Midnight Falcon (24 page)

Back in the main room Banouin drank some water, and gazed once more at the little porcelain figures. When at last exhaustion overcame him he walked back to the bed, pulled the mattress back in place.

Then slept fitfully on the couch.

A bad dream awoke him in the middle of the night, and he sat up shivering with fear. The memory of the dream drifted out of his consciousness like water falling through his fingers. All he could remember were sharp knives pricking at his skin.

Rising to his feet Banouin wandered out to the balcony. Stars were bright in a clear sky and he felt the tension easing from him. He wished he could close his eyes and let his spirit soar free, but that was impossible here, surrounded by stone. A cold wind blew and Banouin walked back to the couch and threw the blanket round his shoulders. Back inside the room he felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on his spirit. Returning to the balcony he sat down under the starlight, and gazed out over the city of Stone.

From here he could see the towers of the university building, and the awesome, moonlit majesty of the Palace of the Republic, where the emperor now dwelt. Stone is truly magnificent at night, he thought. And found himself filled with both sadness and shame. This was the city of his dreams, and because of that he had blinded himself to the truth. Yes, Stone was beautiful, but it was the beauty of the tomb, its glorious exterior merely hiding corruption and decay within.

The buildings had been designed and constructed by men of awesome talent, using only the finest materials. Those materials had been purchased by conquest, by the butchering of neighbouring races and civilizations. The foundation of Stone was blood. Every column, every statue, every block of every road was drenched in it.

Anger flared in Banouin, fuelled by self-loathing. Why did I not see it? he asked himself. The truth was as nakedly bright as the moon above. He had seen it, but had pushed it away to a dark, and hopefully forgotten, corner of his mind, concentrating instead on the more positive aspects of city life: the university and the Great Museum, the libraries and the architecture. In this way his selfish dream had stayed alive. But coming here, to the Temple, this place of concentrated evil, had lit a torch, and by its light all the ugliness of Stone was laid bare.

He wished he could run from here, all the way to the Park of Phesus, to sit beneath the willow and free his spirit to soar in the sweetness and purity of the night.

'Come sit with me, Banouin,' came a voice. Banouin surged to his feet and spun round. The doorway to his room had disappeared. Where the frame had been was now a bower of honeysuckle, thick and heavily scented. The room had disappeared also, and he saw the Morrigu, heavily veiled and sitting on a tree trunk just beyond the honeysuckle. A fire was glowing in a circle of stones before her, and Banouin could smell the musky odours of the forest: wet earth and rotting leaves.

The Morrigu beckoned to him, and he moved to the fire, squatting down beside it and pushing his hands into the soft earth. The scent and sounds of the forest soaked into him, filling his spirit. Drawing his hands from the earth he held them to his face, and drew in a deep breath.

'Look at you, citizen of Stone,' said the Morrigu, 'grubbing your hands into the soil like an animal. Do you miss the dirt, Banouin?'

'You may mock me, lady, and perhaps I deserve it. But I never smelled a sweeter scent in all my life.'

'And do you know why?'

'Yes I do,' he told her. 'There is life in this earth, vibrant life. There are seeds waiting to grow, and insects are burrowing through the soil. It is rich and fertile, and crying out for growth. It is beautiful,' he said.

'Ah then, perhaps you can take a handful back to the city with you. You can carry it to the university and say to them: "Look, the Rigante boy has brought you some mud." And they will garland you with flowers, and perhaps declare a day of celebration in your honour.'

'You are in a foul mood today,' he said.

'I delivered you, Banouin. Your little eyes were closed against the brightness of the lantern's glare. They have remained closed ever since. Now they begin to open. You want me to applaud? You hold that earth in your hands and you talk of its fertility. All that is true. But why is it feeding you now? Why does it lift you? Answer me that!'

'I . . . I don't know.'

'Stupid child. It is not your flesh that it feeds. It is your spirit. And from your spirit comes your power. I have watched you in Stone, running to old willow and freeing your spirit to fly back to Caer Druagh. Oh, how happy you were. Did you never question why old willow brought you freedom? Or why you could not use your talents to the full anywhere else in Stone? No, of course you did not. You were so full of your selfish dreams. Old willow stands on the last sacred spot in these five hills. All the others are covered now. Entombed. And the spirit of the land withers and dies.'

