Midnight Falcon (11 page)

'Check the house,' Oranus ordered his men. 'And find something to staunch these wounds.' Removing his cloak he rolled it and placed it under Bane's head. Then he cut away the wounded man's blood-drenched shirt. He had been stabbed three times, once above the hip, once in the chest, and once in the lower back. The chest wound was by far the most serious, and from the bubbling of the blood Oranus knew his lung had been pierced. One of the soldiers returned with some cloths. Oranus made a compress and pressed it down against the chest wound.

'He'll not live, sir,' said the soldier.

Oranus said nothing. The light faded and he ordered lanterns lit. The bald and stooping surgeon, Ralis, arrived, examined the wounds, then turned to Oranus. 'There's little I can do,' he said. 'His lung is pierced, and the wound to his lower back has probably sliced through any number of vital organs.'

'Do what you can,' said the captain.

'Let's get him inside.'

A crow flew over them, cawing and screeching. Oranus shivered. 'How do they know when death is close?' he whispered.

'They can see the spirits pass over,' said a voice. Oranus looked round, and saw an old woman, her face veiled, a heavy fishnet shawl over her bony shoulders.

'What do you want here, woman?' he asked her.

'I have some skill with wounds, soldier. Best you leave him in my care.'

'Our own surgeon is here, but my thanks to you for your offer.'

Her laughter was cold, and Oranus shivered suddenly. 'Your surgeon wishes to be gone to his home, for he knows the boy has perhaps an hour to live. Is that not so, Ralis?'

'It is so,' admitted Ralis.

'Then carry him to a bedroom and I shall tend him until he dies.'

'You are a witch woman of the Cenii?' asked Oranus.

'I am a person with some . . . shall we say . . . talent in these matters, Oranus.'

'Then it shall be as you say.'

Soldiers carried Bane to a bedroom on the first floor, and laid him down on a bed. Then they left him and the old woman. Oranus stood in the doorway. 'I shall return tomorrow for the body, lady,' he said. 'We must be careful to prevent disease spreading.'

Her veiled face turned towards him. 'You did well to protect him from the Cold Killer. It was an act of courage. Perhaps it will bring you peace now.'

'Peace would be pleasant,' he said.

'Is that what you wish for?'

Oranus sighed. 'I would wish for him to live,' he said.

Closing the door behind him he walked down the stairs and out into the night. The bodies were being carried out to two waiting wagons. Appius and his daughter were laid side by side in the first, the two elderly Cenii servants and the dead Knights in the other. The surgeon, Ralis, climbed into the first wagon and sat beside Appius and Lia. Oranus ordered the Honour Guard to walk beside the first wagon, and he followed it to the Death House.

Once there the bodies were carried inside. Ralis stayed with them. 'He was my general,' said the surgeon, 'and a great man. I shall prepare the bodies for burial.'

'Do not place your name upon the Grieving List,' warned Oranus. 'They were murdered on the orders of Nalademus.'

'I know.'

Then Oranus returned to his home. He felt a sense of sorrow at the murder of Appius. The old man had served Stone well, and Oranus could not imagine what crime he had committed to be so summarily butchered. Towards midnight, weary and spent, Oranus took to his bed, and prepared himself for yet another night of nightmare and terror. But he slept without dreams for the first time in years, and awoke to see a blue sky, and bright sunlight shining into the room. He rose and walked to the window, staring out over the green hills and the distant forest.

'A new day,' he said aloud, and, even as he said it, felt the awesome fears of the past lose their power and drift away like woodsmoke in a breeze. He felt free, and alive, and the future that had yesterday seemed bleak and shadow-haunted now shone brightly in this new sunlight. How could this be? he wondered. Then he remembered the old woman, and the words she had spoken to him. 'Perhaps it will bring you peace now.' Amid the drama and horror of the events in the house of Appius he had not fully registered what she had said. How did she know of his fears and his endless torment?

Perhaps she is a seer, he thought.

Banouin waited until the death wagons had been drawn away, then walked slowly into the house. He avoided looking at the bloodstained rugs, and climbed the stairs to the upper bedroom. As he opened the door he heard the voice of the Morrigu.

'You were not worthy of your Talent,' she said.

