Midnight Falcon

Chapter Fourteen

Brother Solstice was a big man. in his youth, it was said, he had been a bonny fighter, wide-shouldered and immensely powerful. Now in middle age he had added weight to the hips and belly, which made his choice of mount all the more unusual. Brother Solstice rode a fat donkey, and had to lift his legs to avoid his feet dragging on the ground. He did not mind the jokes of the men in marching columns as he rode past, but gave them a cheery wave and a smile. 'Horses', Brother Solstice was fond of saying, 'make a man proud. Druids should avoid such temptations.'

'You don't avoid ale,' Banouin had once pointed out. 'Or uisge, or fine food.'

'Ah, but then no-one is perfect,' Brother Solstice had told him.

As he rode now behind Banouin's tall horse Brother Solstice was in more sombre mood. It was not just the news of Jasaray's army, though this was enough to make most sane men sombre. Rather it was the demeanour of the two principal generals of the Rigante, Connavar the fighting king, and Bendegit Bran the strategist. Conn had always been a serious man, deep-thinking and focused. Now he seemed strangely withdrawn, as if he carried a burden he could share with no man. And Bendegit Bran, well loved by the men for his good humour and his lack of arrogance, had become moody and short-tempered. The death of his son had hit him hard. Like his father before him Bendegit Bran was a family man, and by that Brother Solstice meant a man to whom family was everything. Bran had adored his son. Brother Solstice felt for him, but there were larger issues at stake here.

One distracted general could result in a costly mistake. Two distracted generals spelt disaster – and not only in issues of strategy. Brother Solstice could feel the growing unease in the army. Many among the Keltoi had misinterpreted Bran's grief as fear of the advancing Jasaray. This, in itself, would not affect the outcome of the battle, for the army looked to Connavar for overall leadership. He was their talisman, the undefeated warrior king who had already smashed one army of Stone. This was the man who carried the magical Seidh sword, which could cut through armour. As long as he rode at the head of the army the hearts of the fighting men would be inspired.

Connavar had always been somewhat withdrawn, and therefore the men had not noticed the subtle change that had come over him. But Brother Solstice had.

He followed Banouin through the ranks of marching men, cracking jokes with a few who mocked his donkey. By the time the two druids reached the front of the line the Iron Wolves had already picketed their horses, and the king's tent had been erected. Inside Connavar was seated upon a rug at the centre of the tent, his senior generals around him. Govannan, his hair prematurely silver, sat to his right, and beside him was Ostaran, the Gath warrior who had joined Connavar twenty years ago, following the fall of his homeland across the water. Bendegit Bran sat to the king's left. Only Fiallach was missing. He and his men were ranging far to the south, attacking the enemy supply lines.

Banouin made his report about the size and disposition of Jasaray's forces. Connavar listened, then questioned the young druid for several minutes. Bendegit Bran said nothing. Brother Solstice watched him. He was not concentrating, and his blue eyes had a faraway look. Connavar seemed not to notice his brother's malaise. Osta and Govannan cast nervous glances at him, but offered no comment.

'Anything else you can think of which might be useful?' Connavar asked Banouin, as the druid finished his report. Before he could answer Brother Solstice spoke, his voice low.

'The regiment of flying dragons may prove difficult to overcome. What do you think, Lord Bran?'

Bran blinked, his shoulders straightening. 'Yes,' he said. 'We must consider that.'

An uneasy silence followed. 'How many men are facing us, Lord Bran?' asked Brother Solstice. 'Where is their army now?'

Bran's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you to question me?' he said.

'Who am I, you insolent puppy!' thundered Solstice, his voice booming. 'We are discussing the future of all we hold dear. Twenty miles away is an enemy who will destroy our way of life, take thousands of our women into slavery, and butcher the children who are too young to be sold for profit. Who am I? I am the man who sees a general so obsessed with his own personal grief that he will bring about the destruction of his people!'

'How dare you!' stormed Bran, surging to his feet.

'You want to sit in a corner and weep?' said the druid. 'Go home. Shed your tears. Cuddle your wife. Get her to dry your eyes. And leave the fighting and the planning for those who have the stomach for it!'

Bran rushed at him. Brother Solstice made no attempt to defend himself. Bran's fist crashed against his bearded chin. The druid staggered, then placed his huge arms behind his back. Blood flowed from his split lip, staining his black and silver beard. He looked into Bran's eyes. 'Now that you have woken up,' he said, 'perhaps our leading strategist can tell us where the enemy lies, and what strength he brings to the field.'

