Midnight Falcon

Chapter Thirteen

The gloomy predictions of Prasalis, of sixty outlaws 'dead or dying', would have been accurate but for the arrival of Vorna. Eighteen of the men with mortal wounds were brought back from the brink, as were three of the badly wounded Iron Wolves. There were no survivors among the Vars, for the outlaws moved among the wounded, killing all who still breathed. The folk of Three Streams stripped the dead of their weapons and armour, and, according to the orders of Finnigal, the forty-two outlaw dead were buried in a mass grave, the bodies of the Vars burnt on a massive funeral pyre. Bane and his twenty riders returned to the settlement at dusk, having hunted down the fleeing Vars, killing all but three who escaped into the woods to the west. Bane did not stay in Three Streams, but rode on back to his farm.

In her home Vorna dozed in her chair by the fire, dreaming of past days, when the sun seemed brighter, the world infinitely less perilous. Her husband, Banouin, was by her side, and they walked the hills close to the Wishing Tree woods. These were the days after she had brought Connavar back from the dead, after his fight with the bear; days when the lands of the Rigante were largely peaceful and good men like the mighty Ruathain, Banouin and the Long Laird seemed immortal, everlasting.

But nothing lasts, thought Vorna, coming out of her doze. Even the mountains will one day be gone, vanished under ice or swallowed into the depths of the ocean. She thought of the men she had healed today. Merging with them to mend their injuries she had touched their souls. Many among the outlaws were dark and twisted, and yet, on this day, a bright spark had flickered in them. She wondered if those sparks would catch, the light growing within them, or whether they would burn out quickly, leaving the men much as before.

There was, she knew, such a small distance for a man to walk between good and evil. Connavar the King was considered a good man, devoting his life to the welfare of all Keltoi on this side of the water. Yet once – blinded by rage and despair – he had ridden into a Pannone village, and butchered men, women and children. Sadness touched Vorna then and her eyes filled with tears.

'No point crying for what is already past,' she told herself.

There came a knock at the door. Vorna took a deep breath. She knew who had come to her house, and was not relishing the visit. 'Come in, Meria,' she called.

The king's mother moved hesitantly into the firelit room. In the gentle flickering light she looked younger, more like the woman Vorna had once known. But she is not that woman, Vorna reminded herself.

'I hope you do not mind me calling so late,' said Meria.

'What is it you want?' asked Vorna, keeping her voice neutral.

'I… wanted to thank you for saving my grandson.'

'Sit yourself,' said Vorna, knowing the answer was not the whole truth.

Meria removed her pale green and blue chequered cloak and sat down in the chair opposite. Folding the cloak carefully she rested it over her lap. 'I have been foolish, Vorna,' she said, not looking at the witch, but staring instead at the flames of the fire. 'In all my life I have only truly loved one man. My Varaconn.'

'But not Ruathain,' said Vorna harshly, 'who died for you?'

'No,' admitted Meria. 'Not Ru, who deserved better.' She gave a deep sigh. 'It is said that the people of Stone have three words for love. I do not know what they are, but Brother Solstice explained them to me once. There is love of family or friends, there is the fierce, protective love we have for our children, and there is the all-consuming erotic love, burning with the flames of devotion and adoration. It is perhaps wrong to say that I did not love Ru. For I loved him deeply as one would a big brother. But Varaconn was my love and my life. When he died a part of me – perhaps the best part of me – was laid to rest in the earth beside him.' The fire was burning low and Meria leaned down to add a log to the flames. 'I thought I had remembered his face, the contours, the smile. I had recalled him as looking like my Connavar, save that his hair and beard were golden. But I had not, Vorna. Over the years I had forgotten.'

'Then you saw Bane,' said Vorna.

'Aye, I saw Bane. And in him I saw Varaconn. It was as if he had stepped through a gate in time. Oh, Vorna! What have I done with my life?' Tears began to fall. 'I let my grandson die. I almost doomed the settlement. I have become a harridan, unloved by all. But worse, far worse, I turned my back on Connavar's only son.'

'Yes, you did these things,' said Vorna coldly, 'and they cannot be changed. All our deeds have consequences, and we must face them. You are now facing yours.'

Meria brushed away her tears. 'You are not making this easy for me, Vorna.'

'No, I am not.'

'Do you hate me so much?'

'I do not hate anyone,' Vorna told her. 'Once we were friends, and I treasure those memories. Now we are not. I can live with that. It interests me to know why you chose to end that friendship.'

'I was wrong to do so,' said Meria. 'It was weak of me, and petty. It happened after I learned of Ruathain's death at the Great Battle. Brother Solstice told me that Ru had a diseased heart, and that you had been tending him. He said that you had warned Ru not to fight. But I did not know of his condition. You recall my son's geasa?’

'Of course. I prophesied it. He will die on the day he kills the dog that bites him.'

'Exactly. And Conn was bitten by a dog. The hound's teeth locked onto Conn's wrist guard and did not break the flesh. When I told Ru he said that this was not a true bite. I took no notice. I was so terrified that Conn would be killed in the following day's battle that I urged Ru to go with him, and defend him. I told him – may the gods forgive me – that he had once promised to defend Varaconn and had failed, and that he must not fail again.'

'And he did not fail,' said Vorna. 'He fought all day alongside Connavar. His heart only gave out after the battle. But why did this cause you to hate me?'

'I did not have the courage to blame myself for his death,' said Meria, 'so I convinced myself that had you told me of his condition I would never have sent him into battle. Thus his death became your fault, not mine. And then, when you befriended Bane, my hatred grew. I look back at what I have become and I am ashamed, Vorna.'

'Then change,' said Vorna, 'but know this, it is too late.'

'Too late? What do you mean?'

'It is too late for you to forge a relationship with Bane. He needed you as a babe, as a toddler, as a child. He does not need you now. Nor does he want you.'

'But you are his friend, Vorna. You could explain to him…'

'What would I explain to this twenty-year-old warrior who has grown to manhood despised and rejected by his family? He needs no explanations. He knows. He watched his mother die before her time, weighed down by the contempt of others who blamed her alone for Connavar's loss. Now he is a man, and through the disappointments of his childhood has no desire for familial affection. Your time to build a relationship with Bane has long gone. If you truly desire to change, then let that change show with those children who might yet benefit from it, your own grandchildren, Orrin and Badraig.'