Banouin did not reply, but gazed down on the deathly pale face of his friend. 'He is dead, isn't he?'

'No, he is not dead,' said the Morrigu, 'though his soul has fled this damaged shell. He should be dead, however. His lung was pierced through, and his liver.'

Banouin moved to the bedside. Bane was lying naked on the bed. There were stitches to the wounds in his chest and hip, and a little blood was seeping through them.

'Why did you save him?'

'A soldier of Stone wished it, and it is my destiny to grant wishes. I might ask you a similar question: why did you not save him? He is your friend.'

'What could I do? I am no fighter.'

'No,' said the Morrigu. 'You are not – not in any sense of the word. Why did you come back? Now you have missed your ship, and your journey to the towering greatness of Stone.'

Banouin felt the contempt in the words. 'I don't know why I came back.' He sat down by the bedside and took hold of Bane's hand. 'Why do you say I could have saved him?'

'Why did you not warn Appius of the impending attack? He could have fled the house with his daughter. They would still have been alive. Then Bane would not have attempted his valiant rescue.'

'It was a vision. It was the truth. I could not have changed it.'

'The words of a man with the heart of a weasel,' she hissed. 'Best you go from here, Banouin. Run away to Stone. Hide yourself from all confrontation and danger. Live out your miserable life lost in the words and the works of better men.'

Banouin backed away towards the door. 'You are just like all the rest,' he said, tears in his eyes. 'You value the killers like Bane, the bringers of death. You cannot tolerate those who find violence appalling and seek a better way.'

The Morrigu turned towards him. Banouin tried to run, but found himself frozen in place. 'It is the nature of weak men', she said softly, 'to see their weaknesses as strengths, and other men's strengths as weaknesses or stupidities. Bane risked his life a few days ago to save a horse trapped in a swollen river. A horse, Banouin! And why? Because he has a heart. He has feelings for others. He does not live his life whining about unfairness. He lives his life. On your travels you envied his popularity, the way men and women warmed to him in a way they could never warm to you. You felt they were somehow foolish and were taken in by his easy smile. Not so. They sensed that Bane was a man who cared, a man to be relied on. You, they knew, cared only for yourself, and could not be relied upon.

'I am a spirit, born of spirit and fed by spirit. This land is also fed by spirit. No tree can grow, no flower bloom without it. And where does it come from, this life-giving energy? It comes from men like Connavar and Ruathain, from women like Vorna and Eriatha and Meria. People who know love and warmth, people who will risk their lives for all they believe in.' The Morrigu stepped in close to the terrified Banouin and lifted her dark veil. Her face was dead, the skin grey and peeling back from white bone. 'Look upon the Morrigu, child. Gaze upon her beauty. You feel sick, do you not? Can you smell the corruption? Aye, I guess that you can.

'Once, a long time ago, man understood the nature of spirit. His deeds caused it to flower, and he lived in harmony with the creatures of earth and spirit. Then came more and more men like the Cold Killer and his masters, Banouin. Selfish, greedy, small men who drank of the spirit but did not replenish it. And the creatures of spirit began to pass away, drifting across the multitudes of universes in search of more pleasant habitations. With immeasurable lack of speed this earth began to die. Oh, it will take many thousands of years, but it will die when the last whisper of spirit passes.

'The men of Stone are the latest parasites. They hack down the forests, gouge the earth for precious metals, and kill and conquer, breeding hatred and malice that will last for a hundred lifetimes. They believe in nothing save themselves. That is why you are drawn to them. They are like you, Banouin, utterly selfish. Yes, Bane is violent, and some of his deeds do him no credit. But when he risked himself to save the horse he added to the spirit of the world. He fed the earth. And when he came into this house to save the innocent he fed it again – this time with his blood. You did not remember my warning, did you, Banouin? No man conquers fear by running away from it. Now go away from here. Enter the rats' nest that is Stone. Become a part of the death of the world.'

She turned away from him and returned to the bedside.

Banouin stumbled from the room, and ran out into the night.

The man had no idea where he was, save that the sky was grey and gloomy, and there were no trees, no flowers, no grass. All around him the hillside was covered with grey dust, and tall, jutting boulders the colour of smoke. He felt pain and glanced down at his chest. A flame was burning on his skin, turning the flesh black around it. He slapped at it with his hand, but the flame burned on.