'Get out of here, you fat bastard,' shouted Bran. 'Or I'll kill you where you stand!'

'That's enough,' said Connavar wearily. 'No-one is going to be killed here. Sit down, Bran.'

'You heard what he said to me…'

'I heard. And you should take note of it.' He turned to Osta and Govannan. 'Leave us for a while, my friends. Come back in an hour and we will continue our plans. You too, Banouin.'

Brother Solstice turned to leave with the others, but Connavar called him back. 'Sit,' he said, passing a cloth to the druid. Brother Solstice held it to his lip, and dabbed the blood from his beard.

Connavar waited until the generals and Banouin had left the tent, then turned to the still angry Bran. 'Brother Solstice spoke the truth,' he said. 'The Rigante are relying on you to develop a strategy to defeat the armies of Stone. And here you sit having daydreamed through the most vital of reports. You have lost one son – and I grieve with you. But I am the king, and all the Rigante are the king's children. I will not see my children destroyed because one of their generals could not put aside personal grief at a crucial time.'

'I can't do this,' said Bran. 'I can't stop thinking about Ru. I'll head for home tomorrow.'

'We need you, Bran,' said Connavar.

Bran shook his head. 'You taught me everything I know,' he told his brother. 'And with you at the head the Stone army will be beaten. I am sure of that.'

'I may not be here,' said Conn, keeping his voice low.

'What?'

Brother Solstice saw the shock register on Bran's face. The younger man crouched down beside his brother. 'What madness is this? Of course you will be here!'

'I hope that is true, my brother,' Conn told him. 'I have seen two futures. In one I am betrayed and die before the battle. In the other I lead a charge against the enemy. These were no dreams, Bran. The images came to my mind when I touched the Morrigu. Both are true – though I know not how this can be. What I do know is that if you leave the Rigante die. Everything I have lived for, struggled for, suffered for will be dust. You want focus? Think on that. If that is not enough do not picture dead Ruathain in your mind. Picture instead the man who sent the ring that killed him. Picture Jasaray.'

Bran bowed his head, then looked up at Brother Solstice. 'I am sorry, my friend, for striking you.'

'Forgiven and forgotten,' said the druid. 'Perhaps you should find Banouin – and listen to his report a second time.'

Bran nodded, then turned to Connavar. 'You won't die, Conn,' he said. 'You are destined to ride against Jasaray. Nothing will stop that.'

'Nothing will stop my destiny,' agreed Conn. 'Are you back with us now?'

'Aye.'

Then do as the Brother bids and seek out Banouin. We will talk more later, when Govannan and Osta return.'

Bran rose and left the tent. Brother Solstice remained. 'Tell me of these two futures,' he said.

Connavar told him of the rescue of the Morrigu, and her passing from the world. 'In the first vision I am lying against a golden rock, my lifeblood seeping from me. I know the great battle will be fought the following day. I feel despair that I will not be there to fight it. Enemies lie dead on the ground close by. Then a young boy climbs down from a nearby tree and runs into the circle of stones. All goes dark then – and I know that I am dying.'

'And the second?' asked the druid.

'I see myself on a tall horse, my armour shining bright, my helm in place. I draw my blade and hold it aloft. Fiallach is beside me. The great battle is underway and together we lead the charge down the slope.'

'Perhaps these were not true futures, merely signs of what could be,' said the druid. 'They cannot, after all, both be true. You cannot die before the battle and fight in it thereafter. It seems to me that the most obvious choice of action is to avoid circles of stone.'

Connavar reached into his tunic and pulled forth a folded piece of parchment. This was brought by messenger to me this morning,' he said, handing it to the druid.

Brother Solstice took the parchment and opened it. There, in Braefar's flowing script, was the message: My dear brother, we have suffered a great misunderstanding. I have spoken to Guern and he agrees that the time has come to settle our differences. We will meet you at the Circle of Balg tomorrow at dusk. If you have any love left for me come alone, Conn. I assure you that there will be no treachery. It was signed Wing.

'He must think you stupid,' said Brother Solstice.

'Yet I will go,' Conn told him. The Morrigu asked me to make her a promise. She said, "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." I broke a promise once, long ago, and have lived with the shame and grief of it ever since. This promise – though it breaks my heart – I will keep.'

Then take a troop of men with you.'

'How can I, my friend? He bids me to come alone.'

'Oh, Conn, you know Braefar. He has always been weak, his actions inspired by jealousy for all you have achieved. His envy of you became malice years ago.'

