Midnight Falcon

Chapter Twelve

Vorna laid the comatose child upon her own bed and looked up at the mother, seeing the terrible fear in her eyes. 'Go to the kitchen,' she said. 'Boil some water for a tisane.'

'He cannot drink,' said Gwen.

'No, but we can. Go. Do it now while I examine him.'

'Please don't let him die!' said Gwen, dissolving into tears.

'I will do what I can. Go. Make some tisane for us. I take mine unsweetened. You will find camomile in the blue jar beside the oven.'

Turning away from the woman Vorna laid her hand on the boy's head. Closing her eyes she allowed her spirit to flow into the child. He was dying. Of that there was no doubt, the organs of his body close to collapse. At first Vorna could find no reason for his condition, and she flowed deeper, her spirit merging with the blood streaming through his veins. His kidneys were the greatest source of concern, and Vorna concentrated her power there, strengthening the tissue. Even as she healed the organs she felt them come under fresh attack. It was just as Banouin had told her, concerning his treatment of Ruathain. Every time an area underwent healing it almost immediately began to weaken again.

Orrin's labouring heart suddenly gave out. Vorna sent a burst of energy into it. It flickered, then began to beat once more.

Vorna honed her concentration, flowing yet deeper into the bloodstream. Now she could feel the vital elements within the flow. Still she could detect no sign of disease. The liver began to fail, and Vorna strengthened it. Then the kidneys weakened once more, and she boosted them with fresh energy. She was tiring now, and still there was no clue to what was killing the child.

Vorna withdrew from the boy. His colour was a little better, his breathing easier. Gwen returned to the room, carrying mugs of tisane. Vorna saw her spirit soar as she looked down upon her son.

'Do not get your hopes up, Gwen,' said Vorna sternly. 'I cannot yet identify the source of his sickness. Sit quietly by and do not in any circumstances speak to me unless I ask you to. You understand?'

'Yes,' said Gwen meekly.

Vorna gazed at the child's waxen skin. Think, she told herself. Whatever is causing this is powerful indeed, and yet why had he not succumbed earlier? If it was a sickness, surely he should have caught it from Ruathain far sooner than this. As should the mother, and any others with close contact to the boy. Therefore it was not like the plague or any contact-borne sickness. Yet there had to be a link.

The boy's heart stopped again. Vorna's spirit eased once more through the skin, sending a bolt of energy to the stricken organ. Orrin's body convulsed, then the heart began again. Vorna withdrew and turned to Gwen. 'You say the sickness began only today? No indications before this?'

'None. He has always been healthy. Aren't you going to do something?'

'I am doing something, Gwen. Stay calm.'

Vorna returned her attention to the child. The surface of his skin was hot, his body battling to bring down the fever temperature. Vorna flowed deeper, once more repairing the liver and kidneys. She had never come across anything like this before. It was as if the disease was continually invading the child.

For another hour she fought on, but she was now tiring rapidly. Pulling back from his body she slumped in her chair and sipped her cold tisane. Whatever had killed Ruathain was now destroying his brother. Again she turned to Gwen. 'How long was Ruathain sick?'

'Almost a year now. At first he just felt weak, and had no appetite. He would sleep all the time. Then, as the months passed, he grew weaker and weaker. He rallied when Banouin tended him – but only for a while. Why has it struck Orrin so savagely? He looks now like my Ru at the end.'

'Orrin is younger. Perhaps that is the key. Perhaps a strapping lad can fight off this… this malady with more strength than a child. But there is a link here that we must find. Otherwise he will not last the night.'

Closing her eyes she entered his body again, but this time, instead of joining the bloodstream, she floated just below the surface of his skin, helping to ease out the fever. When she reached the area of his chest she felt a sudden burning that caused her to flee to the sanctuary of her body. Rising from her chair she moved to a tall chest under the window, upon which lay some balls of thread and a long pair of scissors. Returning to the bedside she cut open the little boy's tunic.

Upon his chest lay a ring of white gold, with a moonstone at the centre. Orrin had hung it round his neck with a long leather thong.

'What is this?' asked Vorna, cutting the thong and lifting the ring clear.

'It is Ruathain's ring. Orrin must have taken it as a keepsake, to remind him of his brother.'

Vorna laid the ring upon the floor, then returned to the child. Now, as she flowed through him, healing the tortured tissue, there was no secondary attack. Orrin's heartbeat grew stronger, his fever abating.

Vorna covered him with a blanket. 'He looks a little better,' said Gwen.

'He is well,' Vorna told her. 'The evil is gone from him.' Lifting the ring on the end of her scissors she examined it. It was beautifully crafted. 'Where did Ruathain acquire this?' she asked.

'Meria gave it to him. It was originally a gift for Connavar from a Stone merchant, but the king does not wear rings. So Meria gave it to Ru. Why do you ask?'

Vorna walked to the kitchen, returning with a flat length of black slate which she laid on the chest by the window. Lifting a lantern from a bracket on the wall she placed it alongside the slate, then dropped the ring onto the gleaming black surface. As Gwen watched, Vorna held her hand over the ring and whispered a Word of Power. The temperature in the room plummeted, and upon the slate ice formed instantly. The moonstone glowed bright, then cracked open. Grey fluid oozed from the stone, spreading out across the slate. Vorna snapped her fingers, and the temperature rose once more. Gwen stared at the ruined ring.

'It is poison,' said Vorna, 'distilled by a mistress of the craft. She split the stone, hollowed out the centre, and made many imperceptible holes through the surface. Then she filled the centre with poison, remade the stone, and set it within this ring of white gold. Once the moonstone touched human skin it would slowly seep its poison into the blood. It was obviously meant to kill Connavar.'

'Then all I had to do to save Ru was remove the ring?' said Gwen. 'Oh, sweet heaven!'

'Do not blame yourself, Gwen. You could not know. The fault is not yours.'