'Then you will not help me?' said Meria, her face hardening, her green eyes gleaming in the firelight.

Vorna laughed. 'Now that is the Meria I know.'

Meria slumped back in her chair, the light of anger fading from her eyes. 'I suppose that it is,' she said. 'But I don't want to be her any more. Tonight I tried to cuddle Orrin and he ran away from me. He was frightened.'

'These things take time,' said Vorna, her voice softening. She rose from the chair. 'I will make some tisane, and we will talk of happier days.'

Three days passed with no news of the great battle being waged between the Rigante and the Vars near Seven Willows. The people of Three Streams went about their business, but they were fearful. What if Connavar was to fail? What if – having defeated a few hundred Vars – ten thousand were to appear in the distance? Scouts were sent out to watch the eastern horizon, and people left many of their clothes and belongings packed ready for flight.

On the morning of the fourth day a rider came galloping over the hills. As he came closer they saw he was one of Bendegit Bran's Horse Archers, his silver mailshirt gleaming in the sunshine, his bow tied to his saddle. His horse thundered over the first bridge and down into the settlement centre. People ran from their homes, anxious for news. He waited until more than fifty were gathered, with still more pouring in.

'Victory!' he shouted. 'The Vars are defeated, their king slain.'

A huge cheer went up, and word spread fast through Three Streams. Men and women gathered around the rider. His horse became skittish and reared. People fell back then. The rider calmed his mount and leapt down from his saddle, leading the nervous horse to the corral alongside the forge. 'Where is the Lady Meria?' he asked. Men pointed to her house and the Horse Archer strode across the open ground, a huge crowd following. He turned to them. 'I will give a full report at the Roundhouse in an hour. First I must deliver messages to the king's mother and to the wife of Bendegit Bran.'

He left them then, and walked to the front door of the house. It was open, and Gwen was standing in the doorway.

'Is Bran alive?' she asked.

The rider removed his black leather helm, and bowed. 'He is alive and well, my lady. I am Furse, son of Ostaran, and I have a letter for you.' Opening the pouch at his side he pulled forth two wax-sealed letters. He gave the first to Gwen.

Meria emerged from the kitchen, flour upon her hands. 'I heard the shouting,' she said. 'I take it my son has won another great battle?'

'Indeed he has, Lady Meria.'

'Gwen, fetch our guest a cup of ale. He must be thirsty after such a ride. Then he can sit and tell us all the news.' Meria looked at the rider closely, as Gwen moved past her into the kitchen. He was slender and not tall, his pale hair cut short after the fashion of the men of Stone. 'Do I not know you, young man?' Meria asked.

'You do, lady. I am Furse. My father-'

'Ah yes, Ostaran the Gath. I like him. He makes me laugh. Sit you down, sir.'

Gwen returned with a mug brimming with ale. Furse thanked her and drank deeply. Then he sat, and gave a wide smile.

'We smashed them,' he said. 'Bendegit Bran organized the deployments. It was his strategy. We took them on three sides, forcing them up onto the Hallowed Hills. Then Connavar led the Iron Wolves against their left flank, splitting their force. They fought hard, these Vars, but it was an easy victory. They tried to hold to the hilltops, but we drove them off. At the last King Shard tried to lead his men in a charge, attempting, I think, to break and run for their ships. But Bran had thought of this, and my father's Horse Archers cut them off.

'Ah, ladies, but the finish was glorious. Shard – a mighty man and fully six and a half feet tall – stood alone upon a narrow bridge. His men were dead, or fleeing the field, but he stood brave and strong, and taunted us, calling for a champion to fight him, man to man. Three he killed before King Connavar rode up. Shard saw him and called out: "At last a foe worthy of my blade."

'The king drew his sword and stepped out to meet him. The battle was brief, ladies, but wondrous. When Shard fell the king knelt by him. I was one of those close by and I moved in to hear what passed between them. Shard spoke, but the words were whispered, and I did not catch them. Then Shard reached up and took the king's hand. I heard Connavar say, "And on that day there will be no hatred between us." Then Shard died.'

'What were our losses?' asked Meria.

'More than two thousand slain, my lady. And at least five thousand wounded. As I said, these Vars are tough men. The king ordered a day of rest, but after that the army will be heading south to face Jasaray. Our scouts tell us that the army of Stone numbers thirty thousand, and three thousand cavalry.'

'My son will defeat them,' said Meria. 'It is his destiny.'

'Yes, lady,' said Furse. Then he remembered the letter he carried. He passed it to Meria. 'I fear the contents will sadden you. I will allow you to read it in private.' He rose, but Meria beckoned him to seat himself.

'If my sons are alive and we have a victory I can think of nothing to sadden me,' she said. Breaking the seal she held the letter at arm's length, squinting to see the large script. She finished the letter, then leaned back in her chair, eyes closed.

'What is it?' asked Gwen. Meria merely shook her head, rose from the chair and walked from the room. Gwen turned back to Furse. 'Do you know what was in the letter?'

'I believe I do, lady. There were Pannone rebels among the Vars – perhaps three hundred or so. They were led by Guern, a noble from the far north. He and seven of his men escaped, but we will find him.' Furse looked away. 'But there was another with them. He was spotted fleeing the field. Our outriders could have taken him, but they were so surprised that they held back.' Furse sighed. 'It was the king's brother, Braefar. He was with the enemy.'

Wik drained another cup of uisge. He had hoped to get drunk, but the alcohol seemed to have little effect on him. The sixty survivors of the hilltop battle had not returned to the forest, but were camped at Bane's farm, sharing the roundhouse huts of Bane's workers. Wik himself had been offered, and accepted, a room in the main building. The following day Bane and Gryffe had carried a chest from one of the barns, and paid each man the sum promised. Wik himself had been given more than one hundred pieces of gold, the extra five he had been promised plus two more for each man slain. It was more gold than Wik had seen in his thirty-one years. He gave it away, distributing it equally among the survivors. The act amazed him, and even now, a day later, he could not imagine why he had done it. The sense of sadness following the battle had not left him, and even the alcohol could not numb it.

Bane found him sitting in the hay loft of the first barn, staring out over the hills. The young warrior, carrying a fresh jug of uisge and a lighted lantern, climbed to the loft and sat beside the outlaw chief. The sun was dipping below the mountains and the land spread out before them was glowing in its fading light.

