ask me in three months. If you beat Brakus, we'll talk again.'

'I promised you two years. I kept that promise.'

'Just three more months,' said Rage. 'Give me that, and then make your decision.'

Telors finished the stitches and snapped the thread. Bane lowered his arm. 'What is troubling you, Rage? Be honest with me.'

'There's a time for honesty, boy, and this isn't it. Now wash the sweat and sand from yourself. We've been invited to meet the emperor and his guests.'

'I don't know that I want to,' said Bane.

'There isn't a choice, my friend.'

Bane rose and walked through to the rear of the Sword Room, and the bathhouse beyond. Telors put away his needle and glanced at Rage. 'What is it, Vanni?'

'The boy is good. Very good; fast, strong, courageous. But he isn't ready for Voltan.'

'Why don't you just tell him?'

'No point, my friend. He will fight him anyway at some time. I don't want to destroy his confidence.'

'You might be wrong, Vanni.'

'Let's hope so.'

'Am I invited to meet the emperor?'

Rage laughed. 'Why would he want to talk to an ugly bastard like you?'

Telors chuckled and began cleaning Bane's sword and helm, before packing them away, with his wrist guards and greaves. Minutes later Bane returned. His blond hair was combed back and tied in a ponytail, and he was wearing a pale blue tunic, grey leggings and riding boots of the softest leather. At his waist was a silver-edged belt, from which hung a hunting knife with a hilt of engraved horn.

'You'll have to leave the knife behind,' said Rage. 'No-one enters the emperor's presence armed.'

Bane lifted the knife from its sheath and handed it to Telors. Then the two men left the room, climbing the stairs to the second level, and emerging out into the stand. The last of the crowd were moving down the aisles as Bane and Rage made their way ever higher towards the Royal Enclosure. Several people recognized Bane, and called out to him. He responded with a wave and a smile.

A guard in silver armour met them at the Enclosure door, searched them for weapons, then ushered them inside. A second guard led them along a corridor, through a food hall, and into a large private room. Expensive rugs adorned the mosaic floor, and there were a dozen beautifully crafted couches set around the walls. The emperor was reclining on a couch below a high arched stained-glass window. Bendegit Bran and Fiallach were sitting on either side of him. On a couch opposite sat an enormous figure in crimson robes, his huge head framed by a mane of white hair. And behind him stood Voltan.

Bane tensed, his hand moving unconsciously to his empty knife sheath. Rage gripped his arm. 'Bow to the emperor!' he whispered. Bane's hands were trembling, but he fought for control, took two steps forward and offered a deep bow to Jasaray.

'I thought you might like to meet your countrymen while they visit Stone,' said Jasaray.

'That was… most thoughtful, Majesty,' said Bane.

'Good to see you, lad,' said Bran, rising and offering his hand. Bane shook it. Fiallach remained where he was, and folded his arms across his enormous chest. Jasaray rose from his couch.

'Let me introduce you to my friend Nalademus.' Taking Bane by the arm he walked him across the room. Bane bowed to the Stone elder.

'An entertaining duel, young man,' said Nalademus. 'You are certainly not dull to watch.'

'And this is Lord Voltan,' said Jasaray. 'He leads the Stone Knights.'

'We have met,' said Bane, his voice cold.

'Have we?' asked Voltan. 'I do not recall.'

'We only spoke briefly,' said Bane, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. 'You had your sword buried in a young girl's heart at the time.'

Voltan looked closely at him. 'Well, well,' he said. 'The tribesman from Accia. Did I not say you had potential?' He smiled broadly.

'And here you are as the new Gladiator Four. I always was a good judge of fighting men. Good to see you again.'

'You have no idea how much I have been looking forward to meeting you,' said Bane.

'Gratifying to be so highly thought of,' said Voltan.

Bane tensed, but, just as he was about to attack, Rage's hand clamped to his shoulder. 'There is a time and place for all things, boy. This is not the time, and it is certainly not the place.'

'I had no idea there was a history between you,' said Jasaray. 'How interesting. However, I fear we are neglecting our other guests. Come, Bane, and sit with your friends.'

Jasaray led him back to the two Rigante warriors, then turned away and strolled across to speak with Rage.

'What was that about?' asked Bendegit Bran, leaning in and speaking softly.

'He is my enemy,' Bane told him. 'It is a personal matter.'

