Midnight Falcon

Chapter Three

The former general, Appius, sat on the balcony, enjoying the sunshine and the distant view of the sea. From the walled garden below the scent of jasmine drifted up to him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back in his own home, overlooking the harbour of Cressia and the white cliffs of Dara Island. Appius sighed, his good humour evaporating.

This poorly constructed house, with its creaking timbers and draughts, was not his home. Accia was a frontier settlement, and the attempts by the outcasts to make the Stone settlement even a rough copy of the home city were almost pathetic. The houses were timber-built, and merely dressed with stone and plaster. The roads – save for the open area outside the Council building – were not paved, and there were no playhouses, theatres or arenas. The one bathhouse was still uncompleted – the funds having been delayed – and the race track boasted no seating.

The residents were the flotsam and jetsam of Stone society: corrupt politicians, exiled merchants, or criminals escaping justice. Even the three hundred soldiers stationed here were rejects, governed by officers who had committed some breach of discipline or were otherwise out of favour.

In the twenty-four hours Appius had been in the house of Barus he had already been visited by two disgraced citizens, the merchant Macrios – accused of bribery and fraudulent dealings – and Banyon, the former senator – whose nepotistic behaviour had been the talk of Stone. He had greeted them courteously, accepted their welcomes graciously, then bid them good day.

It hurt the pride of the old soldier that he was now one of them, a man living in disgrace in a frontier town, far from civilization. He wondered if they looked at him in the same way he viewed them. Did they wonder what grubby crime he had committed to be banished here? Appius shuddered inwardly. All his life he had fought to be a man of honour and dignity. He had never accepted a brass coin in bribes from merchants anxious to supply his Panther regiments. Not once in his adult life had he acted in petty jealousy, greed, or envy. Yet here he was, living among criminals and runaways in a shoddy replica of a Stone city. The plaster of the balcony balustrade was already cracking, and flakes had fallen to the terracotta tiles of the floor. He gazed out over the settlement. From here some of the houses seemed almost habitable, but he knew if he approached them he would see the same poor workmanship.

Spinning on his heel the old soldier strode back into the main room. The furniture, three couches and four deep chairs, had all been shipped from Stone, and their quality only made worse the contrast with the badly plastered walls and clumsily wrought ceiling. But then what carpenter or stonemason worth his salt would want to live here? he thought.

There was a tap at the door, and the stoop-shouldered surgeon Ralis entered.

'How is he?' asked Appius, gesturing the man to a chair. Ralis sat and ran his thin hand over his balding head.

'The fever has broken. He will be fine. I have instructed one of the servants to sit with him. I would guess he swallowed river water and it contained some effluent that has upset his system. I managed to get him to swallow a herbal tincture. That should settle his stomach. And I have set his arm. It was a clean break. His heartbeat is strong, and I would think he should be back on his feet in a day or two.'

Appius offered his guest a goblet of wine, and they sat in companionable silence. Appius had known the elderly surgeon for years. Ralis had accompanied him on three campaigns. His skills were solid, though without flair, and he had performed his duties well. Appius glanced at the man, remembering the scandal. Ralis had exiled himself to this desolate place following an affair with a young senator, whose wife had subsequently committed suicide. Her relatives had killed the senator, and sent assassins to despatch Ralis. But the surgeon had been warned, and had fled the city during the night. The scandal surrounding the affair had been talked of for years in Stone.

'The young man looks familiar,' said Ralis.

Appius nodded. 'He is the half-breed son of Banouin, the Ghost General.'

'Well, well,' said Ralis, 'Banouin, eh? Didn't he become a troubadour, or something?'

'A wandering merchant. He was killed in the Perdii campaign almost twenty years ago.'

'Men say he was as good a general as Jasaray.'

'No-one is as good as Jasaray, but he was skilled,' said Appius. 'He was a charismatic leader, worshipped by his men. But, more than that, he had an intuitive feel for battles.'

'Didn't he marry some slave, or such like?'

'A northern witch woman.'

'Baffling,' said Ralis. 'He could have been rich and powerful in Stone. Instead he took to the highlands and married a savage. I wonder why?'

'We'll never know. Do you miss the city?' asked Appius suddenly.

Ralis gave a rueful smile. 'Who would not? But we are doing our best here. This time next year the roads should be paved, and Macrios is raising funds to complete the bathhouse by the spring. Small beginnings, I know. But progress at least. Is Barus coming back this year?'

Appius shook his head. 'He has been given a command in the east. Lia and I will look after his house for a while, until we decide whether to settle here or go home.'