Bane hung the lantern on a peg then filled Wik's cup and his own. 'If we had stayed in Three Streams,' he said, 'they'd probably have thrown a feast for us.'

'A pox on their feasts,' said Wik.

Bane laughed. 'I have never seen you this sour,' he said. 'Are you this way after every heroic act?'

'How would I know?' countered Wik. 'This was my first.'

'Then what ails you, Wik?'

'I wish I knew.' He glanced at the man beside him. 'That chest was almost empty by the end, Bane. Are you a poor man now?'

'I've as much left as you,' he answered, with a smile.

'Then what a pair of fools we are,' said Wik. The far hills turned to gold for a moment with the last blazing light of the dying sun. 'Ah, but that was pretty,' he said, as darkness fell. 'You know that most of the men who died were newcomers? They weren't really outlaws, just poor folk who had no food in the winter. Some were Pannone, others Norvii. There was even a Cenii lad. Yet they put on the armour you gave them and they fought like… like…'

'Heroes,' said Bane.

'Aye, heroes.' Wik hawked and spat through the opening. 'And for what? People who wouldn't have given them a crust of stale bread if they were dying of starvation. I saw Boile go down. They damn near hacked off his arm, and he carried on fighting. He was a stupid man, was Boile. And he was frightened of the dark. Last summer his hut burnt down because he left the fire blazing.' Wik laughed. 'He came running out with his leggings ablaze.' His smile faded. 'What in the name of Taranis was he doing standing his ground like that?'

'Why did you come back?' asked Bane.

Wik shrugged. 'I have no idea whatever. Did you see Grale defending the king's mother? Ah, of course you did. You killed the second of them.' Wik shook his head. 'Part of me wishes I'd never listened to you, Bane. I should have stayed in the forest. I knew who I was there.'

'Who were you?'

Wik thought about the question. 'I was nothing, though I didn't know it. Now I do.'

'So, what will you do? Go back to the forest?'

'I haven't made up my mind.' Wik suddenly shielded his eyes from the glare of the lantern and looked out of the opening. 'Riders coming,' he said. 'Soldiers!' He swore and clambered to his feet. He swayed and almost pitched from the loft, but Bane caught him.

'I don't think they've come to arrest you,' said Bane. 'Sit here. I'll see what they want.' He climbed down the wooden steps and walked from the barn. Some of the other outlaws had seen the soldiers, and Bane saw that they were nervous. He calmed them, and ordered them to continue the preparations for the feast he had arranged.

There were some thirty soldiers, all dressed in the black and silver armour of the Iron Wolves. But at their head rode a man in a patchwork cloak. Bane felt his stomach tighten. Moonlight shone down and Bane stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the king of legend. He was a big man, wide-shouldered, his long red and silver hair unbraided, his white-streaked beard cut close to his chin. He rode easily, sitting tall in the saddle. Bane felt his anger rise, but forced it down.

The riders came down the hill, skirted the paddock and drew to a halt. The king stepped down and approached the waiting warrior. Bane looked into his odd-coloured eyes, the mirror of his own. 'What do you want here?' he asked.

'We need to talk,' said Connavar, moving past him and striding towards the house. Angry now, Bane followed him.

Connavar pushed open the door and walked into the main room. Gryffe and Iswain were sitting by the fire. They both rose as Connavar entered. The huge red-bearded warrior stared at the newcomer, then recognized him and bowed. 'It's the king,' he hissed to Iswain. The plump woman folded her arms across her chest.

'Not my king,' she said.

Bane walked in. Connavar removed his cloak and swirled it over the back of a chair. Then he moved to the fire and warmed his hands. Gryffe glanced at Bane, who signalled for them both to leave the room. They did so. As the door shut behind them Bane spoke. 'Make this brief,' he said, 'for you are not welcome in my house.'

Connavar straightened from the fire and turned. 'That is understandable,' he said, 'and believe me it is not my wish to be here.'

'Then why come?'

'Two reasons. I have brought gold for the outlaws who helped Finnigal defend Three Streams. I understand you have promised them two coins each. I will double that, and repay you. I expect no-one else to suffer a loss for defending my family.'

'You intend to pardon them for their crimes?'

'Is that the price they asked for their aid?' queried the king, contempt in his voice.

Bane gave a cold smile. 'They don't need anything from you, you arrogant bastard! No more do I. Keep your gold and choke on it! What I did was not for Meria or the good folk of Three Streams. It was for Vorna. It was for friendship. As for the outlaws, yes they came because I promised them gold, but they stayed and died because they were men. Now speak your piece and then get out!'

Connavar's eyes blazed. 'Beware, boy, my patience has a limit.'

'As indeed does your gratitude,' said Bane. 'I expected no thanks from you. I expected what I have always received from you. Nothing at all. I had thought, however, you would have gathered these men who fought for you, and thanked them. For without them your mother would be dead, and your beloved Three Streams a pile of smouldering ash.'

For a moment he thought the king was going to attack him, such was the fury in the man's eyes. But Connavar stood very still, and Bane saw him struggle to remain calm. 'There is truth in what you say, Bane,' he said at last. 'And I am at fault here. Gather your men and I will speak to them. The other matter can wait until later.'

Bane had no need to gather the outlaws. Word had spread that the Battle King had come to the farm. The fabled Demonblade was among them. As Connavar strode out into the open they were huddled just beyond the front door. They fell back, and opened a path as he walked through to the firepit. Men gazed at the patchwork cloak, made up of the symbols of five tribes: the pale blue and green of the Rigante, the black of the Gath, the yellow and green of the Pannone, the blue stripes of the Norvii, and even the red circle on yellow of the southern Cenii. The cloak alone said it all – this man was beyond tribal dispute. This man was the High King of the Keltoi.

The flames from the firepit shone on his breastplate and greaves, glittering red on the rings of his mailshirt. The men stood in silence as he moved among them. Gryffe came out from the house and moved alongside Bane. 'Gives you the shivers, doesn't he?' he whispered.

When Connavar spoke his voice was low and deep, but it rumbled like thunder in the silence.

'Two days ago,' he told them, 'we fought a mighty battle against the Vars. Twelve thousand Rigante, Pannone and Norvii against fifteen thousand Sea Wolves. The grass of the field was red with blood, and the streams ran crimson. Great heroism was seen on that day – on both sides! Men of courage and valour, men who carried mountains on their shoulders. We were outnumbered, but we were fighting for hearth and home, fighting to protect our women and our children. That is the nature of a true man.