'I know it now,' said Banouin. 'I understand that Stone is a city of evil. And I am sorry it has taken me so long to realize it.'

'Trust me, child, you still do not realize the significance. This world – all worlds – survive only because of the harmony between spirit and matter. The dirt in your hands is charged with spirit, fresh and full and wondrously magical. Without the spirit it would be lifeless. No seeds would grow, no insects thrive. Once – when I was young – this world was ablaze with spirit. Throw a seed into the air and wherever it landed it would sprout and grow tall. The Seidh prospered here – along with scores of thousands of spirit creatures. Men called us gods, and worshipped us. And we helped man. We raised him from the earth, and taught him to look at the stars. Did we do this because we loved man? No. It was because we saw in man a creature capable of feeding the spirit of the world. Each act of selflessness, of love, of courage and compassion added to the world's energy.' She gave a harsh laugh and threw another dry stick to the fire. 'Of course every act of greed and vileness drained the spirit. It will surprise you not at all to learn that evil men devour the spirit many times faster than good men can enhance it. Like a statue, I suppose. A good craftsman can create a masterpiece in four or five years. A fool with a hammer can destroy it in a few heartbeats.

'We laboured long to find a balance. We struggled to teach man the error of his ways. Quite simply we failed. And one by one the spirit creatures left this world in search of other, more pleasant homes. The more foolish of us stayed behind, still trying to teach errant, arrogant man. And, as the spirit withered, so too did we. You asked me once why I chose to look this way. I did not choose it, Banouin. You chose it. You and your race.'

'I am sorry,' he said, the words sounding lame and entirely inadequate.

'Don't tell me how sorry you are, Banouin. Show me!'

The world spun. Banouin opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the balcony. There was no ivy clinging to the door frame, no fire dying in the circle of stones.

But upon his hands there was the smell of sweet earth.

For three days Nalademus continued to improve, but on the fourth he suffered a pounding headache. Banouin heard him hurling crockery across the room, and shouting obscenities at a servant. He hurried along the corridor.

'I'll pluck out your eyes, you clumsy oaf!' screamed Nalademus, as the servant cowered by the door, his head in his hands.

Banouin felt the rage from Nalademus like a blow, which almost made him step back. Instead he fastened to the emotion, gentling it, and radiating it back to its bearer, softened and changed. The Stone elder stood towering over the servant and his fists unclenched. He shook his massive head. 'Get out,' he told the frightened man. 'Go on, away with you.' The servant scrambled clear and sped along the corridor. Nalademus turned to Banouin. 'My head is splitting.'

'Sit down, lord. I shall soothe it for you.' The big man sank into a deep chair and Banouin moved behind him. Nalademus tensed instantly. 'I will do you no harm, lord,' said Banouin softly, placing his fingers on the elder's temples. Closing his eyes Banouin drew out the pain, easing the rigid muscles of the neck and shoulders.

'That is good,' whispered Nalademus. 'The pain is almost gone.'

'I fear it is my fault, lord. Some of the herbs I use do have secondary effects. Headaches are not uncommon, and they can be extremely severe. I shall lessen the amounts.'

Banouin moved away from the elder, but Nalademus bade him sit in a chair opposite. 'You have great skills, young man. How may I show my gratitude to you?'

'You already have, lord, by freeing Sencra. By your leave, I will remain here for two more days until your recovery is complete, then return to my studies and my work at the university.'

'You will reside here, Banouin,' said Nalademus. 'You will receive a handsome salary, and a carriage will take you to the university on any days you choose.'

'Thank you, lord,' said Banouin, his heart sinking.

'Now tell me about Bendegit Bran.'

Banouin's jaw dropped. 'Why, lord?' he stammered.