Their eyes met, and Ralis had the good grace to look away. No citizen came here through choice. Either their funds had vanished or they had made powerful enemies back home. 'How are things in Stone?' asked the surgeon.

'Lively,' answered Appius, and did not expand on it.

'Well, they are not so lively here, General. We have no Crimson Priests, and people feel they can speak freely, and live their lives according to the wishes of their hearts.'

'Sounds pleasant,' observed Appius. 'Though perhaps ill-advised.' He rose, signalling to his guest that the conversation was over.

Ralis bowed. 'It was good seeing you again, General. If there is any worsening of your guest's condition, please feel free to call upon my services.'

Appius shook the man's hand, walked him to the door, then returned to the balcony. In the garden below Lia was walking with Bane. She seemed happy and carefree. It mattered nothing to her that they were thousands of miles from home. The sound of her laughter hung on Appius like a lead weight.

There were no Crimson Priests in Accia.

Not yet.

It was just past midnight when the scream ripped through the silence of the night. Bane was the first to react. Coming awake he rolled from the bed and raced naked into the next room, where Banouin was sitting up in bed, pointing towards the far wall. He screamed again. Bane ran to him, grabbing his friend by the shoulders.

The walls are alive!' shouted Banouin. His face was drenched in sweat, and gleamed in the pale moonlight. 'And there is a demon hunting you, Bane. Ah! I see him. Talon and claw. He is coming for you.'

'If he is, I'll kill him,' said Bane. 'Don't fret. Lie back. Sleep.'

'Watch out for him, Bane. Watch the tail. It flicks just before the demon leaps!'

'I'll watch the tail. Now, do as you're told. Lie back.'

Banouin sagged against him, then let out a long sigh. He allowed Bane to lay him down. His eyes flickered. 'It was not a dream,' he said, his voice calm. 'It was a vision, Bane. You were walking through… through corridors, but the walls were alive and writhing. You were carrying a short sword, and there was a man with you, an older man. And a demon was stalking you.' He shuddered. 'A terrible beast of incredible speed and strength.'

'All in all,' said Bane softly, 'I would have preferred your first vision to have been of a beautiful young woman – maybe two beautiful young women – nursing me back to health after killing the beast. But no matter. Rest now.'

Banouin's blue eyes closed, and his breathing deepened. Bane rose and walked out into the torchlit corridor beyond. Appius was standing there, dressed in a pale grey nightrobe. Beyond him was Lia.

'He had a vision,' said Bane.

'Yes, yes, we'll talk about it in the morning,' said Appius sharply, moving to stand between the naked Bane and his daughter.

'Are you all right, Appius?' asked Bane. 'As I said, it was only a vision. And it didn't concern you at all.'

'Lia! Go to your room,' snapped Appius, without turning to look back at her. Bane moved to the right.

'Sleep well,' he said. Lia laughed aloud, shook her head and moved from sight.

'You are naked,' said Appius sternly.

'So are you beneath that robe,' observed Bane.

'Exactly! Beneath the robe. In civilized societies it is considered… offensive to parade naked.'

'What is a parade?' asked Bane.

'To appear naked in public.'

'And why would that be?'

'Why? Because… it just is. I don't know why these customs appear. But it is especially offensive for a man to appear naked before a young virgin.'

Bane grinned. 'Are you mocking me, Appius?'

The older man sighed. 'No, I am not mocking you. If you appeared naked on the streets of Stone you would be arrested and flogged. And if you appeared so before a young woman of good family you would be either hanged or thrown into the arena to fight for your life. Now go to your room, take the robe that is hanging on your door and put it on. I feel the need of a goblet of wine. Then you can tell me about this… vision.'

Moments later, garbed in a fine robe of white, ankle-length cotton, Bane entered the main room. Appius handed him a silver goblet and the two men sat on the balcony, overlooking the town of Accia, and the star-dappled sea beyond.

'Why are you going to Stone?' asked the old general.

Bane shrugged. 'I promised Vorna I would see Banouin safe. He is not a fighter, but he draws trouble like flies to cow shit.'

'That's another thing you might want to consider,' said Appius. 'Your language. You speak Turgon well, and seem to have picked up some… interesting phrases. In polite company you should avoid using words associated with bodily functions or the nature of human intimacy. A citizen of Stone, for example, doesn't rise from the dinner table, as you did this evening, in order to "piss". He excuses himself and says he will rejoin the company presently. He doesn't open his leggings in order to scratch his privates.'