'But you, my friends, were not fighting for your loved ones or your homes. You stood against a foe who was not your enemy. You fought for those who were not your kin. I was told in Three Streams that you fought for gold. I have seen men who fight for gold. At the first reverse they break and run. Yet many of your number gave their lives upon that hilltop. They did not run. They did not plead. They fought! You fought! And in doing so you saved the life of my mother, the wife and children of my brother, Bendegit Bran, and the son of my dearest friend, Fiallach. I am proud of you all, and to each of you I offer my thanks.

'Every one of my soldiers receives payment for his services. And you on that day of courage were my soldiers. I have, therefore, brought gold for each of you. And with it I offer you pardon for all crimes committed before this day. Where is the man Wik?'

'I am here,' said Wik, striding out of the group.

Connavar offered his hand, and Wik shook it. 'In two days,' said the king, 'I ride south to face the greatest enemy of all. I need good men, Wik. Will you join my Horse Archers?'

'I will,' said Wik.

'Good man.' Connavar raised his voice. 'Any of you who wish to ride with us are welcome. I will supply the horses and the armour, the bows and the shafts. All I ask in return is that you bury those shafts in the hearts of Stone.'

A cheer went up, but Wik raised his arms to quell the roar. 'It was Bane who led us, Lord King. It was Bane who held the line. What does he receive?'

'Anything he desires of me,' replied the king. Another cheer went up. Connavar walked back through the crowd, and into the house. Bane followed him, pushing shut the door.

'A fine speech,' he said. 'It even sounded sincere. I don't doubt they'll now ride into hell for you. Now what was the second reason you spoke of?'

'You and I must ride to the Wishing Tree woods. Tonight. Alone.'

Bane laughed. 'And why would I do this?'

'Vorna came to me. She said it was of the utmost importance. Believe me, Bane, I do not want to ride with you. I have never wanted any part of you to touch my life. But Vorna is my friend, and I owe her more than I can ever repay. If you do not wish to ride with me I will go alone.'

Bane was silent for a moment. 'And Vorna asked for me to ride with you?'

'Aye, she did.'

'Then I will go.' He looked into the king's face. 'You know, for a long time I wanted to speak with you, to win your respect. And when that proved impossible I wanted to kill you. Not any more, Connavar. To me you are just another selfish and arrogant man heading for the grave. You will get there soon enough without my help.'

'Are you ready to ride?' asked the king.

'I am ready,' said Bane.

Vorna made her way slowly up the hill towards the Wishing Tree woods. It was an hour before dawn, and the gnarled oaks seemed sinister and threatening in the moonlight. Humans had long avoided the woods, for this was the realm of the Seidh, and the perils within were well known to the Keltoi.

In the past brave heroes had ventured into this dark place. Most had never returned, and one who did was aged beyond all reason. He had entered as a young man, proud, tall and strong. The following day he had returned as a mewling old man, toothless and tottering, his brain – like his strength – all but disappeared.

Vorna paused before the tree line, and sat down on a flat stone. The wind was chill here, and she wrapped her thick black shawl around her shoulders, lifting the rim over her head. Only one other Rigante, to her knowledge, had walked these woods unscathed – the child Connavar. Vorna sighed. What did the Morrigu want of her now? she wondered. And why did she require both Connavar and Bane?

Closing her eyes Vorna reached out with her mind, calling upon the Seidh goddess. There was no response. She tried to contact the Thagda, the Old Man of the Forest, the Tree Man who had aided Connavar in distant days past. Nothing.

Vorna shivered. The wind was bitter, and she yearned to walk into the wood, to sit with her back to a huge oak and block the cold ferocity of this icy breeze. With a single word of command she could have a fire burning, but the wind would blow it away in an instant, she knew.

Slowly and coldly time drifted by. At last she heard the sound of horses pounding on the hillside. Vorna stood and saw the two men riding towards her. This close to Wishing Tree her powers were heightened, and she felt the tension radiating from them, and knew that their ride had been a silent one. Sadness touched Vorna. Two good men, kind and brave, held apart by guilt and sorrow, grief and rage.

Connavar drew to a halt before her and stepped down from the saddle. 'Well, we are here, Vorna,' he said. 'What is it you need of us?'

Bane leapt lightly to the ground, moved in close and embraced the witch. 'You are cold,' he said, rubbing her back. Removing his black sheepskin cloak he draped it over her shoulders. Vorna shivered with pleasure at the weight and warmth of it. She turned to Connavar.

'I require nothing of you, Conn, my dear,' she said. 'The call came from the Morrigu. She came to me in a dream. She said she would meet us here, before the dawn.'

'Then where is she?' asked Bane.

'I do not know. I have called to her, but she does not reply.'

'I have no time for these games,' said Connavar. 'There is much to do and time is short. I will wait a little longer, but if she has not come I will leave.'

'She told me to remind you', said Vorna gently, 'that you once asked a gift from her, and that one day she would call upon you to repay it. This is the time!'

Before Conn could reply there came the flapping of wings from the woods. All three looked round, expecting to see the Morrigu's crow come swooping out of the dark. But then silence fell once more.

'There is something wrong here,' whispered Vorna. 'I cannot sense her presence.'

'Obviously something more important came up,' said Bane lightly.

'You may be right,' said Vorna softly, 'but not in the way that you might imagine. The Morrigu may sometimes appear to be capricious, but she does not lie. She told me that it was vital for the future well-being of the Rigante that you both come to her. Something is wrong,' she said again.

She stood in silence. Beyond the woods the distant snow-covered peaks of Caer Druagh began to gleam with the promise of the dawn.

'I am going into the woods,' said Vorna suddenly. Conn stepped in close, placing his hand on her shoulder.

That you must not do,' he said. 'You will die there, Vorna!'

'I have walked these woods before,' she told him.

'Aye, but never uninvited. You told me that – even for you – entry to these woods without first being called by the Seidh would mean death. Is that not so?'

'Yes, it is so. There are spells which need to be laid aside. Even so, I must make the attempt.'

'I'll come with you,' said Bane. 'I always had a wish to walk these woods.'

'Do not be foolish, boy,' said Connavar angrily. 'This is a magical place, and mortals are not welcome here. You are young and strong. In a few hours you could come stumbling from this place white-haired and stick-thin.'

'You think I should leave my friend to face the dangers alone?' Bane asked him coldly.