'Yes, it is,' said Gwen. 'I wanted to come to you and ask you to tend my son. But I did not. Had I done so my Ru would still be alive.'

'Mam!' said Orrin. 'Mam!'

Gwen went to the bedside. 'Hello, my little one,' she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, Mam. I was sitting with Ruathain, and there was this bright light. And I woke up.' He looked around. 'Where are we, Mam?'

'You have been sick, little one, but Vorna healed you. This is Vorna. Say thank you.'

'Thank you, Vorna,' he said obediently.

'It was my pleasure, young man.'

Orrin's eyes closed and he fell asleep. Gwen brushed the hair back from his brow and kissed him tenderly. 'I don't have the words to express my gratitude,' she said. 'What can I do to thank you?'

'Leave here tomorrow with those heading west,' said Vorna. 'For death is coming to Three Streams, and my powers can do nothing to prevent it.'

It was more than four hours after Bane had seen the vision before the first of the outlaws walked from the forest. In that time Bane ordered a steer slaughtered and a fire pit dug, and as the men made their way towards the farmhouse the smell of roasting beef filled the air.

The first to arrive was the slender, round-shouldered Wik, and with him were some forty men, mostly armed with longbows and daggers. Bane greeted them, and Iswain began to cut meat for them. There were not enough plates, but Iswain had gathered sections of broken black slate, which she had stacked on a long trestle table. 'How many still to come?' asked Bane.

Wik shrugged. 'Valian is scouring the other small camps. Maybe another sixty. Maybe less. What is this about?'

'Let's talk inside,' said Bane.

The two men wandered into the farmhouse. Bane did not know Wik well, but his impression was not a good one. Wik was a man who lacked the appetite for work of any kind. Lazy and untrustworthy, he would sooner live in squalor and semi-starvation for months in the hope of one good robbery than labour for his daily food. What he possessed, in Bane's opinion, was an animal cunning, and an ability to gather to him like-minded souls. The man was not unintelligent, but nor was he as bright as he believed. Bane watched as Wik's dirty fingers tore at the rich meat. 'Well?' asked the outlaw leader, juices flowing to his wispy brown beard.

'I want to hire you and your men,' said Bane. 'For five days.'

Wik belched. 'You have anything to drink here?' he asked.

'Ale or uisge?'

'Uisge would be good.'

Bane took a jug from the cupboard and poured a generous measure into a clay cup. Wik downed it in one. 'Hire them for what?' he asked.

'To fight. Why else?'

'Who are we to fight?'

'Sea Wolves. They are heading for Three Streams.'

Wik finished his meal, and licked his fingers. 'How many Sea Wolves?'

'Two… maybe three hundred.'

Wik laughed and shook his head. 'Are you insane, man? We will have maybe a hundred men. Lazy turds most of them. Aye, and cowards among them.'

'But you are no coward,' said Bane.

'I am not an idiot either. Where are Connavar's soldiers? Where are these famed Iron Wolves?'

'There are twenty of them at Three Streams, the rest are near Seven Willows ready to take on the Vars king and his army.'

Wik thought for a moment. 'Then we should be sacking Three Streams first. Twenty soldiers my men can take.'

'I plan to offer every one of your men two gold pieces for five days' work.'

Wik's eyes widened. 'Man, that's a fortune! You have that much gold here?'

'Of course I do not,' said Bane. 'But it is close by, buried and waiting. You I will offer ten gold pieces.'

'You are richer than I thought, Bane. What, in the name of Taranis, are you doing living in this place? You could have a palace!'

'I am where I wish to be. What you must consider is where you wish to be.'

'What does that mean?'

'It is very simple. Among the people at Three Streams are relatives of the king. His mother is there, as is the wife of Bendegit Bran and her children. The man who saves them from the Sea Wolves – and that is you, Wik – will be offered great rewards. Your crimes will be pardoned, and it is likely you will have more gold than you can spend. No more sitting in the mud of a forest camp. You will have the palace you desire.'

Wik thought for a moment. 'A dead man has no need of a palace. I fought the Sea Wolves once, when I was still a Pannone. Evil bastards, but they can fight. No give in them.'

'Riches and fame do not always come easily,' said Bane. 'Ask yourself how many times in your life will you be offered the chance to save the king's mother – and be a hero into the bargain. At the very least you will come out of this with ten gold pieces – plus two for every man who dies.'

'I'll have some more uisge,' said Wik. Bane poured another measure, which disappeared even faster than the first. 'What is your plan?'

'I am hoping the people in Three Streams will evacuate the settlement. We will form a rearguard behind them. We will not tackle the Sea Wolves head on, but fight and move, wearing them down.'

'No pitched battle then?'

'Not if it can be avoided.'

Wik pushed his cup towards Bane, who filled it. 'And what if you're killed, Bane? How do we get our money then?'

'I will see to it that you are all paid whether I live or not.'

'Oh, and I just trust you on this, do I?'

'Aye, you do, Wik. But, as a gesture of good faith, I will give you five gold pieces in advance.' Bane unhooked the pouch from his belt and tipped the contents to the table. The five heavy golden coins rolled across the wood. Wik stared at them for a moment, then

scooped them up. Dropping four into his own pouch he drew his dagger and cut into the fifth, examining it closely. Then he added it to the others.

'Are we agreed?' said Bane.

'Aye, we are agreed. We'll defend the people of Three Streams for five days.'

By dusk more than ninety outlaws had assembled by the corral. Wik and the stocky Valian moved among them. Finally Bane walked out, wearing breastplate and helm, two short swords hanging at his side. Climbing onto the trestle table he called the outlaws forward. 'You know me,' he said. 'I am Bane. You know also that I have promised two gold coins to every man who marches beside me for these next five days. I hope you are not insulted by this, for you are all Keltoi, and I know many of you would willingly march for nothing against a savage enemy threatening the lives of Keltoi women and children. The reason I make this offer is simple. The soldiers of the king are paid when they fight for the king. And for the next five days you are all soldiers of the Rigante. So do not spurn the gold, my friends. Just earn it! We will leave two hours before the dawn.'