'Privates?' queried Bane.

'Balls!' snapped Appius.

'Ah. When is he allowed to scratch them?'

'In private. Hence "privates". You see?'

Bane nodded sagely, then drank his wine. 'You are a very strange people,' he said. 'You think nothing of enslaving tribes, butchering men, and bringing war and destruction to all the lands around you. Yet you find the sight of a penis offensive, and you don't talk about pissing. That is civilization, is it? War, murder and butchery are respectable, but a man without clothes risks a flogging?'

Appius laughed. 'I have not heard it argued quite so simplistically before, but yes, perhaps that is the essence of our civilization: personal privacy, national expansion. However, the rights and wrongs of it are meaningless. The fact is that these laws apply. You must walk and speak warily in Stone, Bane. It will be different for Banouin. He is the son of a prominent citizen, and will be carrying papers I shall give him, signifying his position. He will be accepted. You, however, will be watched carefully for any sign of barbarous behaviour.'

'You think me barbarous?'

'I am an old soldier, boy. I have seen men like you. Warriors, a little in love with death. Life without risk is nothing to you. A waste. If you find a chasm you must stand on the very tip, and dare the void to drag you in. If you see a horse no man can ride you must tame it. And if you see a man no-one can beat you must challenge him.'

'You see a lot, General.'

'More than you think. What is Connavar thinking of to send his son into Stone?'

'You know Connavar?' asked Bane warily.

'I fought alongside him in the Perdii wars, and against him at Cogden Field. Aye, I know him well enough to see him in you – even without the strange eyes. Tell no-one of your blood line, Bane. Or you will be dragged before Jasaray himself and used against your father.'

'I shall bear that in mind,' said Bane coolly. 'The gods know how much I love Connavar.'

Appius looked at him sharply, but said no more on the matter.

Bane stood and stretched, then asked the general a direct question. Appius laughed aloud.

'The correct way to ask that is: "And where can a man find a relaxing spot, with pleasant female company?" And my answer is: I have not been here long enough to find out, young man. When I do I shall let you know. Perhaps tomorrow you should take a walk down to the docks. I don't doubt some publicly minded citizen will approach you and guide you to what you seek.'

'Baffling,' said Bane. Rising he left the room. As he did so he heard Lia's door click shut. He looked in on Banouin, who was now sleeping deeply, then returned to his bed.

As he lay down he found himself thinking of Lia. When first he had seen her at the river he thought her a pretty girl, nothing more. But earlier, when he had walked with her in the garden, he found himself noticing the tilt of her head as she laughed, the slender perfection of her neck, the fullness of her lips. And when they sat upon the bench, beneath the canvas canopy, he had caught the scent of her hair.

You've been without a woman too long, he told himself. And he fell asleep thinking of the dark-haired girl, and picturing himself walking with her on the slopes of the Druagh mountains, with the morning sun clearing the peaks, and the mist seeping from the Wishing Tree woods.

Oranus, the Captain of the Watch, was tired, his stomach full of cheap red wine, his head pounding. Midweek was usually quiet in Accia, and he had brought the flagon of wine to the small office fronting the cells. It would, he hoped, help give him a good night's sleep. Instead it had left his mood as sour as his belly.

He glared balefully at the small group of angry people crowding around his desk. They were all talking at once, their discordant voices matching the angry pounding behind his eyes. The woman he knew well, a whore who operated in the eastern dock area. The man beside her, sporting a broken nose and a swollen eye, was her pimp, Nestar. He was also the owner of a waterside tavern renowned for foul practices, including robbery, extortion, and the fleecing of customers. Two of his men stood close by. All bore signs of recent violent activity. The captain would have liked nothing better than to close Nestar's tavern, but the pimp had many friends in high places, including the merchant Macrios and the councillor Banyon. At forty-four – only eight months from retirement and a free parcel of land – Oranus had no desire to incur the wrath of powerful men.

Oranus rubbed his eyes and transferred his gaze to the thin man standing by the door. He did not recognize him. The man's face was dotted with spots of blood, and there were wooden splinters in the skin of his forehead. Just for a moment the sheer incongruity of the man's injuries lightened his headache. But only for a moment.

The morning had been quiet until the barbarian had been brought in. He glanced back at the chained tribesman, sitting glowering in the cell. He was young, and powerfully built, with long blond hair, a single braid hanging from the temple. He wore no tribal cloak, but Oranus felt sure he was not Cenii. There was something untamed about him, which suggested he had not endured the yoke of Stone. Perhaps Norvii or Rigante, he thought. Oranus filled a cup with water and drained it. Then he turned his attention back to the angry group.