'You always were good at making enemies, Bane,' said Fiallach.

Bane looked into the man's hostile gaze and smiled suddenly, feeling the tension drain from him. 'There was a time I would have gladly killed you. There would not have been a moment's regret. I am older now, and a little wiser.' He took a deep, calming breath, and returned his attention to Bran. 'Why are you here?'

'The emperor invited Connavar to send ambassadors for talks. The king agreed. We have been here ten days, but there have been no talks so far. But what of you, Bane? How are you enjoying life here?'

Bane shrugged. 'I am wealthy, but I miss the mountains. When I have accomplished what I have set out to do I will come home.'

'You'll not be welcome,' said Fiallach.

'I never was,' said Bane.

Bane was silent for most of the way home, and sat back against the leather seat of the open carriage, staring out over the city streets. Beside him Rage was also quiet, lost in thoughts of his own.

As the carriage moved out onto the main avenue, leading to the hillside and the eighteen-room villa, a small commotion broke out in the crowd some way ahead. Lanterns had been lit, and in their glare Bane saw armed Knights dragging several men and one woman from a doorway. Someone in the crowd shouted 'Burn the traitors!' but mostly people stayed silent, watching the prisoners hauled away.

'They won't succeed,' said Rage, as the carriage moved on.

'Who won't?' asked Bane.

'The Knights. Nalademus. Religion is a strange creature. It thrives on persecution. After three years of burnings, hangings and torture there are probably now more followers of the Tree Cult than there were at the start.'

'That seems to make no sense,' said Bane.

'I agree. But it's true. Religions that die away are those absorbed by society's rulers, not those damned by them.'

'Why would that be?' asked Bane. 'Surely the message is the same, but it comes without risks?'

'Perhaps that is part of the answer. We value little that comes without risk. But, more importantly, once society absorbs and accepts a religion the rulers set out to subtly change the message. It will happen here eventually.'

'And people will accept this?'

'Of course. The Tree Cult do not believe in the taking of life. Killing is wrong, they say. In a few years some government-elected officer of the Cult will say that it is not killing that is wrong, but murder. He will cite the case of a man defending his family against attack, or his daughter from rape. He will say, "Surely the Source would not expect that man to sit idly by." Most family men would find agreement with that argument. Then they will begin to talk of Stone as "a great family" and the nations around us as "hostile, barbarous and evil". There will then be justification for attacking them, on the grounds of "saving the family of Stone".' Rage laughed, though there was little humour in the sound. 'It is like watered wine, Bane. In the right amounts it is tasty and good for the digestion and the heart. But if you keep adding water all you end up with is the memory of the wine.'

'You are a cynical man – when sober,' said Bane.

'I wish that I wasn't. I like much of what I have heard about the Tree Cult, about their caring for one another, and their refusal to be drawn into the circle of hate. Did you know that on the night before their executions they hold prayer meetings at which they forgive their accusers?'

Bane smiled broadly. 'It makes no sense to me. A man hates you, and seeks to kill you, then you must either run or kill him. There is no third way.'

'You can befriend him,' said Rage. 'Then he will no longer be your enemy.'

'Now you are joking, surely?' said Bane. 'You think I could befriend Voltan after what he has done?'

'Not from a position of hatred,' Rage told him. 'First you'd have to forgive him.'

'Would you forgive him?'

Rage turned towards him. 'I already have, boy. He is Cara's father, and because of him a child I loved killed herself.' He patted Bane's shoulder. 'The circumstances are different, I know. He did not set out to kill Palia, but the result was the same. I lost someone I loved. So did you.'

'I'll forgive him', said Bane, his voice shaking with anger, 'the moment he lies dead at my feet.'

Rage fell silent and the carriage moved slowly up the hill. A servant opened the wrought-iron gates before the villa, and the driver picked up the pace along the gravel path, hauling on the reins outside the main entrance. Rage paid him, and the two men strolled inside.

Cara came walking out to meet them. 'Why are you not at school?' asked Rage, taking her into a hug, and kissing her cheek.

'It is Mid Term, Grandfather. Are you not pleased to see me?'

'Always,' Rage told her. She swung to Bane.

'And what about you, tribesman?' she asked him.

Bane smiled and looked at her. She was wearing an ankle-length blue silk gown, gathered at the waist by a wide belt of grey leather, stitched with golden wire. Her yellow hair was tied back, save for two ringlets at her temples.