'I know that,' said Conn sadly. 'It was after I fought the bear. He and Govannan were there, but it was Govannan who rushed to my aid. Wing just stood there, terrified. He was young, he had no weapon, and he froze. No-one blamed him, but he saw contempt in everyone's eyes after that. He was always trying to prove to me that he was worthy, and he tried so hard. He was so desperate for acclaim that he took risks, many of which failed.'

'I know, Conn,' said Brother Solstice. 'We all know. Had he been any other man you would have dismissed him years ago. How long has he been in league with Guern and the Sea Wolves?'

'More than a year. Jasaray sent him money to help finance a rebellion among the Pannone. One of the few projects Wing handled with care. He recruited Guern, supplied him with coin and weapons. The two of them were made for one another, both bitter, eaten alive by envy. Guern was related to the old Laird, but when he died I sent Bran to govern the north.' Conn poured himself a cup of water and drained it. He looked soul weary, thought Brother Solstice. 'I did not know they had linked with Shard, though I suppose I should have guessed it. Wing began to believe that I was the source of all his misfortune, that his life would have been blessed had I never been born. He may even be right in that. I don't know any more. What I do know is that Wing, when young, was a bonny lad. He loved me then. I was his big brother and he would follow me everywhere.'

'Men change,' said the druid. 'Weak men cannot deal with guilt or shame. It always has to be the fault of another when they fail. If they fail continually they see themselves as victims of some great conspiracy.'

'Ah, well,' said Conn, 'it will all end tomorrow.'

'It must not end!' said Brother Solstice. 'What you are planning is foolish. Perhaps the Morrigu intended you to refuse.'

Conn smiled and shook his head. 'I do not understand all she had planned, my friend. But I know if I fail to keep this promise the Rigante will fail in their war with Jasaray. I cannot explain it. I saw so much… I saw Jasaray in many guises, on many worlds. He won every battle he fought. I saw visions of horror beyond belief, of worlds dying, the air poisoned by towers belching poisons into the air, of dead trees, their leaves scorched, and fertile lands turned into deserts. I saw men with grey faces and frightened eyes, living in cities of stone, scurrying like ants from day to day. In truth I wish I had never touched her!'

'You think these visions will come to pass in the lands of the Rigante?' asked the druid.

'I do not know. I only know what I must do. And that is ride to the circle. Alone.'

'They will kill you, Conn. I know this Guern. He is charismatic and men follow him, but he is a vile creature, and there is no honour in him. He is big – almost as big as Fiallach – and he can fight. He's killed several men in blood feuds. And he will not be alone. You will be.'

'I have always been alone,' said Conn. 'I think we all are.'

Bane saddled a chestnut mare, then walked back into the farmhouse. Gryffe and Iswain were waiting in the main room. 'When will you be back?' asked Gryffe.

'Some day,' Bane told him. Reaching into the pocket of his black, sleeveless jerkin, he produced a rolled parchment. 'I made this deed in Three Streams the day the army moved out. It has been witnessed by three elders.' He handed it to Gryffe. 'It deeds the farm and all cattle and land to you.' He grinned at the surprise on Gryffe's features. 'You are no longer Wolfshead, Gryffe. You are a landowner.'

'I don't understand,' muttered the red-bearded warrior.

'He's not coming back,' said Iswain. She moved in to stand before Bane. 'Why are you doing this?'

He shrugged. 'I have a need to wander, Iswain.'

'It is more than that,' she said.

'If it is, then I choose not to talk about it. You said you and Gryffe were dreaming of a place of your own. Somewhere to raise children, to watch sunsets as you grow older. This is a good place, and I think you will be happy here.'

'We are happy here,' said Iswain. 'And we would both like to see you happy.'

He drew her into an embrace and kissed her plump cheek. 'When I come back we will have a feast, and I shall regale you with my adventures.' He turned to Gryffe and thrust out his hand. Gryffe ignored it and stepped in, drawing Bane into a bear hug.

'I shall hold half of all profits for you, man,' he said. 'And when you want to come home this farm will be waiting for you.' Releasing him, Gryffe smiled. 'We'll have taken your bedroom, mind. It's bigger than ours, with a better view.' The smile faded. 'You take care, Bane. Hear me?'

'I hear you, big man.' Gathering up his saddlebags Bane walked from the house. Settling the bags into place he stepped into the saddle and rode away without a backward glance.