'Silence!' he bellowed, as hammers of fire thudded at his temples. He pointed at the red-headed whore. 'You, Roxy. You speak first. The rest of you keep your mouths shut.'

'The bastard assaulted me, sir. Robbed me of my life's savings. Kicked in my door, he did, when I was with a friend. Hurled the friend through the window.'

That's me,' said the man at the back, with the splinters in his forehead. 'We were talking when the savage burst in. I tried to remonstrate, but he grabbed me and sent me flying into the shutters. I went straight through. Luckily there was a canopy under the window, which broke my fall.' He sighed. 'Bet he didn't know about the canopy,' he said. 'Strong canvas, luckily. Well made. Didn't even tear.'

'It is not even remotely possible that I could care less about the canopy,' said Oranus, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Did you know the tribesman?' he asked the whore.

'He enjoyed my company some time earlier,' she said coyly.

'Which is when she stole my pouch of gold,' said the prisoner, in passably good Turgon.

'What a liar he is,' said the woman, her voice full of outrage. 'Has it come to this, that a businesswoman can be maligned in the office of the Law?' She smiled sweetly at Oranus. 'I could help you with that headache, sir.'

'That's just what I need,' snapped Oranus. 'A headache – and a dose of pox. You!' He pointed to the pimp, Nestar, a thickset man, with short, greasy black hair. His nose was swollen and bloody, his right eye almost closed. 'How did you come into this?'

'I was downstairs and I heard Roxy cry out. I took up my cudgel and ran up the stairs. When I stepped into the doorway he came at me, and butted me. I fell back down the stairs. That's when he robbed Roxy of our savings,' he said, casting a murderous glance at the whore. 'He came down the stairs and I yelled out to my men to stop him. I say "my men", but they're not any more, sir. A more useless pair would be hard to find. He swatted them like they were flies and walked out into the street. I mean, to look at them you'd think they were tough. Big hands, strapping shoulders. Fooled me, though. He treated them like the farm boys they are.'

'That's not fair,' said one of the men. 'He took us by surprise.'

'You're paid not to be surprised, donkey-brain!'

Oranus slammed the flat of his hand on to the table, the noise making them jump. He lifted his hand, holding his index finger a hair's breadth from his thumb. 'I am this close to locking you all in for the rest of the day and for tonight,' he said. 'Now will you continue with your story, and hopefully finish it before year's end?'

Nestar nodded. 'I'm sorry, sir. Anyway, after swatting these imbeciles he ran out into the street, where happily several soldiers of the Watch were on hand. They grabbed him. I think you'll find he lashed out at them, too, sir. That's what comes of allowing these barbarians into a civilized township, if you don't mind me saying.'

'I do mind you saying,' said Oranus. He rose from his chair and swung to the prisoner, who was sitting on a cot bed within the cell. Oranus looked into the man's eyes, and felt suddenly cold. Memories of the past almost overwhelmed him, and his hands began to tremble. Fighting for control he took a deep breath. 'What have you to say?' he asked the prisoner. The man stood and stared through the wooden bars at the assembled group.

'The woman says I stole her money. Then I ran from the building and was grabbed by your soldiers. Is this correct?'

'That would seem to be their evidence,' said Oranus. 'Your point is…?'

'Ask her how much was in the pouch.'

'You heard him,' said Oranus. 'How much was there?'

'Oh, around twenty-five gold coins,' she said. 'Maybe thirty. I don't recall exactly.'

'There are thirty-two gold coins, three half silvers and five copper,' said the prisoner coolly. 'And doesn't it seem remarkable that I had time to count them all, while running down the stairs and into the street?'

'Aye, remarkable,' said Oranus, turning a cold stare to the whore. 'So you stole his pouch. That's a flogging offence, Roxy. Fifty lashes.'

'You going to take his word over that of a tax-paying businesswoman?' she shouted, her eyes fearful.

'Not his word, whore! His arithmetic.'

'I knew nothing about any theft,' said Nestar, holding up his hands. 'As you know, I run a lawful establishment.'

'I know what you run,' said Oranus, his gaze holding to the frightened eyes of the red-headed woman.

'I can't take another flogging,' she whimpered, backing away towards the door. 'It'll kill me.'

'Perhaps you should have thought of that before robbing him,' said Oranus.

'I don't want to see her flogged,' said the prisoner. 'Do I have a say in this?'