Leaping down from the table Bane strode back to the farmhouse. Gryffe joined him there. 'That was nicely said,' he observed. 'However, most of them wouldn't pull their mothers from a pit unless she paid them first.' Bane grinned and moved inside. Iswain was waiting there.

'So now you are all soldiers of the king,' she said, her voice sorrowful.

'Gryffe will remain here,' he told her, 'and make arrangements to feed those who have fled from the settlement.'

'What?' roared Gryffe.

Iswain's eyes blazed. 'How dare you insult my man!' she thundered. 'I will stay here and make arrangements for the refugees. The other women from the camp will help me. You'll not shame Gryffe by going without him.'

Bane raised his hands. 'My apologies to you both,' he said. 'It was not my intention to offend anyone. Nothing would delight me more than knowing Gryffe was at my side. But I thought…'

'What did you think?' asked Gryffe angrily. 'What possible reason could you have to leave me behind?'

Bane caught Iswain's eye, and saw the fear there. If Gryffe knew she had approached Bane about putting her man in danger he would be even more angry. 'I was thinking', said Bane carefully, 'that I needed someone I could trust to look after the farm and the cattle. And that, of course, was disrespectful to you, Iswain, for you are more than capable.' He swung towards Gryffe. 'No insult was intended, my friend. Of that you can be sure. It lifts my spirits to know I'll have you with me.'

'Ah, none taken,' said Gryffe, with a grin. 'I'll sharpen my sword.' He wandered off to the rear of the house.

'You misunderstood me,' said Iswain softly. 'What I was trying to say this morning was that I didn't want my man put in pointless danger. But he is a man – and a good, brave man. There is nothing pointless about helping women and bairns in danger.'

'I stand rebuked,' Bane told her.

'Just try to bring him back safe,' she said. 'And do not worry about the farm or the refugees. I'll take care of things.'

Bane leaned in close. 'There is something else you can do,' he said. 'At the back of the first barn there is an old chest, containing a few items I brought back from Stone. Underneath it, about two feet down, I buried another chest. This one is full of gold pieces. If for any reason I do not make it back, dig it up and pay every survivor the two gold pieces I promised them. The rest – and there won't be much left – you can keep.'

'You trust me with that much gold?' asked Iswain.

'Of course I do,' he answered, with a smile.

'Ah, Bane,' she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, 'you are a fool sometimes, but I do love you.'

In the gathering darkness Gwen trudged back to the house of Meria. She had left Orrin sleeping peacefully in Vorna's bed, and now, her shawl wrapped around her, she felt her emotions clash. The death of Ru and the saving of Orrin had come so close together that she no longer knew what she felt. Sadness and joy warred within her. What she did know was that, had little Badraig not been back at the house, she would have asked Vorna if she could stay the night. The last person she wished to see now was the hard-faced Meria.

Gwen was not a vengeful person, and there was no thought in her to punish Bran's mother. She just wished she could be heading anywhere else than back to this house of disharmony. She considered collecting Badraig and returning to Vorna's, but there was a great deal to pack for tomorrow's journey. With a heavy heart she approached the door, pushing it open. Meria was sitting by the fire, but she surged to her feet as Gwen entered.

'Is he dead?' she asked fearfully.

'No. Vorna healed him.'

'But… she has no powers now.'

'I saw her hold her hand over the poisoned ring, and ice formed under her fingers. The ring cracked and broke. I think she has powers still, Meria.' Gwen walked past the older woman.

'What are you talking about? Poisoned ring? What poisoned ring?'

'It doesn't matter,' said Gwen. 'Orrin is healed and well and sleeping. Let us leave it there. I am very tired.'

'I want to know what happened in that house,' said Meria, stepping in front of Gwen, who sighed and walked to the chair by the fire. She sat down and told Meria all that had happened, of how Orrin must have taken Ruathain's ring, and how he had looped it around his neck.

'Vorna thinks the poisoner planned for the ring to kill Connavar. It was a slow-acting poison, which is why it took so many months to kill my Ru.'

'I don't believe it was poisoned…' began Meria.

'Stop it!' said Gwen. 'I am not a fool, Meria. When that moonstone cracked open I saw the foulness that seeped from it. I could see then that the stone had been hollowed. As soon as it was removed from round Orrin's neck he strengthened and was quickly well. What you believe, or do not believe, is up to you. I know what killed my son. It was no-one's fault – save the murderers who intended harm to Connavar. No-one set out to rip Ruathain from the world. And I do not blame you for giving him the ring.' She rose from the chair. 'That is all there is to say – except that I shall be leaving tomorrow, with my sons. I believe Vorna when she says the raiders are coming. All who stay here will die, and I have seen too much of death lately.'

Meria stood very still, and Gwen saw the hardness ease from her face, and for a moment she regained a semblance of what must have once been great beauty. 'I stopped you from bringing Vorna to this house. I killed my grandson.'

'Not wittingly,' said Gwen. 'And I could have disobeyed you.' She left her there, and went to the bedroom. Badraig awoke as she entered. Gwen lifted him from his cot and held him close.

For Finnigal the new day was a continuing nightmare of frustration and near boiling anger. It had begun reasonably, with many of the refugees leaving their homes at dawn and harnessing their wagons. The first argument broke out within minutes, when Finnigal saw several people loading large chests onto the back of a wagon. He strode over and told them that only people and food would be leaving that day, since there were insufficient carriages. The man, an elderly Rigante merchant, berated him soundly, and refused to unload them. Finnigal tried to reason with him, but finally ordered two soldiers to remove the chests and carry them back into the house. The merchant, white-faced with fury, then refused to leave Three Streams, saying that if all his money was taken he'd be better off dead anyway.