It was a bright morning and he rode steadily east, crossing the hills and valleys until he reined in, some four hours later, on the hilltop overlooking Three Streams. It seemed so peaceful now in the spring sunshine, no hint, at first, of the bloodshed and valour, no echo of clashing swords and screaming men. Bright yellow flowers had bloomed along the slopes. Bane looked around the scene. A cast-off shoe lay in the grass close by, surrounded by flowers, and beyond it a broken sword blade, already pitted with rust.

From the woods came three boys, running and laughing. They were carrying wooden swords. Seeing Bane they paused. Bane waved at them, then heeled the mare onto the slope. He rode down into the settlement, past Eldest Tree, the colossal oak, and on to the forge, from where he could hear the steady beat of a hammer on iron. Dismounting he tied the mare's reins to a fence rail and walked into the forge. Nanncumal was watching an apprentice boy thumping his hammer upon a red-hot section of iron. The old man glanced up as Bane entered. Together they walked out into the sunshine. Nanncumal ran a cloth over his bald head, mopping up the sweat. He saw the saddlebags on Bane's mare. 'Where are you heading?' he asked.

'Across the water.'

'For what purpose?'

Bane shrugged. 'Perhaps it is to find a purpose,' he said.

Nanncumal sat down on a long bench seat. 'You did well here, boy,' he said. 'People won't forget.'

They will or they won't,' said Bane, seating himself beside his grandfather. 'It doesn't matter to me.'

Nanncumal looked away. 'I didn't do right by you, Bane. It grieves me to say that.'

'Long ago and far away,' said Bane. 'Forget it.'

'Easy to say. I loved my Arian. She was a good girl – until her sister died. They were children, sharing a bed. Little Baria was five years old. She had a fever, and her heart gave out in the night. Arian awoke and found her dead beside her. She was never the same after that. Terrified of the dark and of being alone. When Conn was savaged by that bear Arian almost went mad. I tried to talk her out of marrying Casta. It was not a good match. But she was convinced Conn would die, and she clung to Casta as if he were life itself.' The old man sighed.

'We don't need to talk about this,' said Bane. 'Mother is dead. Nothing can change that.'

'I'm talking about the living,' said Nanncumal. 'I'm talking about you and… Connavar.'

'I don't need to hear it.'

'Maybe you don't, maybe you do. But I need to say it, so humour me, Grandson. I know that you have always believed Connavar took your mother by force. It is not true. Arian told me herself that she seduced him on that day, hoping to win him back. She knew, deep down, he had never stopped loving her. The Seidh had warned Connavar never to break a promise, or great tragedy would result. He had promised to take his new wife riding. Instead he stayed for many hours with Arian. When he returned he found his wife had been murdered while he had been taking his pleasure. Connavar was insane with grief. He destroyed the murderer's village, slaughtering any who came within sword reach. In his madness he killed women and children that day.

'When you were born, and Casta saw your eyes, he knew Arian had been unfaithful and cast her out. She came home to me. I went to see Connavar, and told him of his son. We drank uisge long into the night, and he talked of his sorrow, and of his love of my daughter. Much of it I won't repeat. But he also talked of the people he had killed, and of how no amount of good deeds could wash away his guilt, and no punishment be great enough to ease his pain. I asked him if he would consider taking Arian to wife, and acknowledging you as his son. He said that his heart yearned for exactly that. His love for Arian burned as brightly as ever, and every night since he learned of the birth he had longed to ride to her and lift his son into his arms. But he could not. This was the punishment he had placed upon himself. Never to wed, never to sire children. He told me that he would never set eyes upon Arian again. And he never did. There, it is said. He was not punishing you, Bane. He was punishing himself.'

'Why are you telling me this, Grandfather?'

The old man shrugged. 'You are a good boy, with a good heart. But I know you came to hate Connavar. I thought the truth would help lance the boil.'

Bane leaned over and kissed his grandfather's cheek, then he rose. 'I must say farewell to Vorna,' he said.

Nanncumal climbed to his feet. 'And I'd better get back to the boy before he sets the forge or himself on fire.' They stood for a moment, then Nanncumal reached out and shook Bane's hand. 'I doubt we'll see each other again,' he said.

'Who knows? I may be back within a year.'

Nanncumal nodded, though he knew it was not the truth. 'I hope so, Bane.'

The younger man climbed to the saddle and rode off across the settlement. He saw Meria with a young child, sitting on a porch seat before her house. She looked up. Her hand flickered as if she would wave, but then she looked away.

Vorna was not at home. Bane waited for an hour, then mounted up and set off towards the Wishing Tree woods.