'You are looking beautiful, princess,' he said, offering her a bow.

'No-one calls me princess now. That's a child's nickname,' she scolded him. 'You think me a child?'

'Far from it,' said Bane, keeping his gaze from her full breasts and the curve of her hips. 'Welcome home, Cara.'

'Walk with me in the garden,' she said, advancing on him and hooking her arm into his.

'It used to be my arm,' grumbled Rage. Cara grinned at him.

'I adore you, Grandfather, but there is something I want to talk to Bane about.'

Lanterns had been hung on iron poles along the garden path, and the two young people walked slowly towards the circular fountain at the rear of the house. 'Well, what is your news?' asked Bane.

Cara glanced back. 'Let me show you something,' she said, moving off to stand beside a yellow rose bush, which was covered in blooms. 'But first you must promise not to tell anyone.'

'I promise,' he said.

Cara knelt before the rose, scanning the flowers. This one,' she said at last, pointing to a fading bloom, its stalk bent, its petals falling. 'Come and look.'

Bane knelt beside her. Cara cupped her hands around the bloom and closed her eyes. Bane watched for a moment. The rose stalk stiffened, the bloom lifting. Slowly the dying petals swelled, as if with new life. When Cara removed her hands the rose stood proud, and its scent was magnificent.

'A clever trick,' said Bane. 'How is it done?'

Cara looked round to make sure they were alone. 'I went to see the Veiled Lady. She touched my brow, and told me I had latent talent, and that she had released it in me. I could be a healer,' she said.

Bane felt a tightness in his stomach. 'You shouldn't have done that,' he said. 'Don't you know how dangerous it is?'

'Of course I know,' she snapped. 'I went with three friends, and I was very nervous. But I heard her speak, Bane. I watched her heal people with a touch. It was extraordinary. Then she walked among us. She has a black veil, and you cannot see her face clearly, but I saw her hands, and they are young hands. I don't think she's much older than me!'

'You must not go again, Cara.'

She stood up and dusted her gown. 'I didn't expect you to be so cowardly,' she told him.

He rose. 'I am thinking of Rage, and what it would do to him if you were taken, dragged to the arena and burnt at the stake.'

'I'll be careful,' she promised. 'But I can't forget what I have seen, and heard and felt. Standing here I can feel the life in the garden, every plant and tree, every flower and shrub. I am part of it. You are part of it.'

In the lantern light he looked into her face, and suddenly saw Voltan there, the same cornflower-blue eyes, the set of the features. He stepped back suddenly.

'What is wrong?' she asked.

'Nothing. We should be getting back.'

'Oh, Bane, you are such a disappointment,' she said. 'I have been longing to tell you. I thought, as a tribesman, you might understand what it is I have been feeling. I thought I could share it with you. I thought…' Her eyes showed sorrow as she turned away from him.

'What did you think?' he asked.

'I thought you might come with me to see her.'

'Oh, Cara! I killed a man today. To entertain the crowds I plunged a sword into his heart. You think this Veiled Lady would want a gladiator close to her?'

'Maybe you wouldn't be a gladiator if you heard her speak.'

'Then I don't want to hear her speak,' he said.

'Go away and leave me alone,' she told him, spinning on her heel and walking away.

Bane sat down on a nearby bench. The stitches in his side were painful, and his rib was aching dreadfully. Yet this was as nothing to the fear he felt inside. Cara had always been wilful and headstrong, and now she had set herself upon a path that would likely lead to her death. Just like Lia.

A cold breeze whispered through the garden, a gentle reminder that winter was not far away. Bane sighed, remembering the last time he had sat with Lia in the house of Barus, and the terrible events that had followed. Now it was happening again. He wanted to believe that this time he would not be powerless to prevent it, but he knew it was not so. If the Knights came for Cara, there was little that he or Rage could do, save fight and die. And this they would do.

Bitterness swept over him. All his life, it seemed, events had conspired to bring him pain: Connavar's continuing rejection, Arian's sad and untimely death, Lia's murder, Banouin's desertion. The only difference now was that Bane had advance warning of the tragedies to come.

He sat quietly for some while, and then heard Rage walking down the path. 'Did you two have a fight?' asked Rage, sitting alongside him.

'Not exactly. We had differing views.'

'She'll get over it,' said the older man. 'It is a beautiful night.'