And this was just the beginning. Rows broke out, and another refugee, a large Pannone woman, struck one of his soldiers. Finnigal did his best to calm matters, but – as he was all too aware – his nature was similar to that of his father, Fiallach, and anger was never far from the surface. Yet he struggled on, trying to do his duty, forcing himself to stay calm. After more than two hours, as the first of the wagons finally began the journey to the west, Finnigal's head was pounding. Then the rain came in a slashing torrent that turned the hillside to mud, and many of the heavier wagons became bogged down. People clambered from the wagons, slithering and sliding, slowly pushing them up the hill.

Finnigal, his mailshirt and clothing drenched, rain seeping under the iron neck guard and soaking his undershirt, trudged through the mud to the house of Meria. The Lady Gwen and her children had already left, and he found Meria sitting comfortably by a blazing fire, working on a piece of embroidery. 'Almost time to leave, my lady,' he said.

'Then leave. I shall not be travelling with you.'

Finnigal stood his ground. 'Your action is undermining my authority, lady. Hundreds of townsfolk are staying merely because you do. And if you stay then my soldiers and I must stay, which means there will be no-one to defend the refugees from outlaws.'

'Are you done, Finnigal?' she asked. 'For there is a mighty draught from that open door, and I have no wish to catch a chill.'

Furious, he turned and walked back into the rain.

By noon the storm had ceased, but the trail west had become a quagmire. Fewer than six hundred of the eleven hundred inhabitants of Three Streams had so far left the settlement and only twenty wagons remained. Many people were leaving on foot, carrying sacks of food and spare clothing. But more waited.

The sun broke through the clouds, momentarily lifting Finnigal's spirits, but the feeling was short-lived. People suddenly came streaming back down the hillside, dropping their provisions, shouting and waving. Finnigal removed his iron helm, the better to hear them. 'Outlaws!' he heard one man cry. 'Hundreds of them. Flee for your lives!'

Finnigal swore and shouted for his sergeant, a twenty-year veteran named Prasalis. The soldier came running from the direction of Nanncumal's forge. 'Gather the men,' ordered Finnigal.

'Here they come, sir,' said Prasalis, drawing his sword.

Finnigal strode out along the main street, past Eldest Tree, a colossal oak. He saw a man wearing a gleaming iron breastplate and helm leading the outlaws. The panic on the hillside eased as the advancing men showed no intention of attacking. Prasalis moved alongside his young captain. 'I make it a hundred and three,' he said. The Iron Wolves ran to line up alongside Finnigal, swords drawn.

The outlaws approached, and Finnigal found himself staring at their leader, open-mouthed. As he came closer he looked more and more like Connavar! It was uncanny. Even the eyes were the same, one green, the other tawny gold. There was no doubting who he was: the Bastard Bane. None of the outlaws had their weapons drawn. Even the archers had removed their bowstrings in a bid to keep them dry.

'What do you want here?' demanded Finnigal.

Bane smiled. 'Relax, captain. We are here to help you.'

'I need no help from a scurvy-'

Bane raised his hand. 'Say nothing more, captain,' he advised. 'Come, walk with me.' Turning away, Bane strode towards the forge. He did not look back to see whether Finnigal was following.

'If there's the first sign of trouble, attack them,' Finnigal told Prasalis. Then he moved after Bane, who was waiting by the forge fence.

'If you have come here to rob-'

'Shut your mouth, boy,' snapped Bane, 'and listen to what I have to say. There are two hundred Sea Wolves close by, and we have no time to bicker with one another. Now it is my intention to open Nanncumal's armoury and get mailshirts, swords and bucklers for my men. Then we will help you evacuate the settlement, and put ourselves under your orders for a rearguard. I have sixty bowmen, and forty other men who will fight with sword or axe. That gives us at least a fighting chance of protecting the refugees. You hear what I am saying?'

'I expect your price will be high for this,' said Finnigal. Bane's eyes grew cold and hard, and Finnigal felt the onset of fear.

'Aye,' said Bane, 'my price will be high. Now do you have a scout in the east?'

'Of course.'

'Then he should give us at least some warning when the raiders are close.' Bane scanned the settlement. 'Why are so many people still here?'

'The Lady Meria refused to leave. Others have followed her lead.'

'Is that so? We will attend to that presently. But first I will arm my men. Be so good as to advise yours to put away their weapons and continue with the evacuation.'

Finnigal reddened. 'Is this what you meant about putting yourself under my orders?'

Bane paused, and when he spoke his words surprised the young officer. 'You are quite right, Captain. How do you wish to proceed?'

Finnigal suddenly felt foolish, and a little ashamed. If the Sea Wolves were coming, he would need every fighting man he could find. He looked at Bane, and saw the contained anger in the man. 'This has been a tense day,' he said, by way of an apology. 'Take your men into the forge and arm them.' Turning to his men he called out: 'Put away your swords and continue with the evacuation.'

Leaving the bowmen outside Bane led the others through to the rear of the forge and the armoury beyond. The bald, stooped figure of Nanncumal stepped in front of the doorway.

'What are you doing here, Bane?' he asked. 'Bringing more shame upon the family?'

'Naturally,' said Bane. 'However, we have little time for debate, Grandfather. The enemy is coming and I need armour and weapons.'

'You are letting him do this?' Nanncumal asked Finnigal.

'I have instructed him to do it,' said Finnigal. 'Bane and his men are now under my orders.'

This is madness,' persisted Nanncumal. 'These men are robbers and killers.'

'Stand aside, Grandfather,' said Bane softly.

'Do it!' roared Finnigal. Nanncumal took a step to the left and Bane went by him into the armoury, his men trooping after him. Finnigal approached the elderly blacksmith. 'They are pledged to protect the refugees, and we badly need them, sir,' he said.