'He arrived in the city ten days ago, as a guest of our emperor. He and a brutish general named Fiallach travelled under escort from Goriasa. They are staying in a villa overlooking the bay. I will probably have to meet them myself, and would be grateful if you could tell me something of them.'

Banouin gathered his thoughts. 'Bran is the half-brother of our king, Connavar, lord. He is also a general of the Horse Archers, and governs the northern lands of the Pannone. He is a good man, and was always very kind to me and my mother.'

'Is he a married man?'

'Yes. He had two children when I left Caer Druagh.'

'What of his ambitions? Does he seek to rule himself?'

'I don't believe so, lord. He is devoted to Connavar. Might I ask why the emperor invited them here?'

'That is for the emperor to know, Banouin. Not mere servants like you and me.' Banouin sensed the anger underlying the words. 'And what of Fiallach?'

'He is a mighty warrior – probably the strongest man in all Rigante lands. He must be over fifty now, but he is awesome to behold, six feet six inches tall, with enormous shoulders. He is ferocious in battle, utterly fearless and without mercy. He is one of three generals who lead divisions of the Iron Wolves, Connavar's heavy cavalry.'

'You like him?' asked Nalademus.

'He is a hard man to like, lord. But I do not dislike him.'

'And you would class him as loyal to Connavar?'

'Utterly. They were enemies once, when Connavar was a young man. Both loved the same girl, and she chose Connavar. But they have been friends now for twenty years.'

'And what of Braefar?'

'Is he here too, lord?'

'No, but I have heard him spoken of.'

'He is the Laird of Three Streams, and another half-brother to Connavar. He is a very clever man.'

'Do I hear a but in your voice?'

'I believe he feels he should have had greater duties than he has. He complains publicly about his talents being underused.'

'And are they underused?' asked Nalademus softly.

'I don't believe they are,' said Banouin. 'Whenever Connavar has offered him more responsibility something has always gone wrong. Braefar always blamed others for their shortcomings, accepting no responsibility for the errors and mistakes.'

'Interesting,' said Nalademus. 'I thank you for your time. Now I must get to work. I shall have a carriage ready for you to attend the university. Please convey my good wishes to Sencra.'

'I shall, lord,' said Banouin, rising. 'And I shall return by dusk to prepare more medicine.'

Banouin bowed and left the Stone elder.

An hour later he was strolling through the main hallway of the university building, and out into the Park of Phesus. A light rain was falling, but Banouin ignored it and ran along the white path to the willow. Pushing aside the trailing branches he sat down on the curved stone bench and relaxed his mind. His spirit soared free, floating high above the city. Swiftly he sped over the waters of the bay, hovering over the fine villas with waterside views. One by one he flew through them, seeking out his countrymen.

And then he saw them, walking together in a terraced garden. Bran seemed worried, his handsome features grim as he listened to his companion. Fiallach looked older, and there was silver in his braided yellow hair and drooping moustache. It felt good to be close to them, and Banouin realized in that moment just how much he missed the mountains of home. He wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but decided that would be rude, and flew back to his body.

He opened his eyes, and saw the dark-haired Maro leaning over him. 'I thought you had fainted,' said Maro. 'Are you all right?'

'I am fine.'

'We thought the worst when you failed to return. Then Sencra came back, and told us you had spoken up for him with Nalademus himself. That was a fine deed, Banouin.'

'He was innocent. I just explained it, that's all.'

'Heroes should always be modest,' said Maro. 'Or so my father always tells me. Come, let's go to the library. You can tell me of your adventures.'

Bendegit Bran stood before the emperor and bowed low. Beside him the huge general Fiallach followed his lead. Straightening Bran waved his hand and Fiallach stepped forward, bearing an ornately carved wooden box. 'I bring you greetings from my king,' said Bran, 'and a gift.'