Bane glanced up at the stars. 'Aye, it is. Tell me, do you miss Goriasa?'

'Sometimes,' admitted Rage. 'But Stone is good for Cara. I expect there will be suitors calling soon. She will be sixteen in three days.'

'He'll need to be a strong man,' said Bane, 'otherwise she'll eat him alive.'

Rage chuckled. 'I raised her to be independent and think for herself. I think maybe I did the job too well. Why did you mention Goriasa?'

'No reason. It just came into my mind.'

'Ah,' said Rage softly. 'I thought maybe you'd heard about Persis.'

'What about him?'

'He and Norwin were arrested two months ago. They have been brought to Stone for execution.'

Bane swore. 'I like him,' he said. 'He's a good man.'

'Did you know he finally made a success of Circus Orises? He organized the Gath Games, running events, horsemanship, wrestling. He filled the stadium. The last I heard he was rich again.' Rage shook his head. 'Whatever possessed the man to join the Cult? He wasn't stupid. He must have known the risks.'

'It is imperative that we move swiftly,' said Voltan, keeping his voice low, even though the windows were closed, heavy velvet curtains drawn across them. 'The war in the east is won. At least ten Panthers will be returning to Stone within the month.'

Nalademus sat at his desk, his huge head resting against the top of the padded chair, his arms folded across his stomach. Eyes closed, he listened intently to Voltan's report. 'How did such a disaster happen?' he asked.

'Stupidity,' hissed Voltan. 'Instead of using our money to hire mercenaries or weapons, Dalios paid a huge dowry to a rival king in order to marry his daughter. Then he spent a further fortune on a huge wedding feast in the capital. All the nobles were invited. Gods, it is sickening! The idiot had all his generals attend. Barus heard about the feast, and led three Panthers on a quick raid. They sacked the capital, captured Dalios, then brought up the main army and crushed all opposition.'

'Captured Dalios?' snapped Nalademus, surging upright.

'Do not concern yourself, my friend,' said Voltan. 'I had him poisoned. No-one knows of our involvement.'

'Someone always knows,' said Nalademus. 'And you are right. We must move swiftly. Once the Panthers are back in Stone, Jasaray will be invincible again.'

'Leave it to me, my friend,' said Voltan. 'Jasaray will be dead within the week.'

'An accidental death,' insisted Nalademus. 'Otherwise there will be another civil war.'

Fiallach followed Jasaray and Bendegit Bran through the elaborate maze, his irritation growing. Bran was chatting amiably with the emperor, and seemed unconcerned that every turn and channel looked exactly like the last. The eight-foot-tall walls of greenery pressed in on Fiallach, and he was sweating heavily. Clasping his hands behind his back he followed the two men, and fought to quell a sense of panic.

At last they emerged at the centre of the maze, where several benches and tables of stone had been placed around a large marble pool. Fiallach sucked in a deep breath. From here he could at least see the walls of the palace building, with its balconies and windows.

Jasaray sat down, beckoning the tribesmen to join him. 'I had this constructed after one of our western campaigns,' he said. 'It is copied from a design I found in a captured city.'

'What is the point of it?' asked Fiallach.

'For me it is a representation of life,' said Jasaray. 'We wander through it, always wondering where we are going, and rarely able to go back and put right past mistakes. I come here most nights, and wander the maze. It helps me to think.'

'It makes me want to walk through it with an axe,' muttered Fiallach.

'It does have that effect on some people,' agreed Jasaray.

Suddenly, from close by, there came a terrifying roar. Fiallach spun round, his hand moving to his empty knife belt.

'Be calm,' said Jasaray. 'My animals are being fed. There is no danger. I shall show you them later.' The morning sun cleared the palace roof, and shone directly down on the seated men. 'I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,' said the emperor, 'but there have been many pressing matters demanding my attention.' Trailing his hand in the pool he splashed a little water to his face. 'It is my hope', he said, 'that we can come to some agreement with the Rigante people.'

'What kind of agreement?' asked Bran.

'A union of friends,' said Jasaray. 'Stone has been fighting wars for thirty years now, some against foreign enemies, some between ourselves. It is time, I believe, for a period of stability and calm. Armies, as I am sure you are now aware, are costly. Connavar has fought three civil campaigns during the last two years, against rebel tribesmen from the Norvii and the Pannone. And why? Because he needs to tax the people to pay for his standing armies. And as each year passes without them being needed the populace grow more disenchanted. Here in Stone we see Connavar's armies and we wonder if they will be used against us, and therefore we also tax the public to pay for soldiers. It is very wasteful for both our economies.'