'But there are no Sea Wolves close by,' said Nanncumal. The Lady Meria insists that Vorna is mistaken.'

'I hope she is right,' said Finnigal, 'but I do not believe that she is.'

From inside the armoury came the sounds of whooping and laughter.

'Do you know,' asked Nanncumal, 'how much that armour is worth? Each mailshirt costs ten ounces of gold, and you are giving them away. You will have to answer for it.'

'I doubt that,' said Finnigal. 'I am charged with protecting the Lady Meria. If she stays, I stay. So it is likely that by dusk today I shall be dead.'

The old man looked at him, and his expression changed. 'You are a good man, Finnigal,' he said. More laughter came from inside. 'I'd better see what they are taking.'

Finnigal nodded and returned to the main street.

The evacuation was continuing at an even greater pace now and Finnigal smiled. Many of the people had dismissed the fears of a Vars force approaching, but they had no wish to remain in a settlement where a hundred outlaws had gathered.

Prasalis approached him. This may not be wise, sir,' he said. 'I know some of those men. The thin bowman by the wall there is Wik. He's a cold killer. He'd slit his grandfather's throat for a bent copper coin. Then there's the Norvii, Valian. The king has warrants out on him for rape and murder. There are at least a dozen others with no belly for a smash-skulls-or-die skirmish.'

'As matters stood this morning,' Finnigal told him, 'we had twenty men, and some fifty middle-aged volunteers facing a force above two hundred strong. Now we have one hundred and seventy men. Some of them may be cowards, but they are here, Sergeant.'

'And what if it is all a trick, sir, and they have come to rob and kill?'

'Then I will have made a dreadful mistake. I don't, however, think that will prove to be the truth. I looked into Bane's eyes. I do not think him treacherous.'

'Just because he looks like the king doesn't mean he will act like him,' Prasalis pointed out.

'By the gods, I actually feel like a soldier,' said Gryffe, holding out his arms and admiring the sleeveless mailshirt. He chuckled, then gazed up at the sword rack on the wall. He swung to Nanncumal. 'No battle axes?'

'No axes,' replied Nanncumal. Gryffe lifted down a longsword.

'This will do,' he said.

'It will not do,' said Nanncumal, striding forward and snatching it from Gryffe's hand. This is a rider's weapon. Do you know nothing? It is blade-heavy and meant to be swung downwards from the saddle.' Replacing the sword he pushed past several other outlaws and took down a longsword with a leather-covered grip and curving quillons. It was some eight inches shorter than the first blade. 'Here, numbskull!' he said. 'Feel the balance of this!'

Gryffe took it. 'I have to admit it feels better,' he said.

Nanncumal sighed. 'You expect these men to stand up to Sea Wolves?' he asked Bane. 'The Vars are born ready to fight. They are utterly ferocious. Gods, man, you know this. You've fought them yourself!'

'You are right, Grandfather,' said Bane. 'We'll send a messenger to the Vars asking them to wait for a week while we find better men to oppose them.' He smiled as he said it, and the old man suddenly chuckled. Then his expression hardened.

'I had believed… hoped that this story of the Vars was some nonsense dreamed up by Vorna. But it's not, is it?'

'No, it is not. Would you help my men choose suitable weapons? I need to see Finnigal.'

'Aye, I'll help them. I can't help feeling it will be like measuring a hound for a hat – an interesting but pointless exercise.'

'A plain speaker, isn't he?' said Gryffe.

Bane nodded, and left the forge. Finnigal was standing beneath Eldest Tree. Hundreds of Three Streams dwellers were trudging past him, heading for the west.

'I have scouted some possible areas for ambushing the Vars,' said Bane. 'Perhaps you'd like to ride out and see them for yourself?'

'No need,' said Finnigal. 'I won't be coming with you.'

'How then will I learn of your orders, Captain?' asked Bane, with a smile.

Finnigal laughed, but there was little humour in it. 'You won't. You'll take command. Since your arrival quite a few of the good folk of Three Streams have reconsidered their decision to stay in the settlement. But not the Lady Meria, and some fifty others. My men and I will stay and fight the Vars. With luck we'll reduce their numbers by at least thirty. Also, since some of those staying are young women, the Vars will probably dally here awhile before giving chase.'

'This is daft, man,' said Bane. 'Compel them to leave.'

'How does one compel the king's mother? She is not a soldier, and therefore not under my command. Be serious, Bane. The old lady has made her decision. I can say nothing to sway her.'

Bane stood silently for a moment. 'That is a terrible waste of twenty good men,' he said. 'However, perhaps there is an alternative. It will require you to trust me. Later on – if there is a later on – you can berate me publicly.'

'What is your plan?'

'Best that you do not know. Then there can be no question of collusion. I suggest you take your twenty riders to the top of the hill, to examine the ground beyond for possible fighting sites. In the mean time I will organize the evacuation.'

The soldier removed his iron helm and pushed back his mail hood. 'The Lady Meria', he said, 'has gone to the Roundhouse with the others who are remaining. Some of them have changed their minds, and she is seeking to strengthen their resolve.' He shook his head. 'Ah well, Bane, I think I'll take a ride with my men.'

'First have them bring a wagon to the Roundhouse,' said Bane.

Finnigal walked away and Bane returned to the forge. His men were gathered outside. All of them now wore breastplates and helms and were carrying swords and round wooden bucklers, edged with iron.

He called Wik to him. The outlaw leader had no mailshirt, but was carrying a longbow and a quiver of arrows. 'Take the men to the brow of the hill and wait for me there,' said Bane.

'So far it is the easiest gold I've ever earned,' said Wik.

'The day is not over yet,' Bane reminded him.