'Neither of you should enter,' insisted Conn. 'The Morrigu said she would be here. She is not. The fault is not ours!'

'I must go,' said Vorna. 'I know this. In all my years I have never felt this strongly about anything. I know in my heart that I must walk these woods. And walk them in faith!'

'But I cannot, Vorna,' said Conn sadly. 'For the first time in many years I am afraid. To the south is an enemy who will destroy everything we hold dear. All my life I have been preparing for this moment. Can you understand that? I have put aside love and family, and all pleasures of the flesh. For twenty years I have laboured to give us just one fighting chance of preserving our way of life. If I risk myself now all may be lost!'

'Then wait here, my dear,' said Vorna. 'Bane and I will see what is wrong.' She turned away from him, and, taking Bane's hand, began the walk to the trees. Bane drew one of his swords, but Vorna placed her hand on his wrist. 'Put it away,' she said. 'There is nothing beyond that can be fought with iron.'

He sheathed the blade. As they approached the trees a mist seeped up from the damp earth, forming a wall. Vorna paused, her heart beating fast. 'Hold fast to my hand,' she whispered, then walked into the mist. It was colder than ice and it swirled up over their shoulders, clinging to their faces. Blind now, they moved slowly onwards. Bane stretched his arm out to the front, moving it back and forth. He could not see his fingers. Nor could he see Vorna, though he felt the warm touch of her hand upon his. Inch by inch they eased their way into the wood. Bane's outstretched hand touched the trunk of a tree and they moved around it. Time passed, and neither of them had any sense of direction. Vorna stumbled, for the cold was intense, and she felt her legs growing numb. Bane pulled her upright.

'This', he said, teeth chattering, 'was not the best idea you ever had.'

Vorna put her arm round his waist. 'I fear that is true,' she said. She slumped to the ground. Bane knelt beside her. 'It is not over yet,' whispered Vorna. 'Wait and see.'

'It would be nice to see,' Bane told her.

They huddled together. Vorna took off Bane's heavy sheepskin cloak and curled it around the freezing man's shoulders. She spoke a Word of Power to make a fire. As the flame sprang from her fingers the mist settled around it, extinguishing it even as it was formed.

'I see something,' said Bane. To the right.'

Vorna strained to peer into the mist. Then she saw it, a tiny flicker of light. 'Over here!' she called. The light froze in place momentarily, then slowly moved towards them.

The mist parted before it, and they saw Connavar the King advancing into the wood, his Seidh sword held before him, the blade gleaming brightly. The mist receded from it, the gnarled trunks of the old oaks looming out of the grey.

As the last of the mist disappeared Connavar thrust his sword back into its scabbard. Vorna climbed to her feet and looked into his scarred face. 'I knew that you would come,' she said. 'And do you know why? Because this is the way of life you have been defending, a friend standing by a friend, ready to risk life for the sake of another. This, my dear, is Rigante!'

'Let us find the Old Woman,' he said gruffly. But even as he spoke he put his arm round Vorna and kissed her brow.

The three companions moved further into the wood. On the ground ahead of them lay a dead bird. It was large and black, the skull above its beak bare of feathers. Bane knelt by the bird. 'It is the Morrigu's crow,' he whispered.

'Bring it with us,' said Vorna.

Bane lifted the bird. He was surprised by the weight. 'It is heavier than a puppy,' he said.

Vorna walked on, Connavar beside her, Bane following. There was no wind here, the temperature much higher than on the hillside. The companions came to a downward slope. 'I remember this place,' said Connavar. 'This is where I came as a child.'

Vorna halted in her walk, and closed her eyes. 'She is close.'

They moved on, splashing through a shallow stream, and on up a steep slope. Vorna stepped from the trail, and pushed her way through the undergrowth to a small clearing. The Morrigu was sitting propped against a tree. Ivy had grown over her legs and had covered one arm. There was moss upon her cloak, and a spider had weaved a web from her veil to the tree trunk. Vorna ran to her side.

'How does a goddess die?' whispered Bane.

'She is not dead. Not yet,' replied Vorna, laying her hands upon the veiled head. A low, feeble groan came from the Morrigu, and her ivy-covered arm twitched.

'Where is my Bab?' she whispered. Vorna swung to Bane.

'Bring her the crow!' Bane knelt on the other side of the Morrigu and laid the dead bird in her lap.

The Morrigu tried to move her arm. Connavar crouched down and ripped away the ivy. Slowly the old woman's hand came up until it rested on the black feathers of the dead crow. She sighed then. Once more Vorna placed her hands on the head of the goddess, sending healing power surging into her. It was little more use than a drop of water to someone dying of thirst.

'I should have passed the Gateway long before this,' said the Morrigu, her voice a tiny whisper they had to strain to hear. Then her head sagged back against the tree.

'Gateway?' queried Bane.

'Many of the Seidh have already crossed over,' said Vorna, 'seeking other worlds where magic is still strong. I don't know why she remained so long.'

'Where is this Gateway?' asked Connavar. 'Perhaps we could carry her there!'

'I do not know,' said Vorna. 'I have not been so far into these woods before.'

'Can you not Merge with her?' asked Connavar. 'You did this once before to save me.'

'Merge with a Seidh? I do not know if I could, or whether my body or my soul could withstand it.'

'It… could not,' whispered the Morrigu. 'And you cannot take me to the Gateway. It is guarded by a creature no human can overcome.'

Vorna took hold of her hand. 'Show me the Gateway,' she insisted.

A flicker of light glowed from under the skin of the Morrigu's hand, and flowed along Vorna's arm. The witch stiffened and cried out. Then she sagged into the arms of Connavar. 'Oh, the pain,' she whispered. She sat very still for a moment as the burning agony in her head receded. She glanced at the Morrigu, who was once more unconscious. 'The Gateway is close by,' said Vorna. 'No more than half a mile to the south-east. It stands within a golden circle of stone. There is a path to it known as Piare la Naich, the Walk of Life. She must be carried along it, her body passing between the two tallest stones. But I saw the monster there. It is hideous and scaled. In some respects it is like a bear, though the talons and teeth are longer, and the hide tougher than leather. You heard what she said, no human can overcome it. What is it that we should do?' she asked Connavar.

The king sighed. 'She gave me a gift once, and I have not repaid her. A man should always pay his debts. I will carry her to the Gateway, and if necessary I will cut the heart from the beast.'