The king had slept badly, the night haunted by dreams. Not all of them were bad, but even these filled him with sorrow. When young he had believed himself as immortal as the mountains. He had looked upon older people as being from a different species. Now, in his fortieth year, he found himself looking back on that young man with a sense of bewilderment. It was not as if he had not known he would one day grow old and then die. Yet despite the knowledge there was some deep instinct in him that denied its truth. He had been young, the future stretching out eternally before him. He remembered when he and Wing had last travelled with Ruathain to sell cattle in the south. Men had talked of an earth maiden who dwelt in the town, a woman of enormous beauty and great skill in love-making. When the boys saw her they had been shocked beyond belief. She was old. Older than their mother, and she was well past thirty. Conn remembered thinking, How could she let such beauty slip away? Such a stupid thought – as if anyone chose to let time erode their health and strength and dignity.

Conn sat up. His lower back ached from a night on the floor of the tent, and his neck was stiff. He stretched and groaned. The dawn sun gleamed on the eastern side of the tent, illuminating the interior. Conn glanced at the armour tree bearing his mailshirt, breastplate and helm, and the patchwork cloak Meria had made for him all those years ago.

'If you are to be the king of all Keltoi on this side of the water,' she said, 'you cannot ride around the countryside in the colours of the Rigante. You must wear something that signifies you are above tribal divisions.' He had, at first, laughed at the garment, for it had seemed then truly ugly, clashing colours and symbols, crafted from cloaks from five tribes. Now he viewed it differently. Meria had been right. The cloak had become a talisman, drawing the tribes together.

Conn poured himself some water. The memory of the dreams was strong upon him. He had seen his stepfather Ruathain. He had been standing by the shore of a lake, his arm round the shoulder of the dead grandson who bore his name. Conn had called out to him, but Ruathain did not seem to hear him.

Sitting alone in his tent Connavar the King thought back over his life, seeing again the great days, of victory and freedom, the bleak times following the deaths of Banouin, Tae and finally Ruathain. He had loved Tae, though never with the all-consuming intensity of his feelings for Arian. Even after all these years guilt for that lack lay heavy on him. She deserved belter from him, he knew, but love was not a matter of choice. A man did not – could not – say: This woman is worthy of love and therefore I will love her with all my heart. A man loved passionately or he did not. It was that simple.

Conn's eyes felt gritty and tired. Bran, Govannan and Osta had been in the tent well into the night, discussing strategies to use against Jasaray's forces. Bran had worked out a battle plan. It was a good one, but fraught with danger. The Rigante centre would be manned by fifteen thousand untrained tribesmen, ten thousand heavy infantry to be placed on the left and right wings. Both flanks would be protected by the Iron Wolves and the Horse Archers.

'We will draw Jasaray in towards the weak centre,' said Bran, 'and engage him there.'

'We'll not be able to hold him,' pointed out Govannan.

'Exactly. I will set the centre in a bow formation, the wings behind the front ranks. The Stone front lines will push us back. The heavy infantry, under you, Govannan, will hold their positions. As the Panthers drive us back our lines will become crescent-shaped. Then I will signal the heavy infantry to close in from left and right. The Iron Wolves, having despatched or driven away Jasaray's cavalry, will turn on the rear of the Panthers.'

'The plan has merit,' said Connavar. 'Such a double envelopment will hem his troops in, making it almost impossible for them to change formation. But it relies on Jasaray reacting the way we desire. Should he identify the danger early enough he will spread out his lines in an advancing square. Then when we try to crush their formation he will repel us with ease.'

'And what of his archers?' asked the Gath general Osta. 'There are a thousand skilled bowmen marching with him.'

'I know,' said Bran. 'Each man carries a quiver of thirty shafts. We must force Jasaray to use them early, on our centre. Otherwise our cavalry charge will be cut to pieces, the Iron Wolves destroyed.'

'And what avenue of escape is there, should this strategy fail?' asked Govannan.

'None,' said Bran. 'I will be with the centre, and our backs will be to the river. If we cannot crush Jasaray in this one engagement we will be destroyed utterly. This, my friends, is a win or die battle. I can think of no other way to overcome the Panthers.'

'Neither can I,' said Connavar.

'I am not a strategist,' said Osta, 'but it seems to me that the centre will take appalling losses. What if they break and run? Half of them will be Norvii and Pannone. We don't know them.'