'What do you suggest?' asked Bran.

'I suggest a close treaty between our nations that will allow us both to reduce the size of our forces. The war in the east is costing us dearly, and we are beginning to have trouble with some of our northern neighbours, notably King Shard of the Vars. He also has standing armies now, and there have been several skirmishes with our troops.'

'Shard is a powerful enemy,' agreed Bran. 'My first taste of battle was against the Vars twenty years ago. Shard invaded the north of our lands, and linked with a Pannone army against us.'

'And Connavar defeated him,' said Jasaray. 'I believe your father was killed in that campaign.'

'He died, yes,' said Bran. 'His heart gave out after the battle.'

'War brings many tragedies,' said Jasaray. 'I despise it.'

'Then why are you so good at it?' asked Fiallach.

'A fair question – and one to which there is no answer. I was a scholar and a teacher. I was brought into the army to organize supplies and help with logistic matters. It then transpired that I had previously undiscovered skills in the area of tactics. In life, I have discovered, men gravitate towards what they are good at. I am a good soldier. That does not mean, however, that I enjoy the slaughter and the bloodshed. I do not. It is extremely wasteful. I have no desire to lead an army into the lands of the Rigante. The borders of the Stone empire are large enough. Further expansion would be dangerous. That is the message I want you to convey to Connavar.'

'Let us assume for a moment that we agree on this,' said Bran.

'What are you offering – in material terms – for this agreement, and what do you require?'

'Full access for our merchants, unhindered passage for our merchant ships, freedom to continue our settlements in the lands of the Cenii, constructing roads and towns and so forth. In return I will offer twenty thousand in gold to help with the costs of reducing the army, returning them to the land, or other skills and trades.'

'And we are to trust you?' snapped Fiallach.

'Trust your eyes,' replied Jasaray, with no hint of anger. 'I am a man approaching seventy. Do you truly believe I want to embark on another campaign, sleeping in tents, marching in rain and snow? If I was hungry for such activities, would I not, even now, be in the east, leading my armies against our enemies? People change as they grow older. Look at you, Fiallach. Do you still yearn for battlefields and cold beds?'

'I can still fight as well as ever.'

'That's not what I asked.'

Fiallach sighed. 'No, I don't. I want to watch my grandchildren grow.'

'Exactly. It is time for us all to do that. Connavar is preparing for an invasion that will not happen. Cogden Field was his great victory – and I take nothing away from that. Indeed I felt some pride in that I had a part in training him for warfare. But Cogden is now almost two decades in the past. I will have my clerics draw up provisional agreements for you to take to Connavar. I will then await your reply.' Jasaray rose. 'Come, let me show you my pets.'

Fiallach's heart sank as they entered the maze once more, but this time Jasaray moved swiftly through it, emerging from an entrance to the west. Here there were many large cages, containing animals from all over the empire, a giant black bear, two lions, three sleek panthers, and, set apart from the others, another lion, but this one bearing the most curious markings. Its tawny body was covered in dark stripes. Fiallach could not understand why anyone should wish to paint a lion in such a way, and said this to Jasaray.

'It is not paint, or dye,' said the emperor. 'It is a tiger, and these are its natural markings. Bigger and faster than a lion, it has prodigious strength. One blow from the paw can crush an ox skull. One bite would sever a man's leg.'

'Why do you have them here?' asked Bran.

'Once the war in the east is won I shall donate them to one of the circuses, and the crowds will watch them being hunted and slain.'

'How far has this creature travelled?' asked Bran.

'Over two thousand miles. It was quite a feat, keeping it alive.'

'I can imagine,' said Bran. 'The cost of getting it here alone must have been enormous.'

'Indeed it was.'

'And all so that people can watch it being killed? Now that seems wasteful, Majesty.'

'Perhaps,' agreed Jasaray. Then he smiled. 'But it would be an unwise ruler who did not spend a little money to keep his subjects happy. A contented people rarely see the need to overthrow their emperors.'

Regrets, Voltan would often say, were only for the weak. This was, he believed, an unarguable truth. Strong men achieved, lesser men failed, and in failing would blame external forces for their failure. Luck was against them, or they were the victims of malicious sabotage from those envious of their skills. Weaklings, all of them! Yet despite this iron belief Voltan had never been able to break free of the one great regret of his life.