'I fear you will not be able to carry her alone,' said Vorna. 'A moment ago I lifted her hand. She appears slender and frail, but her body weight is several times that of a grown man.'

Connavar pushed his arms under the unconscious Seidh and strained to lift her. 'It is as if she is anchored to the ground,' he said. He looked at Bane. 'Will you help me?' he asked simply.

'Why not?' answered Bane. 'It is not every day you get to see a king fight a demon bear.'

The two men crouched on either side of the goddess and prepared to lift her. At that moment a glow began beneath the Morrigu's veil. Flickering lights swept along under her skin.

'Release her!' yelled Vorna. But it was too late. Both men began to glow, as if fire was burning within them.

Bane opened his eyes. There was something strange about his vision. He blinked, trying to clear his head. He could see better than ever before. No, not better, he realized. Wider! From this prone position he could see the trees behind him and before him. How peculiar, he thought. He tried to rise, and pain pricked him. Startled, he tilted his head and looked down. It was not the sharp brambles in which he was trapped that stunned him, causing his heart to flutter wildly. It was the fact that when he looked down he saw not his own body, but the pale legs of a white fawn. Panicked now, he struggled to rise. The thorns cut deep into his legs and flanks. He tried to call out, but heard only a frightened bleat. His back legs kicked at the brambles and he half rose, then fell back. One of the brambles snapped, and whiplashed across his face, cutting into the soft skin of his long neck. Then he saw the boy at the edge of the brambles. He was around ten years old, red hair framing a pale, freckled face. He drew an old bronze knife. The child advanced into the brambles, which wrapped themselves around him, tearing his tunic and cutting his skin. For a moment Bane thought the child was intending to kill him, and his fawn's body struggled wildly. The child spoke: 'Be still, little one. Be still and I will help you.'

The voice was soothing. The fawn that was Bane looked into the strangely coloured eyes of the child. It is Connavar, he thought. The boy slowly cut away the brambles and lifted the fawn clear.

The world spun, and darkness fell over his vision. When it cleared he was still being carried, but this time at some speed. He was lying in the arms of a young man who was running awkwardly over the hills. Bane became aware of his own weakness. His arms were thin, lacking muscle and power. And he could not feel his legs at all. His head turned, though he did not will it to do so, and his eyes saw a huge black bear lumbering across the hills in pursuit. Blood was on its snout. And it was gaining. Bane was now looking up into the straining face of the young man carrying him. It was Connavar, young and beardless. His teeth were gritted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Bane heard a voice and realized it was coming from his own mouth. 'Put me down. Save yourself.'

The runner stopped, and Bane felt himself lowered gently to the grass. The young Connavar drew a dagger and faced the charging beast. 'Oh, please run!' Bane heard himself say.

'I'll cut its bastard heart out!' said Connavar – and leapt to face the beast.

Bane watched in silent horror as the bear's talons ripped at the frail body of the young warrior, its teeth crunching down on the shoulder. He fought to the last before being thrown aside like a bloody rag.

The darkness fell again, and when his eyes next opened his body exploded with agony beyond enduring. He almost blacked out with it. Indeed he wished he could black out. He was lying face down on a long table, his wounds bandaged, fire burning through his veins. He saw Vorna sitting beside him. She was younger, but her face showed her exhaustion.

'How are you feeling?' she asked him.

'Better,' he heard himself say.

'You will take time to heal, young man.'

'I must be strong by the time of the Feast,' he said. 'I am to wed Arian.' Bane felt the surge of love and need within the youngster, but he saw also the sadness in Vorna's eyes.

'You must rest now,' she ordered him.

Bane-Connavar was sitting upon a pony. He was very tired and weak. Crowds were lining the way, cheering and clapping, and he saw that he was riding into Three Streams. His body was still ablaze with pain, but his head turned back and forth, seeking out the golden-haired girl he had dreamt of for so long. Bane felt his anguish when Connavar realized she was not among those cheering him.

He was helped from his pony, and Bane saw Meria and Ruathain. They helped him to a bed and laid him upon it. The scene shifted and became dark, and from the darkness came a voice. 'I suppose you haven't heard about Arian. She married Casta at the Feast of Samain.'

A groan came from the stricken youngster, and Bane felt sorrow engulf him.

'I'm sorry, Conn. I tried to tell you that she didn't care for you,' said the voice.

Bane felt the grief, and with it almost a seeping away of the will to live. All that saved the young man was a seed of anger, which flowered in his heart like a rose tipped with acid.

'Bane! Bane!' The voice seemed to come from far away, and he felt Vorna's hands upon his shoulders, dragging him back from the body of the Morrigu. He groaned and sat down upon the earth. Then he looked across at the still figure of Connavar, crouched over the Old Woman. Bane rolled to his knees and rose unsteadily. Staggering to the king he dragged him back and laid him on the grass,

'What happened?' Bane asked Vorna.

'Her spirit flowed into you. I thought it would kill you.'

Bane rubbed his hands over his eyes. 'I saw things, Vorna. I watched Connavar fight the bear. I saw… him, in the cave, speak to you about my mother.'

'He loved her very dearly,' she said softly. 'They were to be wed…'

'I know. She… betrayed him.'

'Do not think of it as betrayal,' she said. 'Arian was a fey and troubled woman. She needed someone to lean on, to keep the darkness at bay. Everyone thought Conn would die. This terrified Arian. So she wed Casta. But all this is in the past now. Let it go.'

The king grunted and sat up. 'We will need to make a stretcher,' he said. 'I could not go through that again.'

'What did you see?' Vorna asked.

'We must cut poles,' said Connavar, 'and thread them through Bane's cloak. It is the strongest cloth we have. I believe it will take her weight.'

He pushed himself to his feet. Vorna moved to stand before him. 'What did you see, Conn?'

'Too much,' he told her. Drawing his sword he walked away into the trees, returning with two stout lengths of wood. Taking his dagger he chopped twigs and leaves from the lengths. Then he spread Bane's sheepskin cloak upon the earth and cut a series of slits along both sides before sliding the poles through them.

'We've still got to lift her onto it,' said Bane.

'Aye,' agreed Connavar. 'Let's do it quickly.'