Connavar had laughed. 'Most of my men did not know the Gath when you rode with us at Cogden Field. They know you now, Osta, my friend. The centre will be manned by three tribes. Not one man among them would wish to be seen, by a rival tribesman, running away. They will hold.'

Now, in the dawn, Conn found himself worried about the plan. It was simple, and could be devastatingly effective. However, the tribes were not facing an ordinary general. He recalled the battles against the Perdii twenty years ago, when he had stood beside Jasaray. The man had been cool, anticipating every move of the enemy, and countering it swiftly, decisively, murderously. Conn shivered.

Moving from the tent, he saw Govannan and several others swimming in a nearby lake. It lightened his spirit and he walked over to join them, stripping off his tunic and plunging into the cold water. But even as he swam he thought about his brother, Braefar, and the meeting he would have with him later that day. Brother Solstice was convinced Wing and his new friends would seek to kill him. Conn believed this to be true, but held to the vision he had glimpsed in the mind of the Morrigu. He would lead the charge of the Iron Wolves tomorrow, and he would end, once and for all, the threat of Stone. His whole life had been in preparation for this one charge, and surely, he reasoned, not even the most capricious of gods would rob him of the day.

With smooth, strong strokes he swam to where Govannan was washing his silver hair. Coming up behind him Conn flicked the general's legs from under him, dunking him into the water. Govannan came up spluttering and threw himself at Conn, and the two men fell below the surface. Govannan came up first. As Conn surfaced he was pushed under once more. This time it was Conn who came up spluttering. 'Is that any way to treat your king?' he asked. Govannan laughed, and lunged at him again. Conn swayed, caught Govannan by the arm and twisted him. The general flopped to his back. Before he could go under the water again Conn drew him up. 'It is too beautiful a day to be spent fighting with you,' he said.

The two men waded towards the shore. Just as they were about to emerge from the water, something sharp bit into Conn's calf. With an angry cry he looked down and saw an otter attacking him. His hand lunged into the water, grabbed the creature and hauled it clear. Then he flung it with terrible force. The otter struck a tree and flopped to the ground, its neck broken. There was blood in the water. Conn climbed to the bank and examined the wound. It was not deep.

'Damn, but these water dogs can be a nuisance,' said Govannan, kneeling by the king.

Conn sat very still, all colour fading from his face.

'Are you all right?' asked Govannan, concerned.

'I am fine,' said Conn. 'Is the creature dead?'

Govannan moved to the tree and nudged the otter with his foot. It did not move. He picked it up. 'Aye, it is dead.'

Conn rose from the ground and walked back to his tent.

Otters had many names among the tribes; water dogs was the most common, but in the old High Tongue they were called Hounds of the River Bank.

All his life Conn had been fearful of his birth geasa. Vorna had told his mother he would die on the day he killed the hound that bit him. It was this prophecy that had led Meria to urge Ruathain to stand beside him in the first battle against Shard, for Conn had killed a dog that fastened his teeth to his wrist guard. Having survived the battle Conn had believed the geasa to be broken. Now he knew differently. All his life he had avoided close contact with dogs and hounds.

Back in his tent he bound the wound in his calf. 'If today is the day, so be it,' he said aloud.

Then he donned his armour.

Banouin had also spent a fitful night, and his spirits were low as the dawn came. Brother Solstice, with whom he shared a small tent, saw the strain in his eyes. 'Do you fear the coming battle?' he asked the younger man.

Banouin shook his head. 'No, it is not fear but sadness. I have been thinking of the thousands of young men who will lose their lives – men on both sides. And for what, Solstice? What, ultimately, will be achieved by this coming violence? Surely man, with all his intellect, can find some other way to settle disagreements, without more seeds of hatred being sown, more souls to haunt a battlefield.'

'It would be pleasant to think so,' said Brother Solstice. 'Yet harmony is often achieved by violence. Forest fires are terrible, but without them the forest itself would not survive. The deer rely on the wolf to cull the herds, eliminating the weak, ensuring that the food supply will be adequate for their survival. If the Source had decided upon a world without violence he would surely not have created the hawk and the lion.'

Banouin thought about this for a moment. 'Is it your argument then that the Source in some way desires this coming conflict, and the slaughter which accompanies it?'

'I am not arrogant enough to even guess at the answer to that, my friend. My heart is heavy with the thought of the dead to come. But, I tell myself, evil must always be countered. We did not ask the soldiers of Stone to invade our lands. We did not request them to enslave our women and butcher our children. So what are we to do? Allow them to achieve their aims? When a man sits by and allows another to kill and rape and plunder, then he is as guilty as the offender.'