Something moved to his right. He swung round, sword in hand, and saw a huge serpent slither into view. It was colourless, and as it moved it left a white slime upon the grey dust. The man backed away from the creature. Suddenly it reared up, its head flashing towards him. For a moment only he was shocked into immobility. The head of the serpent was human, though its fangs were long as knives.

At the last possible moment the man snapped into action, his sword cleaving through the thick neck of the snake. The creature disappeared in an instant. More and more strange creatures appeared from behind the rocks, and the man felt his skin crawl as he heard their moans. He stood, sword in hand, and watched as the creatures edged towards him. Some slithered on their bellies, others crawled, their talons pulling them forward. Still more crept on all fours, bright yellow eyes staring at him with open malevolence. A scaled beast darted forward, then leapt. He stepped in to meet it, sending his sword slashing through its chest. It too disappeared in an instant.

He backed away, further up the slope. There were scores of the creatures now, and more were coming. Each one of them was demonic in appearance, and yet all carried aspects of humanity, some in the eyes, others in the features or limbs. The flames were still burning on his chest, but he felt no weakness. Only pain. The ground below his feet was corpse grey, and thick with dust, which eddied up like smoke around his ankles. He had no recollection of coming to this place, no memory of a life before it. All he knew was that here, on this dark mountainside beneath a grey sky with no stars or moon, he was in deadly peril.

The beasts edged closer. He moved back. Soon, he knew, they would come at him in a rush, and there was no way he could kill them all. Their hatred enveloped him like an invisible mist, cold and unrelenting. The man moved ever up the mountainside until his back touched a wall of dark, dagger-sharp, shining glass. There was nowhere left to retreat. Within the mist of pulsing hatred he felt their unholy joy. They gathered themselves, moving around him in a semicircle, ever closer.

Then they swept forward.

In that moment a bright light burst upon the scene, and, as the man hacked and cut with his blade, he felt a presence beside him, guarding his back. From the edge of his vision he saw a sword of bright light slashing through the gloom. Once more the beasts fell back. The man's saviour strode after them, then plunged his sword into the grey earth, cutting a long curving line into the dust. Bright fire leapt up along the line, rearing high in the air, a golden half circle of flame, through which the beasts could not pass. Then the shining warrior turned back towards him. He saw that the warrior was completely human, a big man, wide-shouldered and yellow-haired, with friendly blue eyes.

'You should not be here, young Falcon,' he said. 'This is no place for the living.' Gently he laid his hand on the flames scorching the man's chest. The fires died down instantly, the pain vanishing, the skin instantly healed.

Weariness swept over the young man and he sank to the ground, laying aside his sword, and sitting with his back to the rearing cliff of black glass. 'I don't know how I came to be here,' he said. 'Where is this place? Why do you call me Falcon?'

'I call you Falcon because this is your soul-name,' said the other, sitting beside him. 'As to this evil land, it is the Vale of the Lost, a place of the damned. Your enemies were once men. Now they wander here, cursed and forlorn.'

'Why did they attack me?'

'You drew them to you, boy. You are alive. Your spirit burns them, reminding them of all they have lost. They must destroy you to end their pain.'

He looked into the face of the big man. 'And what of you? Why are you in this place?'

The yellow-haired warrior smiled. 'You drew me here, Bane. It was I who gave you your soul-name, and when your soul was in peril I sensed it. Do you know who you are?'

'You called me Falcon – and now Bane. The names are familiar, but I cannot get a grasp on where I have heard them before.'

'That happens here sometimes,' said the man. 'Sit quietly for a while. Let your mind relax. Think of a mountain, with green flanks, a cloak of woods, and peaks of white snow, like an old man's hair. Can you picture it?'

'Aye, I can.'

'Give it a name.'

'Caer Druagh,' said Bane. It was as if sunlight had suddenly pierced the darkest corners of his memory. 'I am Bane of the Rigante,' he said. 'I was with Banouin and we were travelling. Then . . . then . . .' He gave a groan. The big man placed his hand on Bane's shoulder.