Jasaray, seated on a gilded throne, summoned the tribesman forward. Bran noted that the three guards in silver armour standing close to the emperor were tense and ready to spring forward at the first sign of treachery. Hardly surprising, thought Bran. Fiallach was a massive man, with fierce blue eyes and a long-standing – and well-chronicled – hatred of Stone. Jasaray himself seemed perfectly at ease. Fiallach lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestling on velvet, was an exquisite dagger, with a blade of silver steel and a hilt of gold, encrusted with pale blue gems. The pommel held a huge black opal, which had been superbly carved into the shape of a panther's head. Jasaray reached out and lifted the dagger clear. It seemed to Bran that the weapon looked incongruous in the old man's hand, and he understood in that moment why he was once known as Scholar to his men. Jasaray could not have looked less like a warrior emperor. He was skinny and slightly round-shouldered, his hair thinning, his face long and ascetic. He could have been a philosopher or a teacher, rather than the most gifted general Stone had produced.

'It is a charming piece,' said Jasaray to Bran, ignoring Fiallach. 'Please convey my gratitude to your brother, Connavar.'

Bran looked into the emperor's eyes and felt the thrill of fear. For in that gaze he saw the keen intelligence of the man. 'My king says to tell you that he remembers with great affection the time he spent with you on the Perdii campaign, and he will be delighted to hear that you are in good health.'

'Indeed I am, Lord Bran. Which is more, I understand, than can be said for your brother. How are his wounds?'

'I had not realized the news had travelled this far, Majesty. Connavar is well, his wounds minor. The assassins, however, did not fare so well. He slew three himself. The fourth was taken and put to the questioning.'

'Do you mean tortured?' asked Jasaray, still examining the dagger.

'No, Majesty. We have a druid with great skill. He spoke to the man and elicited the truth from him.'

'Ah the truth. And what was the truth?'

'He and the others were hired by a merchant to kill the king.'

'Tricky creatures, merchants,' said Jasaray, replacing the dagger in its box. 'They yearn only for money. I take it the king had refused him some request?'

'We have yet to ascertain that, Majesty. The merchant fled across the water and took refuge in Stone.'

'Well, you must supply the name and I will see he is hunted down and brought to trial.' Jasaray rose from his throne. 'My men will show you and your aide to your quarters, where you may bathe if it pleases you. This afternoon you will both be my guests at the Palantes Stadium. Later we can talk of political matters.'

'Thank you, Majesty,' said Bran, offering another bow. He waited until Jasaray had left the throne room. One of the king's guards took the dagger box, then he and Fiallach followed another silver-garbed soldier to a suite of rooms. Once inside Bran sat down in a deep chair, while Fiallach cast off his cloak and stretched out on a couch.

'He's a cold man,' said Fiallach, speaking in Keltoi.

'Aye, but canny. He showed no reaction when we spoke of the merchant. Perhaps he knew nothing of it.'

Fiallach said nothing. Brother Solstice had warned them both about hidden chambers behind the walls, where spies might lurk, noting down their conversation.

Beyond the main room was a garden, and Bran gestured Fiallach to follow him out. Once outside they wandered along a curving, neatly paved path, stopping here and there to look at the many flowers. Bran glanced around, sure that from here they could not be overheard. 'You kept your temper well, my friend,' he said.

'Perhaps I'm getting older and wiser,' said Fiallach, but there was anger in his eyes.

'They all know of you, and your skills. They probably also know of your legendary temper. It is vital you do not react to any . . . discourtesy.'

'I know that, Bran. By Taranis, you have been labouring the point for the entire journey!'

Bran smiled. 'You are right. My apologies. I wonder if Nalademus will be at our meeting.'

'I don't much care who is there,' said Fiallach. 'I still don't know why Conn accepted this invitation. And there is more than a chance we'll be held hostage.'

Bran nodded and the two men continued their walk around the garden. They came to a small man-made pond, over which a wooden bridge had been raised. Bran leaned on the rail and looked down into the still water, gazing at his reflection. Like Fiallach he had not relished this trip, and was missing Gwen and their three boys terribly. He thought of them constantly, wondering whether little Orrin had mastered his fear of riding, and if his eldest son, Ruathain, had regained his strength following the fever. The boy had been so weak. Brother Solstice had tended him well, but Bran knew that secondary illnesses could often prove fatal.