'According to that argument,' said Banouin, 'you should be carrying a sword and shield tomorrow.'

Brother Solstice smiled. 'Believe me, my boy, were I standing close to a mother and her child, and a soldier of Stone was advancing upon them, I would take up sword and shield. I am not as holy a man as I would wish to be.'

'Then you accept that holy men should avoid violence, no matter what lives are threatened?'

'I do accept that we are pledged to uphold the sanctity of life,' said the druid. 'And I revere those men who can live by such a code. I am not – yet – one of them.'

Banouin pushed open the flap of the tent and stepped out into the early-morning sunlight. Cookfires had been lit all over the valley, and thousands of soldiers were moving around, some tending to their horses, others sharpening weapons, or playing dice bones. Brother Solstice dismantled the tent and Banouin helped him fold the canvas, then roll it.

'In Stone,' said Banouin, 'there was a group known as the Tree Cult. They believed in non-violence and they were killed in their thousands. Not once did they raise their hands against their killers. And they won, for they are now accepted among the citizens.'

'I have heard of them,' said Brother Solstice, 'and I admire them enormously. My first spiritual teacher – a wonderful old druid named Conobelin – told me that you can change the minds of men by argument or debate, but you cannot change their hearts by the same means. Hearts are changed by actions.' Brother Solstice tied the rolled tent. 'You say the Cultists won – though I might debate that. But why did they win? As I understand it Jasaray arrested and executed Nalademus. Why was he able to do that? Because two men with swords saved him from both traitors and a wild beast. And in saving him, and gaining a victory for the gentle Cultists, we now have a Stone army ready to destroy our lands and butcher our children. Is that what the Source desired? A man could drive himself insane seeking deeper meanings within such complex events.' Brother Solstice stood silently for a moment, staring around the valley and the shores of the lake. 'I find that it helps', he said at last, 'to focus one's mind not on the evils but on the greatness of man, on the power of his love, rather than the nature of his hatreds. Love of family, love of friends, love of land. The Rigante are a fine people, Banouin. I hold to that. We seek not to enslave our fellows, but to live with them. We do not make war upon our neighbours. But when war comes to us we fight. Not a man here, among these thousands, does not wish he could be somewhere else. He is here to defend those he loves, and in that there is nobility of purpose.'

Banouin shook his head. 'The Morrigu talked of feeding the spirit of the land. She said that man alone among the animals has the talent to do this. Every kindly thought and deed, every moment of compassion and forgiveness, is like a raindrop of spirit to the earth. But war? War is a torrent of dark rain that poisons the earth, bringing us one tiny step closer to the death of the world.'

Brother Solstice put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'Yes, it is, my friend. It is vile. But when the fighting is over you and I will move among the wounded and heal them as best we can. And we will – if it pleases the Source – watch them return to their farms and their lands and hug their wives and their children. We will see them smile at the infinite beauty of the sunset, and dance on Feast Nights with all the joy of life. And we will hope that they will put aside hatred and teach their children to love their friends and neighbours, so that future generations can avoid wars and thus replenish the spirit of the earth. It is all we can do.'

'But first comes the slaughter,' said Banouin softly.

'Aye, first the slaughter.'

In the hour before dusk Bane rode to the edge of the Wishing Tree woods. The mare refused to cross the tree line, shying back as he tried to heel her forward. She then stood still, her flanks trembling. Bane dismounted and stroked her neck. 'I have no wish to enter either,' he told her. Trailing the reins he left her there and walked into the shadow-shrouded trees. There was no mist, but as he walked Bane thought he could hear whispers on the wind, and felt eyes upon him. He followed the trail down to where they had first seen the Morrigu, then continued up the slope opposite, coming at last to the circle of golden stones. A young man was sitting on a rock close by. He was slender and golden-haired, his face gentle. Beside him, resting against the rock, was a golden shield of fabulous workmanship. The rim was shining steel, the centre like a spider's web of golden wire flowing around a grey, shimmering stone the size of a man's fist. The young man looked up and smiled as Bane approached.

'She said you would come,' he said, his voice low, almost musical.

'And I did,' said Bane. 'Who are you?'

'I am… was… Riamfada. Will you sit awhile?'

'My horse is waiting beyond the woods, and I have a long way to travel. So can we make this brief? Tell me why the Morrigu asked me here.'