Laying the stretcher alongside the Seidh they took up their positions and heaved her onto it. This time there was no flickering light. Bane and Connavar gathered up the stretcher and followed Vorna towards the south-east. It was heavy going and both men were sweating profusely as they climbed down the last hill. Before them, in a large clearing, was a circle of standing stones, shining golden in the dawn light. 'I can't… see any beasts,' grunted Bane, his muscles aching.

'Not yet,' said Vorna.

Slowly they approached the circle. Once more a mist swelled beneath their feet, swirling over the stones, rising higher and higher, blocking the sunlight. Then the mist thickened, growing blacker and darker, forming a dome of night over the stones. At the centre of the circle, beside a long flat altar, a glowing form appeared. Bane and Connavar carried the Morrigu to the edge of the circle and gently laid her down. A low growl came from the creature by the altar. Bane drew his sword, and let out a long, low breath. As Vorna had described, the creature was almost eight feet tall, its body covered with silver scales. Its long arms ended in wickedly curved talons. Bane looked into the beast's face. It had a long snout, almost like a wolf, yet with teeth like dagger blades.

'I'll take it from the left, you from the right,' said Bane, turning towards the king. 'What are you doing?'

Connavar had unbuckled his sword belt, and was now removing his breastplate and chain mail, his wrist guards and his greaves. 'Are you going to fight it naked?' asked Bane.

'I am not going to fight it at all,' said Connavar.

'Then what is your plan?'

Connavar knelt beside the stretcher and pushed his arms under the Morrigu. With one enormous heave he staggered to his feet, his knees almost buckling under the weight. He took one faltering step, then another, and crossed the circle past the tallest stone. The beast lumbered towards him. Bane ran into the circle, ducked under a sweeping talon and lashed his sword against the creature's belly. The sword bounced clear. Something struck Bane in the chest with terrible force, lifting him from his feet and hurling him from the circle. He landed heavily, but rolled to his knees in time to see Connavar staggering towards the altar. The scaled beast loomed above him, sending out an ear-piercing roar. The king ignored it and reached the altar, laying the Morrigu and her crow upon it.

As her body touched the stone the dome of darkness disappeared. Sunlight touched the scaled beast, and it began to shrink and fade. Bane climbed to his feet and, Vorna beside him, walked into the circle. The Morrigu's body began to tremble violently. A flame burst from her chest, setting fire to the cloth of her dress. Fire sprang from her fingers, the flesh falling away, dry and stiff, like shards of clay. The veil caught fire, peeling back from her face as flames roared up from her eyes. Brighter and brighter she burned, and the three onlookers stepped further back from the altar, shielding their eyes.

The fires died down swiftly, but the terrible brightness remained. 'Turn away,' came the now powerful voice of the Morrigu, 'for you must not see the Gateway open.' They obeyed her. Then her voice came again. 'I have always loved this world, which the Seidh named Tir na Nogh. I have cherished the belief that it will one day feed the soul of the universe from which it sprang. You spoke, Connavar, of spending twenty years seeking to protect the Rigante way of life. I have spent ten thousand years on ten thousand worlds seeking to protect life itself. Life is spirit. One cannot exist without the other. Deep in their hearts the Keltoi understand this. The people of Stone, save for the few Cultists among them, do not. I have seen the fall of worlds, and the conquests and desolation caused by the armies of lust and greed. Here Stone is the great enemy. On other worlds it is Rome, or Cagaris, or Shefnii, or Pakalin. The names change, the result of the evil remains the same: the death of spirit, the death of worlds.' Her voice faded for a moment, then she spoke to the king. 'Twenty years ago you asked a gift of me, and I told you there would be a price. That price is a simple one: when your brother calls upon you, do as he bids. No matter what else is pending, no matter the time or the greatness of events. You understand? Do as he bids.'

'Which brother?' asked Connavar.

'You will know. Do you accept this price?'

'I said that I would,' said Connavar. 'I will keep this promise – as I should have kept another promise all those years ago.'

'That is good,' said the Morrigu. 'And now to Bane. Will you offer me a gift?'

'What can I offer you, lady?'

'In eight days, on the night of the hunter's moon, you will return to this circle?'

'What then?'

'Whatever you choose. And now… farewell.'

The light faded. Vorna turned, and saw that the altar had disappeared.

'A simple thank you would have been pleasant,' said Bane.

Connavar pulled on his mailshirt and breastplate, and buckled on his sword belt. Bane approached him. 'How did you know the beast would not attack you?' he asked.

'I too would like the answer to that,' said Vorna.

Connavar knelt and put on his bronze greaves. 'The Morrigu took a great risk with us,' he said. 'She could have made it to the Gateway a week ago, as her energy was fading. Instead she stayed where she was, in the hope that we would come for her. I read it in her mind. She tried to close her thoughts to me, but by then she was too weak.' He straightened. 'I always thought of her as a malicious creature, but the depths of her love for this land and its people are beyond belief.'

'Yes, yes,' said Bane impatiently. 'She was a sweet and loving woman. But the beast…?'

'The creature no human could overcome? It was a lesson, Bane. A good man tried to teach it to me many years ago. You cannot overcome hatred with more hatred. Sometimes you have to surrender in order to win. There are only three possibilities when faced with an enemy: run from him, fight him, or make him your friend. The creature in the circle was created to respond. Attack it – and it will come back at you with twice your strength. I ignored it. And it, true to its nature, ignored me.'

'You sound sad, my dear,' said Vorna, moving to his side.

'Oh that it were only sadness,' said Connavar. Then he walked away from them.

Two days later, at the head of ten thousand Iron Wolves and three thousand Horse Archers, Wik among them, Connavar rode south. The main body of his footsoldiers – just over twenty-five thousand men – had already begun the march under the generalship of Govannan. Hundreds of baggage wagons followed the army, which stretched over nine miles of country. The folk of Three Streams watched them go.

Bane emerged from the Roundhouse as the king passed. Connavar saw him, and raised a hand in farewell. Bane acknowledged it with a brief wave. Then he mounted his horse and set off to the west, and his farm.

Vorna was standing by the forge as the army moved south. She watched Connavar until he was a distant, golden figure on the hilltop horizon, then she turned away and walked slowly to her house.

Meria was waiting for her there. 'It is a fine army,' said Meria. 'They will prevail.'

Vorna saw the fear in her green eyes. 'Let us hope so,' she said.

'It is Conn's destiny to defeat them,' said Meria. 'All his life he has known it.'