Keeping Gryffe, the stocky Valian and the crippled Grale with him Bane returned to Eldest Tree, and waited until two Iron Wolves drove the last wagon to the Roundhouse. The men climbed down and mounted their horses. Finnigal and the seventeen other riders came into view and the troop rode off towards the west.

'Time to pay my compliments to a dear relative,' said Bane. 'Grale, you get ready to drive the wagon. You two come with me.'

Bane walked across to the double doors of the Roundhouse, Gryffe and Valian just behind him. Throwing open the doors the three men strode inside. A large group of people were gathered at the centre fire, and the Lady Meria was talking to them. She fell silent as Bane approached. He looked into her eyes and saw both anger and astonishment.

'Grandmother, how nice it is to meet you at last,' said Bane.

'Get out of my sight!' she shouted. It surprised him that, after the first glance, she did not look at him, but turned her face away.

Bane grinned, then scanned the faces of the crowd. Most of them were elderly, but there were some young women, with small children by their sides. 'The Vars will be here soon,' he told them. The old ones they will kill, and the babes and toddlers. The young women they will not kill. Not immediately. But when they are finished with them they will cut their throats. That is the Vars way with prisoners they cannot take home as prizes.'

There are no Vars,' said an old man. The Lady Meria has assured us-'

'If the Lady Meria is right then you will all spend a few uncomfortable days and nights in open country. If she is wrong you are all dead,' said Bane.

'You will leave now!' commanded Meria. 'You are not welcome here!'

He bowed. 'As you command, lady, so shall it be.' Stepping forward he ducked down, threw his arm round Meria's hips and hoisted her to his shoulder. She shouted and rammed her fists against his lower back. Ignoring her he swung towards the outraged crowd, many of whom had risen to their feet. 'When the Vars come,' he thundered, 'have the courage to kill the children quickly.' He started to walk away.

'Where are you going with her, you brute?' shouted a middle-aged woman.

'To safety, lady. I suggest you all follow us.'

With that he carried the struggling Meria out of the Roundhouse and lowered her to the back of the wagon. 'Understand this,' he told her, his voice cold and hard. 'If you run I shall catch you, and tie you to the wagon. You have lost a little dignity today. You will lose far more if I have to drag you through the mud and tie your hands and feet.'

'You will pay for this with your life!' she hissed.

The crowd began to move out of the Roundhouse and cluster round the wagon. At that moment an armoured rider came galloping from the east. His horse thundered over the second bridge and he brought it to a stop before the Roundhouse. 'Where is Captain Finnigal?' he called.

'He is on the hilltop, scouting the ground,' said Bane. 'Have you sighted the Vars?'

'Aye, two hundred of them. They're right behind me.'

'Bara's teeth, man, how far east did you ride?'

'The captain said to go no more than a mile. So I waited on Giant's Tooth until I caught sight of them.'

Bane swore long and loud. Had the man been sent further east he would have seen the Vars earlier, and the news would have given the civilians greater incentive to evacuate Three Streams. But there was no point in hammering such a truth home now. Bane addressed the crowd. 'We can take fifteen of the oldest and most infirm in the wagon,' he said. 'The rest of you better run for your lives.'

The Vars had marched just under sixty miles in three days, but there was little sign of weariness among them. Snarri Daggerbright marched at the head of his little army, his second in command Dratha beside him.

'One more mile,' said Snarri, licking his misshapen lips. The rain had eased, the sun now shining brightly through a break in the clouds. Snarri had never been this deeply into Rigante territory before. The lands were lush and fertile, unlike the rocky slopes of his own home. The cattle they saw were – despite the harshness of the winter – already fattening well on the new grass. Snarri thought of his farm. More stone than soil, the crops withered and thin. Seeing this verdant land made him realize more than ever why Shard was determined to conquer it.

Snarri glanced back at his men, their mailshirts gleaming in the sunlight. On the first day of the march the Vars had been uneasy. Despite the assurances from Shard they scanned the horizon, constantly expecting to see a Rigante force. By the second day they were more relaxed. Snarri promised them women and plunder, and a rich harvest for the gods of blood.

'I've never had a Rigante woman,' said Dratha, on the second day.

'Hellcats, every one of them,' Snarri told him. 'Unless you beat them unconscious it takes three men to hold one down. They'll scratch, punch, kick and bite. You get no pleading from them, and they stare at you with murder in their eyes. Ah, but it is an experience to treasure.'

Dratha considered this information. 'I thought old Lars had a Rigante wife once?'

'Nah, she was Perdii. Softer. Once he got her back from the raid she settled down well. Lars said she only needed the lash a few times. After that she was fine. But I knew a man tried to take a Rigante woman for his wife – snatched her on a raid. Nothing but trouble. Ran away three times. He lashed her, beat her – broke her arm if I remember. She cut his throat one night, then she cut off his balls and nailed them to the door.'

'I remember that,' said Dratha. 'I was about ten. Didn't she jump off a cliff or something?'

'Aye. We had her cornered but she ran to the cliff top and leapt. Three hundred feet she fell. Tide was out. Not a pretty sight when we found her.' He laughed. 'But prettier than she would have looked had we taken her alive. No, take my advice, Dratha, when we get to the village find a married woman with a small child. They'll do anything to protect their young.'

At the base of the last hill Snarri called a halt, and gathered his men around him. 'Three Streams is just over the rise,' he told them. 'We go in fast and hard, kill every man and old woman you see. The younger women will be taken alive and bound. No pleasures to be taken until the settlement is secure. Does everyone understand that?' He looked around into the stern faces of his fighters. No-one spoke. 'Good. Now, there is one older woman who must be taken alive. Her name is Meria. She is around five and a half feet tall, with long, silver hair and green eyes. Kill no old women with green eyes. Take them and bind them.'

'What about soldiers?' asked a man close by.