'Your mare is already wandering back to Three Streams, from where it will be returned to the farm you gifted to Gryffe and Iswain,' said Riamfada. 'Should you decide to travel to the coast I can send you there through the portal, and save you weeks of journeying.' Riamfada lifted a slender hand and gestured towards the stones. The air rippled and Bane found himself staring down a sloping hillside at the port of Accia. The air rippled once more, the vision disappearing. 'Sit for a while,' said Riamfada. 'I have long desired this meeting.'

'Who are you?' asked Bane again. 'Or perhaps that should be what are you?'

'Once I was human, like you.' He smiled. 'Well… not exactly like you. My legs were crippled and I could not walk. But I was Rigante, and I dwelt in Three Streams. I died there before you were born. On a Feast Night, surrounded by my friends. The Seidh brought me here to dwell among them.'

'And now you are Seidh?'

'No, you cannot become Seidh. But those of us who were once human have been taught certain… skills, shall we say, involving the manipulation of matter. It is probably simpler to say we have learned magic.'

Bane reached out and touched the young man's arm. It was solid, the flesh warm to the touch. 'You are no ghost then?'

'No, not a ghost.'

Bane sat down on a flat rock. 'So why am I here?'

'To make a choice. As I said I can speed your way to the coast – or beyond if it pleases you. Once I could have transported you to Stone itself, but they tore down the circle that stood on the Fourth Hill to make way for a bathhouse and a market. But I can send you to a circle some twenty miles north-east of the city.'

Bane laughed. 'The Morrigu would not have brought me here merely to save time on my travels. What is it she requires of me?'

'She requires nothing, Bane. She asks for nothing. I was told merely to present you with alternatives.'

'And these are?'

'You can travel where you wish, to any of the circles around the globe of the world.'

'Is there a circle in the White Mountains?'

'The White Mountains of Varshalla, north of the land of the Vars?'

'Yes,' said Bane.

'Indeed there is. But why would you wish to go there? The tribes worship the gods of blood and the word among them for stranger is the same as the word for enemy. Even the Vars do not travel there.'

'Someone I love is there,' said Bane. 'I would like to see her again.'

'Then I can send you there,' Riamfada told him.

Bane glanced down at the spider web shield. 'Why do you need a shield?' he asked.

'It is not mine – though I crafted it. I made it for you, Bane, as I once made a sword for your father.'

'It is a pretty piece, though one hefty cut would destroy it.'

The young man lifted the shield and carried it to a nearby oak, hanging it upon a broken branch. 'Show me,' he said.

Bane drew one of his short swords and walked to the tree. He lunged at the shield. The blade bounced away. He hacked and slashed at it, then stood back. There was not a single mark upon any of the wires. Sheathing his blade he lifted the shield, and was amazed by its lack of weight. Slipping his forearm through the two leather straps he hooked his fingers around the fist bar. Then looked for buckles to tighten the straps. The leather slid round his arm, shrinking until the straps fitted perfectly. 'How do I remove it?' he asked.

'Simply loosen your grip on the fist bar,' advised Riamfada.

Bane did so, and the straps opened. 'It is a wondrous piece. I thank you for it.'

'I hope it proves useful,' said Riamfada.

Bane sat down once more. The sun was falling behind scattered clouds, and the sky was molten gold above the mountains. 'What is it you are not telling me, Riamfada? This is a battle shield, and though it may prove useful in the White Mountains you did not craft it for that purpose.'

'I have one more vision to show you,' said Riamfada. He gestured once more, and Bane saw the air shimmer, and found himself staring at nine men sitting within a stone circle. He recognized Braefar, and his eyes were drawn to another man, a huge, hulking warrior with long, braided yellow hair. The scene shifted and Bane saw a rider on a white horse in the distance. 'That is Connavar,' said Bane. 'Why are you showing me this?'

'The king is riding to his death,' said Riamfada. 'He knows that his brother plans to kill him. He knows he cannot survive.'

'Then why is he doing it?'

'You were here when the Morrigu told him to agree to his brother's request. Conn promised that he would – and he is a man of honour.'

'I see,' said Bane coldly. 'And you want me to rush through to his rescue. That is what this… this talk of alternatives comes down to. I am here to save the king.'

'I wish that were true, Bane, for I love Connavar, and I can feel the heaviness of his heart. But you cannot save him. This is his destiny.'

'Then why am I here?'

'To make a choice.'

'Suppose I decide to find Lia, what happens to Connavar?'

'He dies alone.'

'And if I step through to his aid?'

'He dies – but not alone. But know this, Bane, if you do step through you will be faced with another choice – one that will probably see you die within a day.'