'We cannot refuse the invitation,' Connavar had told him. 'It would be seen as both weak and hostile. Obviously Jasaray needs something from us. Find out what it is, and report it back.'

'What about Wing?' Bran had asked, referring to their brother Braefar by his soul-name, Wing over Water. 'He is skilled with words, and might enjoy a trip to Stone. He has no wife, no sons. And he constantly talks of being bored.'

'You are more suited to this task, Bran. Take Fiallach with you.'

This had surprised Bran. Fiallach was known for his seething
hatred of all things Stone. 'Would that not cause offence, brother? After
Cogden, Fiallach cut the heads from thirty Stone officers, and had them set
on spears at the border. According to Brother Solstice only two Rigante names
are well known to the people of Stone – yours and Fiallach's.'

'Precisely why he should go,' said Connavar. 'Although you are wrong about two names. There is a third. Many of the merchants who seek our favours are talking about a Rigante warrior who fights in the arenas of Stone.'

Bran had heard the stories, but had never spoken about them with Connavar. 'You want me to meet with him?' he asked.

'No. He has made his life, barren though it is.'

'I liked him,' said Bran.

Connavar's eyes had narrowed briefly, and he had scanned Bran's face for signs of criticism. Then he had sighed, and for a brief moment lost the haunted look Bran had come to know so well in the years since the death of Tae.

'I might have liked him too,' he said at last. 'He is one of many regrets I carry. If I could turn back the years, and live my life again, I would live it differently. I would have taken Tae to the lake. There would have been no war with the Pannone.'

'You know, Conn, this is something I have never understood. You are my brother, and I love you. But how long will you allow yourself to carry this burden? Take a wife, sire sons. You owe it to yourself – and to the people. You must have an heir, Conn.'

Connavar smiled. 'You are my heir, Bran. And your sons will follow you.' Connavar had walked to the window, and stared out over the countryside. Light clouds were casting dappled shadows over the flanks of the mountains.

'You could invite Bane back home,' said Bran.

Connavar swung round, his face once more set, his expression hard. 'We will talk of it no more.'

'As you wish, my king,' said Bran.

Connavar was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, brother. I had thought the hurt would lessen as the years passed. But it sits like a canker on the soul.'

'Ah, dammit! I am sorry too, Conn. I'll not mention it again. So, what is it you think Jasaray wants from us?'

'It is hard to say. He has many troubles. The war in the east has meant most of his regular troops are far from Stone. Brother Solstice tells me that there are now more Stone Knights in the city than loyal soldiers. Jasaray apparently believes Nalademus is loyal to him – and perhaps he is. But the political situation there is precarious. The arrival of Rigante ambassadors will cause a stir, and perhaps deflect criticism of the eastern campaign. In short, brother, I do not know.'

Bran had now been in Stone for ten days, he and Fiallach quartered at a villa to the south of the city awaiting the call from Jasaray. Now it had come, and still there had been no talks.

A servant came running down the path. 'The bathhouse is ready, sirs,' he said. 'And your clothes have been moved from the villa. I have taken the liberty of having them washed for you. They are currently drying.'

'That is kind of you,' said Bran.

The private bathhouse was some forty feet long, with a sunken bath large enough to take perhaps twenty people. Bran and Fiallach removed their clothes and climbed in, sitting back and relaxing in the perfumed water. Fiallach sighed and ducked his head below the surface. He came up spluttering, water dripping from his braids and his long yellow and silver moustache. Bran chuckled. 'You are being corrupted by such decadence,' he said.

'It eases the pain in my back,' said Fiallach. 'I am not as young as once I was. I do not heal so swiftly.'

They lazed contentedly for some time, then two servants arrived, holding hot towels. The Rigante warriors climbed from the bath and dried themselves, then walked through to the massage room, where two young men waited.

Bran lay on his stomach and felt the warm oil poured to his back. He relaxed instantly, and the masseur expertly stroked and probed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, easing out the tensions. He glanced across at Fiallach, who was lying face down with his eyes closed. When the massage was finished, the oil gently scraped from their bodies with rounded ivory blades, they rose and dressed, and returned to their rooms. Food had been laid there, cold cooked meats and sweet pastries alongside two jugs, one of wine, one of water. They ate, then sat back to await the call from Jasaray.