'A troop of twenty Iron Wolves travelled with Meria. They need to be taken out first. Two more points to remember: a few of the villagers will run into the hills. Do not pursue them. Concentrate on those left in the settlement. And secondly no plundering until I give the word. When all the Rigante are dead – save maybe a few women for later pleasures – we will loot the homes. We will then divide the spoils evenly and equally. Are there any other questions?' Again no-one spoke. Snarri drew his sword. 'Then let us begin the slaughter,' he said.

He led the way up the steep hill. The rain had made it treacherous, and as they pushed on it became more so. One man at the rear lost his footing in the newly churned mud, slipped, and slid on his backside all the way to the foot of the hill. The Vars hooted and jeered, and, shamefaced, the warrior scrambled up to join them.

Snarri reached the top of the hill – and saw a column of fleeing refugees heading towards the west. He swore loudly. A wagon, packed with women, was moving slowly up the hillside opposite. One of the occupants was a middle-aged woman with silver hair. She was wearing a fine gown edged with gold. Snarri swore again. 'First share of the loot to the men who capture that wagon,' he shouted. Drawing his longsword he set off down the hill, the Vars streaming behind him.

The four horses were straining to drag the wagon up the muddy incline, the iron-shod wheels sinking deeply. Bane, Gryffe and Valian pushed from the back, but slowly the wagon ceased its upward movement.

'Everyone off!' yelled Bane. He glanced up at the hilltop some forty paces ahead. 'You'll have to make it on foot.' People began to clamber down. One elderly woman slipped and began to slide. Gryffe threw himself down, catching hold of the woman's dress. For a moment they both slid, then Gryffe clawed at the mud. His hand hit a buried stone, halting the slide. Valian moved back to help the woman to her feet. Three hundred yards away the Vars had entered the settlement and were racing towards the hill. Freed of the extra weight the wagon surged forward. An old man stumbled close by. Bane lifted him to his feet and helped him up the slope. At the top Bane called out for the bowmen to line the crest. He looked at Wik, who was very pale, his eyes wide and frightened.

'Do not shoot until they reach the hill itself,' yelled Bane. They'll not be able to come up it fast. When you've emptied your quivers fall back.'

'Damn right we'll fall back!' said Wik, licking his lips nervously.

'The rest of you line up behind the bowmen!' shouted Bane. The outlaws shuffled into line. Bane swung to Gryffe. 'You think they'll stand?' he whispered.

Gryffe shrugged. 'No way to tell. But I will!'

Finnigal and his nineteen Iron Wolves had tethered their horses some fifty feet back from the hilltop. He led his men forward, and glanced down at the charging Vars. Bane moved in close to the young officer. 'You mind a word of advice, Captain?' he asked, keeping his voice low.

'I'm listening.'

'Spread your men through the line. Some of the outlaws are looking terrified. Having Iron Wolves among them will stiffen their resolve.'

'That's good thinking,' agreed Finnigal. He grinned suddenly. 'I'm feeling a little terrified myself.'

The Vars reached the foot of the hill, and a blood-curdling roar erupted from them. Wik was standing, bow bent, staring down at them. Bane saw that his hands were trembling.

'Take aim – and shoot on my command!' shouted Bane. The fifty outlaw bowmen drew back on their bowstrings. 'Now!'

Fifty shafts slashed through the air. Many of the Vars were carrying iron-rimmed shields, and most of the shafts slammed into them, or bounced from iron helms. One man fell, an arrow through his forehead. Several others were hit in the legs or arms.

'Again!' yelled Bane. 'Hit them with everything!'

The second volley was far more deadly than the first, for the charge had slowed as the Vars laboured up the slippery hillside. Now, as men fell, they slid into the paths of those following, knocking them down, or causing them to lower their shields. By Bane's reckoning at least twenty Vars were down. 'Keep it going!' he bellowed.

Volley after volley hit the climbing men. As the Vars came closer the volleys became more ragged, many of the shafts flashing over their heads or into the ground. 'Steady now!' shouted Bane. 'Steady!'

As the enemy came closer to the hilltop Bane saw that the width of their line would allow the Vars to encircle the defenders. Moving back from the crest he shouted for his men to spread out along both sides.

Suddenly Wik dropped back, turned, then sprinted away from the crest. He still had several arrows in his quiver. The other bowmen saw him run, and they too scrambled back behind the mailshirted warriors.

'Forward!' yelled Finnigal, drawing his sword. At the centre of the line Bane drew his two short swords and advanced.

The Vars reached the crest. Bane leapt forward, spearing one blade through a man's throat and slashing the second across the face of the warrior beside him. Both men fell back, impeding those behind. Gryffe, with a bellowed battle cry, hurled himself at the Vars, swinging his sword double-handed. It smashed into a hurriedly raised shield, but such was the force of the blow it knocked the bearer from his feet.

The air was filled now with the sound of clashing blades, the screams of the wounded, the ugly snarls and grunts of the fighting men, the snapping of bones and the rending of flesh. Slipping and sliding on the treacherous ground the Vars could not, at first, make use of the weight of their numbers to force a way through. But then Snarri and Dratha got a foothold on the crest. Snarri lashed his sword against the unprotected thigh of a defender. Blood sprayed out, and the man fell. Snarri pushed past him. Dratha following hammered his single-bladed axe through the man's skull. Other Vars streamed over the hilltop.

Ahead Snarri could see the silver-haired woman. She was standing by the wagon, watching the battle. And she was close enough for Snarri to see her green eyes. He and Dratha moved towards her.

Bane, seeing the breach in the line, dropped back and ran to fill it. He killed two Vars and kicked out at a third, who had just reached the crest. The man slipped and fell, rolling back into his fellows. Gryffe raced to join Bane. A sword blade rammed into his side. The mail shirt stopped the blade slicing into his flesh, but Gryffe felt a rib snap under the impact. Dropping his sword he lunged at the Var, punching him full in the face. Then he grabbed him at the throat and groin, heaved him into the air and hurled him into a group of Sea Wolves about to clear the crest. Sweeping up his blade Gryffe gave a great shout and threw himself at the charging men. His sword hammered against an iron helm, splitting it in two, the blade crushing the skull beneath. Finnigal and two Iron Wolves joined him, and closed the breach.