Oranus felt a wave of relief, and a lessening of his headache. If the barbarian wished to bring no charges the whole matter could be forgotten, and his office would be quiet again, peaceful. There would be no papers to fill in, no further enquiries to make. He could remove his breastplate, step into the cell, lie down on the cot bed, and close his eyes. Keeping his expression stern he looked at the whore, then back at the prisoner. 'It is your pouch,' he said at last. 'The crime was against you, not against town property. If you are happy to see the matter forgotten then there is little I can do.' He tried to sound regretful, and gave the whore a withering look.

'What about me?' asked the man with the splinters in his brow. 'He threw me through the window!'

Oranus gave a bleak smile. 'You are quite right,' he said. 'There should be a public trial. You can appear and explain how you were in a whore's room when one of her other customers broke in and assaulted you. Let's see,' he said, opening a ledger on his desk. 'Court will be in session tomorrow at noon.'

'I don't want to go to court,' mumbled the man.

'And what about you, Nestar?' asked Oranus. 'Do you want to go to court?'

The pimp shook his head.

'Right,' said Oranus. 'Everyone out! And if I see you brought before me again, Roxy, I'll have you hanged.'

The woman fled the room, as did the other men. Oranus unlocked the cell door, and removed the chains round the prisoner's wrists. 'Where are you from?' he asked the man.

'North.'

'Rigante?'

'Aye.'

'You are a long way from home.'

'I like to travel.' The young man scooped up his pouch and tied it to his belt.

'Why didn't you wish to see her flogged?' asked Oranus. 'She deserved it, you know.'

'She was a very good companion,' said the man, with a wide smile. 'And it was my own fault for falling asleep. Am I free to go?'

'That depends on where you are going. Do you have friends in Accia?'

'I am staying with the general, Appius, while my friend recovers from a fever.'

'Ah, Appius! I heard he had arrived. The gods alone know what he did to be consigned to this flea-infested cesspit.' Oranus took a deep breath. 'You'd better be leaving,' he said. 'It'll be dark soon, and tribesmen are not allowed out after curfew. And watch out on the way back. The pimp, Nestar, may lie in wait for you. That's a lot of gold to be carrying.'

The man grinned widely. 'He won't be waiting for me.' Then he was gone. Oranus moved to the door and slid the bolt. Then he took off his breastplate and stretched out on the cell bed.

Tomorrow he would call on Appius and pay his respects. He closed his eyes, remembering the bloody retreat from Cogden Field. With the memory came the awful fear that had dogged Oranus ever since, that had burned away his ambition, and corroded his courage.

In his mind's eye he saw again the broken line, the slashing blades, heard the choking, bubbling screams of his comrades as their throats were slashed or their limbs hacked away. It was as if a host of devils in human form had materialized out of the mist, their bodies daubed with blue paint, their eyes gleaming with evil intent. Oranus shuddered. He had been lucky. He – and around forty other panic-stricken men – had managed to run to the safety of the rearguard, organized by Appius. They had then fought their way back to the previous night's fortified camp. Throughout the long night the enemy had attacked, but Appius, with great skill, had marshalled the defences. Then the enemy had withdrawn.

Even then the terror did not stop.

As they waited on the earth-built ramparts they saw the enemy pushing the three captured catapults towards the walls. There was no fear at first, for there were no stones for them. But the tribesmen did not hurl stones. They loaded the firing basins with severed heads, and rained these down on the camp. By morning the open ground within the walls was filled with them.

As dawn came a rider on a grey horse approached the walls, reining in his mount just out of bowshot. Oranus, and all the other defenders, had stared at the man. This was Connavar, the Demon King. They had seen him fight the day before, cutting and killing like a man possessed. He sat now on his grey, his patchwork cloak billowing in the dawn breeze. Appius strode to the battlements, stood silently for a moment, then glanced at Oranus.

'Follow me,' he said. To the horror of the terrified Oranus, he clambered over the battlements and climbed down into the trench and up the other side. Oranus scrambled down after him and the two men walked out onto open ground.

Appius walked slowly, arms clasped behind his back, as if he was out for a morning stroll. Oranus looked at him, and saw no fear in the patrician features. They reached the horseman. Oranus looked up once. He was wearing a white-plumed, full-faced helm of gold-embossed iron. Only his baleful eyes showed through the curved slit. He seemed somehow inhuman. Oranus focused instead on the hilt of the sword in the scabbard at the king's side. He heard Appius speak.

'Your men fought well, Connavar.'

