Midnight Falcon (36 page)

'No. You will not need me. Treat him with respect and he will agree to your request. Be warned though, young man – if you offer him any discourtesy you will pay for it dearly.'

'I was raised to offer courtesy to all people,' said Finnigal.

'Then you will have no problem with Bane,' she said.

Finnigal offered a slight bow, strapped on his sword belt, looped his cloak over his shoulders, and left the house.

Vorna sat quietly, seeking an inner calm, which continued to evade her.

Gwenheffyr had always been reserved, a quiet child who had grown into a shy woman. Her gentle nature radiated harmony, and no-one had ever known her to raise her voice in anger. As a child she had been often ill, and on three occasions had come close to death. 'She will not be long-lived,' some said. 'She is too delicate.'

Slim and small, her dark hair emphasizing the paleness of her features, Gwen was seen as a fragile creature. It had surprised all who knew her that she had given birth to three lusty babes.

She sat now at Ruathain's bedside, little Orrin beside her. Her youngest child, Badraig, was asleep in his cot close by. 'Why doesn't he get better?' asked Orrin, peering at Ruathain's face, eerily pale in the lantern light, and damp with sweat.

'I am sure that he will . . . soon,' said Gwen, putting her arm round Orrin and kissing his head.

Orrin took hold of Ruathain's skeletal hand, and began twisting the white gold and moonstone ring on his brother's finger. 'It will fall off soon,' said the boy.

Gwen nodded, and tears began to form. She took a deep breath. 'Time for you to sleep, little man,' she said.

'I'm not tired, Mam,' argued Orrin.

'Then just lie down for a little while, then come out and join us by the hearth,' said Gwen, leading Orrin to the second bed. The little boy climbed onto the bed and slid his legs under the covers.

'I won't sleep,' he said.

'Then I'll see you soon by the fire,' she told him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Rising from the bedside she took a last look at Ruathain, and walked out of the room. Meria was sitting by the fire, a white shawl around her shoulders. Gwen moved past her to the door and pulled on a pair of shoes. Then she took a cloak from the peg by the door.

'Where are you going?' asked Meria.

'I thought', said Gwen softly, 'that I would ask Vorna to tend Ruathain.'

Meria glanced up, her features hard. 'To what point?' she asked. 'Her son has great talent as a healer – far greater than hers. If he could not heal the boy, then calling upon her would be a waste of time.'

'Even so . . .'

'And she is no friend to our family,' snapped Meria. 'I would not wish to see her invited to my home. Let us speak no more of it.'

Gwen sighed, replaced the cloak on its peg and moved to the chair opposite. For a while she looked into the fire, thinking of how strong and healthy Ruathain had been before this dreadful illness. Sadness swept over her. 'I think he is going to die,' she said, tears in her eyes. 'Vorna might know of some remedy . . .'

'I said we will speak no more of it!'

Gwen sat very quietly, Meria's anger causing her to tremble. She had always hated raised voices and argument. Closing her eyes she thought of Bran, and wondered how such a warm and compassionate soul could have sprung from a harsh and unfeeling woman like Meria. Gwen wished she could have known Bran's father, the first Ruathain. Men still spoke of him with fondness, and talked of his love of family and his affinity with children. Meria had never once hugged Gwen's sons, or shown any genuine affection towards them. It was a mystery to Gwen. Opening her eyes she glanced across at Meria. The older woman seemed to be dozing. Gwen rose from the chair and moved back into the bedroom.

Orrin was fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth. Ruathain was lying very still, his skin gleaming in the lantern light. She stroked his brow. The skin was hot, but he seemed more comfortable. Gwen sat down beside him, holding his hand.

She was still there two hours later when his breathing grew more shallow. Suddenly his eyes opened. He looked at Gwen and gave a smile. She felt him squeeze her fingers.

Then he died.

Bane could not sleep. Throwing back the covers he climbed from his bed, pulled on a knee-length tunic of pale grey wool, and walked out into the main room. The fire was almost dead and he blew it to life, adding fresh fuel. The events of the day would not leave him. Riding into Lorca's camp had been an act of almost suicidal stupidity, and he was angry with himself. Had it not been for the crippled warrior Grale, he would now be dead, his body dumped in the forest, food for foxes and worms.