As Snarri and Dratha ran at the woman by the wagon a slim warrior moved to stand before her. Snarri saw that the man was middle-aged, with only one eye. The Vars leader leapt to the attack. Instead of jumping back, or parrying, the one-eyed man ducked under the sweeping blade and sent a deadly thrust at Snarri's face. The huge Var swayed away from the thrust, and kicked out, catching the one-eyed warrior in the knee. The Rigante stumbled. Dratha stepped in swiftly, bringing his axe down on the man's shoulder. The snapping of bone followed and the Rigante cried out. Then he surged to his feet, the axe still embedded in his flesh. Dratha tried to leap back, but the warrior's sword opened his throat in a bloody spray. Snarri swung his longsword at the Rigante's neck, but mistimed the stroke, the blade clanging against the man's helm, knocking it from his head. Dazed, the Rigante tried to turn, but Snarri's reverse sweep smashed his skull to shards.

Another fighter loomed before him. Snarri blinked. The man was wearing an iron breastplate, helm and greaves, styled in the Stone fashion. And he was carrying two short swords. His face and arms were spattered with blood. Snarri attacked, but the warrior moved like quicksilver, blocking his thrust and spinning into him. The Rigante's shoulder struck Snarri in the chest, knocking him back. He struggled to recover his balance only to see, in the last heartbeat of his life, a silver blade flash before his eyes. It struck his jaw, glanced down into his neck, and ripped through bone, tendon and vein. Snarri was already dead as the second blade hit his neck from the other side, severing the head completely.

Back at the crest of the hill the fighting was chaotic and furious. Of the two hundred Vars who had made the charge only around a hundred and ten had made it to the crest. Of these more than half were down. But so were many of the defenders. Gryffe, blood-covered now, was still fighting furiously, as was Finnigal. But they had been pushed back. Bane charged into the fray, his gladiatorial skills raising the spirits of the defenders as he cut down Var after Var.

Finnigal went down. A Sea Wolf carrying a battle axe loomed over him. Bane leapt at him feet first, hurling him to the ground. Finnigal rolled and smashed his sword across the man's face. The captain climbed to his feet, to see Bane launch himself at three Vars. Half stunned, Finnigal staggered to his aid.

At that moment men began to rush past the dazed soldier, throwing themselves upon the Vars, stabbing them with hunting knives and daggers. It was the bowmen who had fled the field earlier. Catching his breath Finnigal watched as they ripped into the exhausted Sea Wolves. He glanced round to see the outlaw leader Wik draw back on his bowstring. The shaft tore through the chest of a tall, wide-shouldered Var, his body pitching back over the hill and sliding all the way to the bottom. More arrows followed – and some of the surviving Vars began to run back down the hill. On the hilltop the remaining Vars were still fighting furiously. Bane ran at them, Gryffe and Valian just behind him. Finnigal tried to follow, but a great weariness settled on him and he sat down heavily.

The fighting was over within a few minutes, his sergeant Prasalis knocking the last Var to the ground before braining him with several vicious blows. Prasalis looked round, saw Finnigal sitting alone and ran over to him.

'Are you hurt, sir?' he asked, kneeling down.

'Aye, but I'll live… I think,' said Finnigal. Blood was streaming from several cuts to his legs and upper arms, and there was a gash on his brow that was dripping blood into his eyes. Prasalis pulled a cloth from his belt and wiped the gash.

'There's nothing too deep, and your skull isn't cracked.'

'How many did we lose?' asked Finnigal.

'I'll find out, sir,' said Prasalis, moving away.

Bane, his swords sheathed, his helm discarded, walked over to where Wik was standing, staring down over the settlement. The outlaw had an odd expression in his face that Bane could not read.

'Good to see you,' said Bane, with a smile. 'Thought you might have left us.'

'I did leave you,' said Wik. 'I was pissing myself with fear.'

'Then why did you come back?'

Wik shrugged. 'I've been asking myself the same thing. The other five gold pieces, I expect.'

'Nonsense,' said Bane. 'You came back because you're a man. Don't belittle yourself. How do you feel?'

'Truly? I feel sad, and I can't tell you why.'

Bane placed his hand on the man's shoulder. 'We saved hundreds of lives today. We stood our ground and we won. But I feel sad too.' He smiled. 'And I don't know why either. We'll talk later. For now let's see to the men.'

Prasalis returned to Finnigal, and helped the captain to the wagon. 'We'd better get those wounds stitched,' said the sergeant, 'or you'll bleed to death.'

'What are our losses?'

'Eleven of our men and sixty of the outlaws dead or dying. The Vars lost one hundred and sixty-four men. The survivors fled to the east.'

Finnigal leaned against the side of the wagon. He saw Bane walk over and stand beside the body of a dead outlaw. 'Who was he?' called out Finnigal.

'His name was Grale,' said Bane. 'I almost killed him two years ago. A friend of mine told me he was once a hero – that he had fought bravely at Cogden Field.' Bane glanced across at the silent figure of Meria. 'He died for you, lady,' he said. 'I hope you have the grace to remember his name.'

From the hills to the west came the refugees from Three Streams. Vorna and a group of the women began to move among the wounded, tending them.

Bane called Gryffe and Valian to him, then he walked over to Finnigal. 'With your permission, Captain, I'll take some men and pursue the Vars, keep them on the move.'

Finnigal reached out and shook Bane's hand. 'I appreciate everything you've done. I never was in command, but I'll not forget your courtesy. Go on! Give chase. And then come back and we'll have a drink together… cousin.'