Connavar ignored the compliment, and when he spoke his voice, distorted by the helm, sounded metallic and cold. 'You have two choices, Appius. You can stay here and we will destroy you, or you can march your men back to the lands of the Cenii. If you give me your word you will not stop until you reach the sea I will allow you to pass unhindered. And I will see that supplies are brought to you on your journey.'

'Will you return to us the body of Valanus?'

'I doubt I could gather all the pieces, or recognize them if I tried,' said the king.

Oranus felt his legs begin to tremble, and he almost passed out with fear.

'Then it shall be as you say, Connavar. But I have badly wounded men in the fort. I will need some wagons for them.'

'You will have them. Be ready to leave in an hour.'

'I'll need a little more time to bury the heads you… returned to us.'

Two hours then,' agreed Connavar. The king swung the grey and cantered back to the waiting Keltoi army.

Oranus turned to the general. 'If we leave the fort, sir, they will surely massacre us.'

'Perhaps, though I doubt it. Connavar is a cunning strategist, but also a man of his word.'

'But why should he allow us to leave?'

'Because – although he has won the battle – his forces have taken huge casualties. Any full attack on us here would see him lose three men to our one. Yes, we would die, but it would achieve nothing. As it is, we will march away with our tails between our legs, and every surviving man will talk of the Demon King of the Rigante. We will carry his legend home, and it will spread like a plague. The next army to march here will march with fear in their hearts.'

The long, slow march to the coast had been a painful one. Many of the wounded died on the way and were buried by the roadside. All along the way Keltoi tribesmen gathered to watch the defeated men of Stone trudge wearily back to the sea.

For Oranus it was the end of a bright career. Throughout the years since he had rarely known a night pass without terrible dreams, where severed heads called out to him, where sharp swords were piercing his flesh.

Had it not been for the skill of Appius he, would have died on Cogden Field.

Oranus sighed. The best part of me did die there, he thought sadly.

Banouin lay in his bed, his splinted arm throbbing, his head aching. But these discomforts were as nothing to the terror haunting him. He had believed he had known the nature of fear; being chased and tormented, being beaten and threatened. He knew now that his years among the Rigante had merely touched the surface. The fears he had lived with were caused by external forces, like Forvar and his friends. Nothing he had ever experienced could have prepared him for what he had now discovered.

Banouin had always felt safe within his own mind, but now it was as if a gateway had opened inside his skull which, at any moment, he could fall through, and spin away into a bottomless pit of dread from which there would be no return. He could feel it pulling him even now, as if he were standing on the edge of an abyss, and losing all sense of balance. He shivered and sat up, drawing the blanket around his shoulders. I should never have ventured into the water, he told himself. That was my undoing.

Vorna had always assured him that his Talent would one day flower, that he would develop skills beyond those of normal men. Banouin had eagerly looked forward to the day. But the skills had not manifested themselves, and he had spoken to Brother Solstice about the problem. The druid had been walking the high hills, and had stopped at the house for a cool drink. Banouin had approached him at the well, where Brother Solstice had splashed water onto his black and white beard, and run his large hands through his silver-streaked hair. A huge man, broad of shoulder and thick of waist, Brother Solstice looked more like the fighter he once was than the druid he had chosen to become.

Banouin had asked him about developing his Talent. Brother Solstice had sat down on a bench seat beneath a spreading oak and gestured Banouin to sit beside him. 'Why is it that you want these powers?' he asked.

'Why does anyone want power, Brother?' he countered.

'You think they will make you special, and earn you respect among your peers.'

'Of course. And how wonderful it must be to see the future, or read a man's thoughts.'

'Why would it be wonderful?' asked the druid.

'I would know if a man intended me harm.'

'I see. So you perceive these powers to be merely of use to you?'

'Oh no, Brother, I would use them for good purposes.'

'And people would be grateful to you, and shower you with praise. You would become, perhaps, a great and valued man.'

'Yes. Is that wrong?'

Brother Solstice shrugged. 'I try to avoid examining issues on the basis of right or wrong. It seems to me they always come down to perspectives. What is right for one man becomes wrong for another. The Talent you seek is a gift from the Source. And such gifts fall like seeds. In the right soil they prosper and grow. If they fall upon rock, they wither and die. Are you rock or soil, Banouin?'

'How can I tell?'

The druid smiled. 'Look to your actions, and how you live your life.' Then he had climbed to his feet, patted Banouin on the shoulder, and walked away.