From the back bedroom he could hear Gryffe snoring. The sound was somehow comforting, although, in a way he could not quite fathom, it left Bane feeling isolated and alone. He sat quietly, feeling the heat of the fire wash over him. Truth to tell, he missed Rage and Telors. All the while he had been in Stone he had thought of the mountains and forests of Caer Druagh with a fondness covered by the warmth of the word home. Yet now he was here the same warmth touched him when he remembered Rage. It was as if contentment was always somewhere else, floating before him like a wraith, ever beckoning, never found.

He heard the gentle creak of a bedboard and then the soft padding of feet upon the rugs of the floor. Bane glanced up to see plump Iswain move into the room, carefully and quietly pulling shut the bedroom door behind her.

She walked over to him. 'Shall I fetch you something to eat?' she said, keeping her voice low.

Looking into her round and friendly face he met her gaze. Her dark eyes seemed sorrowful in the firelight. 'Are you all right?' he asked her.

'Aye, I am fine. I could prepare a tisane.'

'No. I need nothing.'

They sat in silence for a little while, Iswain taking up the iron poker and prodding at the burning logs.

'Talk to me,' he said softly. 'What is troubling you?'

She took a deep breath, and seemed about to speak. But then she shook her head. 'Everything is all right now. My man is asleep in his bed. There is food in the larder, and no enemies close by. Who can ask for more than that?'

'True,' he told her.

'Gryffe says that the next time a druid passes we will Walk the Tree. He says that when the summer is here he will buy me a ring, and that, one day, we might have a farm of our own. He is a good man, Gryffe.'

'I know that.'

'Do you?' she asked, her voice accusing. 'Do you really?'

'Of course. Why do you doubt me?'

'He is asleep in his bed,' she said again. 'But he might have been lying dead beside you today, and not snoring beside me. You took him to a place of death. You did not tell him what you planned. You just rode in and killed Lorca. And my man stood beside you. Did you think of him at all?'

Bane was silent for a moment. 'No,' he said. 'I did not.'

'I thought not.' She sighed. 'He was an outlaw – a
nothing! You gave him back his self-respect. I love you for that, Bane. But
my man is worth more than to die for your pride.'

'I told him I was going alone, Iswain, but he would not hear of it.'

'Of course he wouldn't,' she snapped. 'Are you blind? Can you not see what you mean to these men you have brought from the forest? Do you not know what your trust has done for them? All of them have been branded worthless. They have been cast out from their tribes and their communities. They came – in the main – to consider themselves worthless. Then you came along, and lifted them. You treated them like men again. You valued them, trusted them, and they in turn value you. Why do you think young Cascor died? He was not the bravest of men, but he stood up to Lorca on your behalf. And why? Because his chieftain had ordered him to protect the cattle.'

'I am no chief, Iswain, no laird or leader. These men are not my serfs or slaves. They are here as long as they choose to be and they work for coin.'

'Pah! Have you no understanding of the nature of men? You think Cascor died for five copper coins a month? You think my man stood beside you in Lorca's camp for his two silvers? You are the king here, Bane. And a king – though he has power – also has responsibility for those who serve him. I love Gryffe . . .' Her voice faltered, and he saw tears falling to her cheeks. 'There, it is said! Iswain the whore is in love! And Iswain wants the ring that Gryffe has promised her – even though it be iron or brass. Iswain wants the little farm.'

Reaching out he took her hand. 'I am sorry, Iswain,' he said. 'You are right. These men have shown me loyalty beyond the payment I give them. I will remember what you have said. I promise you that.'

Wiping away the tears she took hold of his hand in both of hers. 'You brought me out of the forest too, Bane,' she said. 'I didn't mean to scold you.'

He smiled. 'You scold away whenever you feel the need. There must always be honesty between us, Iswain. I value that greatly. Now go back to bed.'

'Are you sure you don't want a tisane?'

'I am sure.'

Rising she kissed his cheek and left the room.

Some minutes later, in warm leggings and fur-lined boots, a black cloak over his shoulders, Bane walked out into the night. There were dark patches on the hillsides, where the snow was melting, and there was a warmth in the air that promised the final death of winter. The sky was lightening, the dawn awakening.