Dressed now in a simple hooded toga and sandals he moved through the late-afternoon shadows to the entrance of the catacombs, and the rock tunnels that snaked under Agra, the Fourth Hill of the city. A young man was standing at the entrance, watching him as he approached.

'Good evening, friend,' said the man.

'Good evening to you,' said Voltan, drawing his hands together and making the sign of the Tree.

'Enter and be blessed,' said the man.

Voltan moved inside the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead he could see torches in rough-made brackets on the wall, as the tunnel widened into a high, arched chamber. It was cool here, and Voltan made his way past a series of jagged stalagmites, jutting up from the ground, to join the crowd waiting patiently in the torchlight.

Agents of the Temple had located the hiding place of the Veiled Lady, and she would be arrested tomorrow. Everything was coming together. By the week's end the fading emperor would be replaced by Nalademus, the Tree Cult would begin to wither, and Voltan would be placed in charge of the army. At thirty-seven his destiny waited, a golden prize mere inches from his grasp.

Curiously he felt no excitement, no sense of fulfilment or satisfaction. This was irritating in the extreme, yet it had always been this way. Contentment and happiness were always just a little way ahead. I will be happy when I am Gladiator One, he had thought. On the day he had attained this he had felt a surge of achievement and deep pleasure. It had passed within an hour.

Voltan eased his way through the crowds and sat down on a rock, wondering yet again why he had come to this place. What do you expect to find? he asked himself. A group of fools, filled with death wish, listening to an idiot who would be burned within days. He sat quietly among the almost dead, thinking through the arrangements for the assassination of Jasaray. No plan was foolproof, but, satisfied he had considered all the potential hazards, he relaxed. He felt the crowd stir, and rose to his feet.

At the far end of the chamber a young woman, in a pale blue gown and a black veil, had entered, flanked by three white-haired men. The crowd raised their arms above their heads. Voltan copied the movement.

'May the Source guide you, and bless you, and receive you,' they chanted.

The woman also raised her hands, touching the palms, then opening her arms towards the crowd in a gesture of embrace. 'What do we see in this world around us?' she asked them. 'What do we see in tree and stream, in mountain and valley? What do we feel when we gaze upon the stars and the silver moon? What do we experience when the warmth of the sun touches our skin?'

'Joy!' chorused the crowd.

'And when a friend takes us into an embrace, or a child smiles, or we receive an act of unexpected kindness?'

'Joy!'

'From which deep well does that joy come, my friends?'

'From the Source!' they cried.

'From the Source of All Things,' she said. She fell silent for a moment, and stood head bowed. The crowd settled down, seating themselves upon the ground or jutting rocks and broken stalagmites.

'There is so much evil in this world,' she told them. 'It is governed by men whose spirits have been charred by the smoke and fire of their greed and their lust. We should pity these men for they are empty now, and upon their deaths will walk the Void, lost and frightened, never to see the bright and shining Light, never to know the joy of Paradise Found. Their momentary lives will flicker out as an eternity of regret beckons. They think themselves great men. They see their lives as full of glory and riches. Not so. The reality is that they are – as we all are – seeds in the soft earth. We cannot see the sun, nor the awesome beauty of the sky. We lie in the ground, and we yearn for what we cannot see. The men of evil believe the dirt is all there is, and they embrace it, drawing it around them like a blanket. For them a belief in a sun they cannot see is foolishness, so they wait under the earth until they rot. Those of us with faith have a desire to grow. And we do grow, my friends. We put out roots of love and kindness, and we move up through the dirt, and we will see the sun and the sky. The men of evil will not. So when they drag you from your homes pity them. When they tie you to the stakes forgive them. Their lives are as nothing, worthless and dead.'

She fell silent again. Then she began to move among the crowd, laying her hands upon their heads, whispering blessings. Voltan moved back to stand behind a tall stalagmite, but slowly she was moving towards him. He had a long dagger hidden in the folds of his toga, and glanced quickly back along the tunnel. If she exposed him he would kill her and run. He did not want it to happen. Nalademus would be furious if she was not taken alive.

Most of the crowd were on their knees, so Voltan crouched down, head bowed. He heard her approach, and felt her hand upon his head.