Now, a year later, Banouin knew the answer. He had been rock. He recalled Bane's words, just before they rescued Lia and her father from the river. 'You really don't see, do you? You have complained all your life about people disliking you. Yet when have you done anything for anyone else? Last year when Nian's barn caught fire, and everyone rushed there to try to save it, where were you? You stayed home. As we walked back through Three Streams, covered in soot and ash, you came walking by, clean and bright. You might just as well have been carrying a sign that said, "I care nothing for any of you, or your troubles." One day you will realize that you are what you are because you chose to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.'

And that was the truth of it. When he had ventured into the torrent to save Lia and Appius he had risked his life to save others. It was that selfless act that had opened the gateway in his mind. Now he wished with all his heart that he had stayed on the river bank. For the gift was not wonderful at all. All he could see, when his frightened inner eyes peered beyond the gateway, was violence and death.

And then he saw the face, flat and expressionless, pale eyes that knew no pity. The man was tall and wide-shouldered, wearing armour of black and silver, and he carried a shining sword that dripped with blood. No-one could stand against him, for he was the greatest killer, fast and deadly. Banouin could see crowds cheering him, thousands of people chanting his name. Then the man, with two others in similar armour, was on a ship, standing at the prow, staring out over the grey waves. He is coming here, thought Banouin. He is coming here to kill us all. Despair washed over him, and he began to weep.

Bane had almost reached the house of Barus when he heard movement behind him. He spun and saw the two roughs previously hired by the pimp Nestar. Both of them were armed with knives.

The first ran at him, and aimed a clumsy thrust at Bane's belly. Bane blocked it with his left arm, then hammered his right elbow into the man's face, spilling him to the ground. He fell directly in the path of his comrade, who tripped over him and stumbled. Bane kicked his legs away, and he too fell. Bane sat on a low wall and shook his head.

'By Taranis, you are the clumsiest robbers I've ever seen. Are you intent on being killed?'

'He broke by doze,' said the first, the words horribly mangled. He sat up and tried to stem the blood oozing from his nostrils.

'I told you to go wide,' said the second man, rubbing a bruised knee. 'Didn't I say that? Go wide to the right, leave me a clear thrust?'

'By doze!' moaned the first man.

'Where did you learn this trade?' asked Bane.

'It's not a trade,' said the second man. 'We've no money now. Nestar ordered us gone. We thought we'd try for your gold.'

'Well, you tried,' said Bane. Opening his pouch he fished out two silver pieces and tossed one each to the two men. Startled, the first man dropped the coin, then scrabbled for it. The second caught his cleanly. 'Find yourselves an occupation,' advised Bane. 'What are you trained for?'

'We worked a farm for our da,' said the second man. 'It was a small farm. When the Stone army came he was told to leave. He refused, so he was hanged. We signed on as sailors after that, but Durk spent three months being seasick, so we came ashore and worked for Nestar. It was all right till you came along.'

'Never look at the dark side,' said Bane brightly. 'Think on this: someone would have come along some time, and he might not have been as easygoing as me. He might well have plunged a blade in your bellies.'

'Thad's drue,' said the first man, his nose swelling badly.

'Find work on a farm. A man should always do what he's best at. And trust me, lads, thievery is not a choice for you.'

With that Bane stood and wandered along the lane. The side gate was locked, so he scaled it, dropping lightly to the garden beyond. Lia was sitting on a curved stone bench. Looking up she saw him and smiled. His breath caught in his throat and his pulse quickened as she did so. It surprised him.

'Why didn't you call out?' she asked. 'I would have opened the gate.'

He shrugged. 'It was easy to climb. How is Banouin?'

'The fever is gone, but he has a haunted look in his eyes. When I was sitting with him he put up his hand and pushed me away. Then he shuddered and began to weep. He says he must be gone tomorrow. My father has given him letters of reference, and has booked charter on a merchant vessel sailing to Goriasa. It leaves at dusk tomorrow.'

'Not much time to get acquainted,' said Bane, sitting beside her. Her lips were moist and glistening in the moonlight.

'You are staring,' she said.

'I apologize. I am a mountain lad, and unused to such beauty.'

She laughed gaily. 'That compliment rolled a little too smoothly from your tongue. I think you are a rogue, sir.'

'A rogue would surely demand a kiss,' he said.

'And are you a rogue?'

'I am indeed.' He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against hers. Then he drew back and took a deep breath. 'You should have slapped me,' he told her.

'And why would I do that?'

'For my impertinence.'

'How do you know it was not what I desired? How do you know I have not been sitting here waiting for you to return?'