He trudged across the snow, past the new corral and the roundhouse barn, and the silent huts of his workers. On the far hills he could see around a dozen of his steers. Several had risen and were cropping the new grass.

A grey-muzzled hound moved into the open and padded across to him. Bane patted its head and stroked its scarred flank. The hound sat down beside the man, and when Bane moved off towards the woods it went with him. The hound had appeared some weeks before, half starved, several old wounds on its side weeping pus. The herdsman Cascor had taken it in and fed it, cleaning its sores with a mixture of wine and honey.

Reaching the woods Bane looked back at his farmhouse and the silent forest beyond it. He felt calmer, more at peace than ever before in his life. It was a good feeling, and he clung to it.

The wind picked up, whispering through the branches above him. His cloak billowed out, alarming the hound, who yelped and fled several paces from him. Then Bane heard his name on the whispering wind, and spun round. There was no-one close by.

'Bane!'

'Who is there?' he called out, advancing beyond the tree line into the wood. In the east the first rays of the morning sun had turned the sky to pale gold. Bane walked on.

A crow swooped by him, settling on a twisted branch. Cocking its head it watched the warrior. 'Where are you, Old Woman?' Bane called. 'Show yourself!'

There was no response. But the crow flew from the branch, angling its flight deeper into the wood. Bane swore softly and followed, the hound padding at his heels. Some fifty paces further on the crow was waiting, perched on a boulder beside a deep rock pool. Bane scanned the trees for sign of the Morrigu.

'Is this some game we are playing?' he called out.

The muddy water in the pool began to bubble and steam. A mist rose from it, coalescing into a large, glimmering globe that hung motionless in the air above the pool. Bane watched it. The mist flattened until the globe became a shining shield the colour of polished iron. Sunlight touched it. For a moment only the shield was transformed into a mirror and Bane saw himself reflected in it. Then his image faded. At first he thought the mist was clearing. It peeled back from the centre, creating a ring which hung in the air. Inside the ring Bane could see blue sky and drifting clouds. He stepped closer and found himself staring at a sheltered bay. Four long ships were beached there. The scene shifted and he saw two hundred or so Sea Raiders marching across the snow-covered land. They became smaller and smaller, as if Bane was flying higher and higher above them. He could see the Druagh mountains now, mist clinging to the slopes. And in the distance, some sixty miles from the raiders, the settlement of Three Streams.

Bane's heart began to beat faster, and he drew in a sharp breath. How soon would the raiders reach the settlement? Two days? Three? Was it sixty miles or less? Panic touched him.

The scene in the ring of mist changed again, and he was looking down upon the settlement. Hundreds of people were gathered on the hillside, and Bane saw a body, wrapped and tied in a blanket, being lowered into a deep grave. He recognized most of the people there – his grandfather, Nanncumal the Blacksmith, was standing beside his daughter, Gwydia. Neruman the Tanner was present, as was the forester Adlin. A woman with a harsh face stepped to the graveside, throwing a handful of dirt down into the hole. Beside her a dark-haired young woman covered her face with her hands and wept, while a little straw-haired boy clung to her dress. Around twenty soldiers were close by, dressed in the chain mail and iron helms of Connavar's Iron Wolves. Some way back from the crowd, a dark shawl around her shoulders, her silver-streaked hair blowing in the breeze, stood Vorna.

Slowy her image grew larger, as if Bane was approaching her. 'Vorna!' he called.

She spun and gazed up, directly into his eyes. He heard her voice echo inside his head, though her lips did not move. 'Bane? Where are you?'

'I am in the woods near my farmhouse.'

'How are you doing this?'

'I do not know, Vorna. The Morrigu's crow is here. But that is not important now. Listen to me: there is a large force of Sea Wolves heading towards Three Streams from the east. I think they are at least three days away, but they may arrive sooner. How many soldiers are there with you?'

'Twenty. They are led by Finnigal, Fiallach's son.'

'Twenty will not be enough – the raiders are ten times that number. You must convince people to leave the settlement, and strike west towards my farm and the Narian Forest. Load all the food you can onto wagons, and burn the rest. Leave nothing for the raiders. I will come to you as soon as I can. Can you do this? Can you convince them?'