Vorna had no desire for company, but she stood politely, waiting for Meria to come to the point of her visit. 'Conn came to see you yesterday,' said Meria. 'How did he seem?'

'He was… thoughtful,' Vorna told her.

'Ever since the night he spent at Bane's farm he has been withdrawn. Did they argue? I see that Bane has not ridden south with the army.'

'They did not argue,' said Vorna, 'and he did not spend the night at Bane's farm. He and Bane came with me to the Wishing Tree woods.'

Meria sighed. 'He did not tell me.' She forced a smile. 'But then he did not tell me the first time he ventured into those woods. Did he meet with the Seidh?'

'Yes.'

'Did they give him a talisman against the armies of Stone?'

'In a way.'

'It is foolish, I know, for me to worry so. Conn is forty years old. Not a child to be protected. It is just…' Her eyes brimmed with tears. 'It is just the way he said farewell to me.' Meria looked into Vorna's dark eyes. 'Have you seen the future?'

'No.'

'But you think he will come back?'

Vorna turned away, and stared at the towering, distant slopes of Caer Druagh. There were storm clouds shrouding the white peaks. 'I have not seen the future,' she said. 'But Conn has. He is a man of great courage and he will face his destiny as a king should.'

'Did he tell you what is to be?'

'You already know in your heart what is to be,' said Vorna. Meria closed her eyes and tears fell to her cheeks. She let out a soft cry and sagged against the wall of the house. Vorna put her arms around her. 'Come inside,' she said.

Meria shook her head. 'No… I will go home. Gwen and I are taking some children to the Riguan Falls.' She glanced at the sky. 'I had hoped it would be sunny. You think the storm is heading this way?'

'No,' said Vorna gently. 'It is moving east.'

'The Falls are beautiful,' said Meria, wiping away her tears. 'Ruathain and I used to swim there. I remember the first day Conn leapt from the high rock into the pool. He was only five.' She bit her lip, and turned her face away. 'It does not seem so long ago, Vorna. I look at the house sometimes and I expect little Bran to come scampering into the yard, and to see Connavar and Wing playing on the hillside.' She fell silent, her eyes turning to the marching army. Then she sighed. 'Now Bran is a general, Wing is a traitor, and my Conn…'

Head bowed, tears streaming, Meria walked away across the meadow.

Banouin's spirit floated high in the sky above the Rigante army, while his body lay in a small wood to the north, Brother Solstice sitting beside it. To the casual onlooker the young druid would appear to be sleeping. Instead he was tasting the freedom that only the mystic could ever know; no yearning from the flesh, no hunger, no passion, no anger. To soar free of the body was unlike any other experience in Banouin's life, and he could not describe the exquisite joy of it. It was, he once told Connavar, like seeing the sun dawn following a night of fear and trembling. But this was a pale and inadequate description. It was said that in the far north the sun shone for six months without cease, and then night would fall and darkness remain throughout autumn and winter. Perhaps, thought Banouin, the people who dwelt there would understand better the analogy.

He gazed down at the army. They were travelling in four columns, and it seemed to Banouin, from this great height, that the columns resembled immense serpents, slithering over the hills. Furthest south was Connavar and his ten thousand Iron Wolves. Sunlight glittered on their mail shirts and helms, giving the snake the appearance of scales. Behind, and a half mile to the west, came the Horse Archers, followed by heavily armoured infantry. A long way back were the baggage and supply wagons, hundreds of them, drawn by oxen.

Banouin flew to the south, covering more than twenty miles in a few heartbeats.

The soldiers of Stone were building their nightly fortress, a massive undertaking involving the creation of ramparts ten feet tall, set in a great square with sides close to half a mile in length. This daily feat of engineering was a tribute to the skills of Stone, and the cold, calculating genius of Jasaray. Every morning three Panthers, nine thousand fighting men, would leave the fortress and march a specified distance into enemy territory – usually around twelve miles. An advance guard of mounted officers would mark out the next night camp, using coloured stakes to signify the placement of the general's command tent, the officers' area, the section where the troops would pitch their own tents, and sectors for latrines, baggage wagons, and picketing for horses. Once the Panthers arrived the first and second would take up defensive positions around the site of the camp, while the third would begin to dig the enormous square trench, throwing up earth to form the walls of the fortress.

It was a colossal undertaking, and planned with great precision. Should an enemy attack the advance guard they would fall back towards the previous night's fortress. If an enemy force struck at the centre of the line, as the army moved from fortress to fortress, the Panthers would fold back and encircle them. If the rear of the line came under threat they would withdraw, in order, to the new fortress. Banouin gazed down, watching the soldiers digging. If Connavar's cavalry looked like a serpent, then from here the soldiers of Stone were termites, working tirelessly in the earth.

There was, of course, a serpent. The lines of Jasaray's marching army extended back over the full twelve miles to the previous night's camp. The last of the wagons, and the three Panthers guarding them, were yet to leave. Banouin floated closer to the marching men, flowing along the lines until he saw Jasaray. The emperor was riding a grey horse, and he was chatting to a group of officers. Sadness touched Banouin's spirit, for riding just behind Jasaray was Maro, the son of Barus, his friend from the university.

Banouin withdrew once again to a great height. Better not to see faces, he thought. Better not to think of the thousands of individuals on both sides who were moving inexorably towards pain, mutilation or death.

The young druid estimated the size of Jasaray's force, then flew back to his body. He opened his eyes. Brother Solstice was sitting quietly nearby, dozing, his back against a tree. He awoke as Banouin sat up. 'How far?' asked the older man, yawning and stretching.

'Just over twenty miles. There are twelve Panthers, but few mounted scouts.'

'Twelve? That's not good,' said Brother Solstice.

Banouin rose and walked to his horse. During the past thirty years Stone armies had defeated enemies boasting ten times their number. Their victories had been won by awesome organization, discipline, and the fact that the soldiers of Stone were not militia, drafted into battle from their farms to fight, but professional soldiers who trained daily, obeying orders instantly without question. Their close-order skills were legendary, and previous Keltoi armies had been crushed by them with ease. Jasaray himself had destroyed the Perdii across the water using only five Panthers, fifteen thousand men. And the Perdii army had mustered more than a hundred thousand warriors.

Connavar would take the field with around half that number – facing thirty-six thousand battle-hardened Stone veterans led by the greatest general of them all. Banouin shivered at the prospect.

Heeling his horse forward he rode from the wood to make his report to Connavar.