'I forgive you,' she whispered, then moved away, returning to stand before the crowd.

'I must leave you soon,' she told them. There were cries of 'No!' but she stilled them with a gentle gesture. 'I will be taken,' she said, 'and led out to face the jeering mobs and the stake of fire. I know this. I have seen the vision. But do not fear for me. It will happen because I allow it to happen. And if the Source decrees that it is my time to leave this earthly existence, then I welcome it.' An eerie silence settled upon the group. Some began to weep.

'There is a man here…' she began. Voltan tensed, and eased his hand inside his toga, curling it round the hilt of his dagger. '… a man who does not understand the mysteries of life, or the meaning of joy. For this man I have a message. Go from here to the marketplace of Stanos, and stand by the stall with the yellow canopy. You will not have to wait long, and you will learn a great truth. And now, my friends, I must say farewell. May the Source bless you and keep you.' She turned and walked slowly from the chamber.

Voltan stood very still. The crowd began to file past him and he joined them. There were several exits and soon he found himself wandering down through the narrow streets below the hill, and walking towards the Stanos district. He moved warily. It was surely a trap, and she would have agents ready to spring upon him as he reached the stall with the yellow canopy. He did not fear them. He was Voltan, and even with a dagger he could kill any who attacked him.

There were few people in the marketplace, and many of the stallholders were packing up their wares. Ahead he could see the yellow covering above a stall selling jewellery items, mainly of green jade. Scanning the people close by Voltan approached the stall. None of the men he could see were armed, and most were strolling with wives or lovers. He stood at the stall, looking down at the items on display.

A young woman, her hair blonde, her eyes pale blue, approached and began examining a tray of pendant earrings. There was something about her that touched a chord in the former gladiator, and he wondered if he had met her before.

'Excuse me,' he said. She looked up at him, and his mind slipped back through the years, to a moment in a courtyard, when he said farewell to a tearful girl.

'Yes?'

'Have we met?' he managed to say.

'I do not believe so, sir.'

'My name is Voltan, and I… sense that I should know you.'

'I am Cara,' she said, with a smile, 'and, believe me, sir, I would remember.'

'Where are you from, Cara?'

'I live with my grandfather.'

'Perhaps I know him,' he said. 'Perhaps I saw you when you were a child.'

'Perhaps you did,' she agreed. 'My grandfather is a famous man. He was Gladiator One, and he now trains the fighters of Circus Occian.'

Voltan felt as if he had been struck above the heart. 'Your grandfather is Rage?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'We have… met.'

'Then you should come and see us. We live in a large villa now. But we have few guests.'

'Perhaps I will,' he said, unable to take his gaze from her blue eyes. She gave him another smile.

'And I have seen you before, sir. An hour ago.' Lifting her hands she drew the outline of a tree in the air. Then she smiled again and swung away. He watched her walk from the marketplace.

Swiftly he returned to the temple, and sent a servant to fetch the file on the man Rage. In the fading light he read through it, then pushed the papers across the desk. Rising he walked to the window, and watched the dying sun fall behind the hills.

He had been nineteen when he left Stone, to join the eastern campaign with Panther Nineteen. Palia had wept and begged him to stay, but thoughts of warfare and glory had filled him. Once on campaign he found himself thinking of her often, and the times they had shared. Not just the carnal times, but the moments holding hands beneath the trees, or sitting arm in arm on the bench beneath the rose bower. He still held the memory of the scent of her hair.

Voltan had been away a year, and on his return had rushed to the house of Rage, praying that Palia had taken no other lover. He had been greeted by strangers, who told him that Rage no longer dwelt in Stone, but had moved to a distant part of the empire following the suicide of his daughter. Voltan had stumbled away, bereft and lost.

He stood now in the darkness, remembering the girl by the stall, her bright smile, her blue eyes. Voltan's throat felt tight, and there was a weight in his chest.

'I have a daughter,' he whispered.

He remembered the sign she had made, and, for the first time in his life, fear touched his heart.

Tomorrow would see the greatest cull in the city's history. Close to a thousand names had been gathered from agents, spies and informers. The lists had already been despatched to the hunt teams, and Voltan had no way of knowing whether Cara had been named. He heard a tap at the door, and a figure slipped into the darkness.

'All is ready, lord,' said the man. 'So do we kill the emperor tonight?'

'Aye, tonight,' said Voltan.