'Have you?'

'No,' she told him, with a smile, 'but I might have been.'

Bane laughed with genuine good humour. 'I would have to be a rogue indeed to seduce the daughter of my host. So I shall content myself with the delights of your company.'

'You'll have to make do with the delights of my company,' said Appius gruffly, emerging from a side door.

'I'm sure that will be equally delightful,' said Bane. Lia rose from the bench, blew him a kiss, then walked away. He watched her, noting the sway of her hips beneath the cotton gown. 'She's very beautiful,' he said, as Appius settled down alongside him.

'Aye, she is. My treasure, Bane. Lia is sweet, courageous and foolhardy. Like her mother.' Appius fell silent for a moment. 'She was burned in the arena with fifty other heretics. It was said that the smoke from the pyres made them unconscious before the flames ate into them. Even so, it was a savage death.'

'What are heretics?' queried Bane.

Appius waved his hand. 'Religion, boy. All nonsense. My wife became enamoured of the Tree Cult, a group outlawed in Stone. They talk of achieving harmony with the earth, and with all the peoples of the earth. They worship the Source of All Things – a being of such dazzling weakness that he cannot save a single one of his followers. I piss on him! Lia was to be arrested, like her mother. But I took her from Stone. Sadly I didn't remove her before she publicly insulted Nalademus, the Stone elder, called him a vain and stupid old man. I saw his eyes. Hatred burned there.'

'And these elders can order deaths?' asked Bane.

'Aye, they can. They employ killers – though they give them fine armour and a noble name. The Knights of Stone. Hard men and deadly. They make the arrests, drag people from their homes to stand trial before the elders.'

'And the emperor permits these actions?'

'Why would he not? Most of those arrested are former supporters of the republic, and all have voiced their protests at the emperor's continued expansion of the empire through war. The Tree Cult believe that all war is evil.'

'How foolish,' said Bane. 'Without war there would be no glory.'

'Exactly! And what would I have been, eh? A cobbler? A blacksmith? But I have brought Lia here to see her safe, to wait until the Crimson Priests themselves fall. Then we can return to Stone.'

'And who is it that these priests worship?' asked Bane.

'Stone itself. They claim the city is a god, eternal and holy. All other gods are false, the creations of weaker peoples.' He looked Bane in the eyes. 'What do you worship, boy?'

'Nothing. My own strength, perhaps. And you?'

'I believe there is a greater power beyond that of man. I have to believe that. Or else we are all just parasites rushing hither and yon to no purpose. Anyway that is enough of my philosophy. I have booked you passage tomorrow. Banouin has offered to carry letters for me. If you like I will write some for you that will, at least, ensure you have somewhere to stay in Stone.'

'I will find somewhere to stay, General. Do not concern yourself. And I will not be staying long. I promised Banouin's mother I would see him safely to the city. Then I shall view it, and return home. I miss the mountains already.'

'I would like to have seen the Rigante mountains,' said Appius. 'They are said to be magnificent.' His expression changed, and sadness touched him. 'I rather fear that my successors will do just that when the Stone army finally marches north.'

'You did not learn your lessons at Cogden Field?'

'Stone does not learn lessons,' said Appius, with a sigh. 'We are a people afflicted with colossal arrogance. Jasaray had other matters on his mind after Cogden, and Connavar was clever enough to return the Panther Standards to him. Jasaray sold this act to the people as a gesture of contrition and managed to place the blame for the entire venture on the head of the dead Valanus. But Jasaray has not forgotten the Rigante, Bane. Of that you can be sure. At the moment he is fighting a war in the east, but when it is concluded he will march against Connavar.'

'The result will be the same,' said Bane coldly.

'I can see why you would think that. But I am an old soldier and I disagree with you. Valanus advanced too far, too fast, with only five Panthers – fifteen thousand men. By the time of the battle the supply lines had been sundered, the troops had eaten nothing for five days. Even so, they killed sixteen thousand tribesmen. Jasaray will not come with twelve thousand. More like forty. And he will lead them.'

'He's an old man,' sneered Bane.

Appius smiled, and shook his head. 'Ah, the wonderful arrogance of youth! Yes, he is an old man, boy, but he is an old man who has never lost. A general does not need the lightning reflexes of the young to see an opening in an enemy's line or to read the ebb and flow of a battle. What he needs is skill, experience and iron nerve. Jasaray has all these qualities. His supply lines will not be sundered. He will move slowly, with infinite care. You enjoy your Rigante mountains – while they are still Rigante mountains.'