'One could almost come to like this place,' said Fiallach.

The door opened and two silver-armoured warriors entered. 'Your chariot is here,' said the first, his voice echoing the contempt in his eyes.

Fiallach rose and strode across to tower over him. He looked at the man closely.

'Isn't that remarkable,' he said to Bran. 'Do you remember the first Stone head I rammed on the lance? It was just like his, though I think this man's neck is thicker. Probably take two cuts to sever it.' The soldier blanched, and licked his lips. Fiallach smiled at him. 'Do not concern yourself, little man. Today I am in a good mood.'

Horath bowed deeply as the emperor and his entourage entered the Royal Enclosure and took up their seats overlooking the golden sand of the arena. The sun was shining, and the stadium was almost full – twelve thousand citizens of Stone, waiting to see today's death bouts.

Horath led the emperor to his high-backed, velvet-covered chair. With Jasaray were two tribesmen, one handsome and beardless with golden hair, the other an enormous figure, with a long drooping moustache. The giant looked fearsome, and his bare arms showed many scars. He would have made a fine gladiator, thought Horath.

Six silver-garbed warriors filed in, and stood in a line behind the emperor. Jasaray sat down, leaning his back against a plump cushion. He glanced up at Horath. 'You are looking well, young man,' he said.

'Thank you, Majesty. You honour Circus Occian with your presence.'

'May I introduce my guests? This is Bendegit Bran, a lord of the Rigante tribe, and his aide Fiallach.'

'A pleasure to meet you, sirs,' said Horath, offering a slight bow. 'Have you come to see your comrade in battle?'

He saw the surprise in their faces. 'Bane is fighting today,' he said swiftly. 'He is Gladiator Seven now, a magnificent fighter, and a great asset to our circus. Today he meets Dex, from Circus Palantes. Dex is Gladiator Four and it should be a classic encounter. If you wish to gamble I would be delighted to have your bets placed with the circus bank.'

Bendegit Bran shook his head, and exchanged glances with Fiallach.

'Well, enjoy your day, sirs.' With a deep bow to Jasaray, Horath withdrew to his own seat. Every few minutes he cast nervous glances back towards the door. He had invited Nalademus and the Lord Voltan to the Enclosure, but had received no reply. Even so, chairs had been prepared for them. This had caused him some concern, for Nalademus was a large man, and needed a big chair. Which would have been fine, except that the emperor insisted upon a straight-backed seat for himself, with a single cushion. Horath could not seat Nalademus in a chair more grand than that of the emperor, and had instead placed a wide couch to the rear of the Enclosure. Unfortunately this would mean that Nalademus, should he arrive, would be sitting behind Jasaray and his guests. Horath comforted himself with the rumour that the Stone elder had been in ill health for some time, and was, therefore, unlikely to attend.

A blare of trumpets sounded and six horsemen rode into the arena. The crowd cheered as the men galloped their white mounts round the perimeter. Then, in unison, the riders lifted their feet and smoothly rose to stand on the backs of the horses. The mounts came into a line. The riders began to leap from one horse to another, landing lightly, timing each jump to perfection. Then they sat back in their saddles and rode from the arena. The crowd applauded their skills. Horath glanced at the two Rigante warriors. They sat, expressionless, arms folded across their chests. At that moment the rear door opened and Horath mouthed a silent curse.

The Stone elder, Nalademus, moved into sight, leaning on a long golden staff. Horath leapt to his feet. 'Welcome, lord,' he said. 'You honour us with your attendance.'

Nalademus nodded, then glanced at the couch. Jasaray rose. 'Good to see you, my friend,' he said warmly. 'Please, come sit beside me. Horath, have another chair brought in.'

Horath hurried out, signalled two servants and gave them instructions. Moments later they carried in a beautifully carved and gilded chair, which was taller and deeper than that used by the emperor. 'You should sit here, Majesty,' said Nalademus, as the chair was placed beside the emperor's.