Midnight Falcon (42 page)

Bane hung the lantern on a peg then filled Wik's cup and his own. 'If we had stayed in Three Streams,' he said, 'they'd probably have thrown a feast for us.'

'A pox on their feasts,' said Wik.

Bane laughed. 'I have never seen you this sour,' he said. 'Are you this way after every heroic act?'

'How would I know?' countered Wik. 'This was my first.'

'Then what ails you, Wik?'

'I wish I knew.' He glanced at the man beside him. 'That chest was almost empty by the end, Bane. Are you a poor man now?'

'I've as much left as you,' he answered, with a smile.

'Then what a pair of fools we are,' said Wik. The far hills turned to gold for a moment with the last blazing light of the dying sun. 'Ah, but that was pretty,' he said, as darkness fell. 'You know that most of the men who died were newcomers ? They weren't really outlaws, just poor folk who had no food in the winter. Some were Pannone, others Norvii. There was even a Cenii lad. Yet they put on the armour you gave them and they fought like . . . like . . .'

'Heroes,' said Bane.

'Aye, heroes.' Wik hawked and spat through the opening. 'And for what? People who wouldn't have given them a crust of stale bread if they were dying of starvation. I saw Boile go down. They damn near hacked off his arm, and he carried on fighting. He was a stupid man, was Boile. And he was frightened of the dark. Last summer his hut burnt down because he left the fire blazing.' Wik laughed. 'He came running out with his leggings ablaze.' His smile faded. 'What in the name of Taranis was he doing standing his ground like that?'

'Why did you come back?' asked Bane.

Wik shrugged. 'I have no idea whatever. Did you see Grale defending the king's mother? Ah, of course you did. You killed the second of them.' Wik shook his head. 'Part of me wishes I'd never listened to you, Bane. I should have stayed in the forest. I knew who I was there.'

'Who were you?'

Wik thought about the question. 'I was nothing, though I didn't know it. Now I do.'

'So, what will you do? Go back to the forest?'

'I haven't made up my mind.' Wik suddenly shielded his eyes from the glare of the lantern and looked out of the opening. 'Riders coming,' he said. 'Soldiers!' He swore and clambered to his feet. He swayed and almost pitched from the loft, but Bane caught him.

'I don't think they've come to arrest you,' said Bane. 'Sit here. I'll see what they want.' He climbed down the wooden steps and walked from the barn. Some of the other outlaws had seen the soldiers, and Bane saw that they were nervous. He calmed them, and ordered them to continue the preparations for the feast he had arranged.

There were some thirty soldiers, all dressed in the black and silver armour of the Iron Wolves. But at their head rode a man in a patchwork cloak. Bane felt his stomach tighten. Moonlight shone down and Bane stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the king of legend. He was a big man, wide-shouldered, his long red and silver hair unbraided, his white-streaked beard cut close to his chin. He rode easily, sitting tall in the saddle. Bane felt his anger rise, but forced it down.

The riders came down the hill, skirted the paddock and drew to a halt. The king stepped down and approached the waiting warrior. Bane looked into his odd-coloured eyes, the mirror of his own. 'What do you want here?' he asked.

'We need to talk,' said Connavar, moving past him and striding towards the house. Angry now, Bane followed him.

Connavar pushed open the door and walked into the main room. Gryffe and Iswain were sitting by the fire. They both rose as Connavar entered. The huge red-bearded warrior stared at the newcomer, then recognized him and bowed. 'It's the king,' he hissed to Iswain. The plump woman folded her arms across her chest.

'Not my king,' she said.

Bane walked in. Connavar removed his cloak and swirled it over the back of a chair. Then he moved to the fire and warmed his hands. Gryffe glanced at Bane, who signalled for them both to leave the room. They did so. As the door shut behind them Bane spoke. 'Make this brief,' he said, 'for you are not welcome in my house.'

Connavar straightened from the fire and turned. 'That is understandable,' he said, 'and believe me it is not my wish to be here.'

'Then why come?'

'Two reasons. I have brought gold for the outlaws who helped Finnigal defend Three Streams. I understand you have promised them two coins each. I will double that, and repay you. I expect no-one else to suffer a loss for defending my family.'

'You intend to pardon them for their crimes?'

'Is that the price they asked for their aid?' queried the king, contempt in his voice.

Bane gave a cold smile. 'They don't need anything from you, you arrogant bastard! No more do I. Keep your gold and choke on it! What I did was not for Meria or the good folk of Three Streams. It was for Vorna. It was for friendship. As for the outlaws, yes they came because I promised them gold, but they stayed and died because they were men. Now speak your piece and then get out!'

Connavar's eyes blazed. 'Beware, boy, my patience has a limit.'

'As indeed does your gratitude,' said Bane. 'I expected no thanks from you. I expected what I have always received from you. Nothing at all. I had thought, however, you would have gathered these men who fought for you, and thanked them. For without them your mother would be dead, and your beloved Three Streams a pile of smouldering ash.'

For a moment he thought the king was going to attack him, such was the fury in the man's eyes. But Connavar stood very still, and Bane saw him struggle to remain calm. 'There is truth in what you say, Bane,' he said at last. 'And I am at fault here. Gather your men and I will speak to them. The other matter can wait until later.'

Bane had no need to gather the outlaws. Word had spread that the Battle King had come to the farm. The fabled Demonblade was among them. As Connavar strode out into the open they were huddled just beyond the front door. They fell back, and opened a path as he walked through to the firepit. Men gazed at the patchwork cloak, made up of the symbols of five tribes: the pale blue and green of the Rigante, the black of the Gath, the yellow and green of the Pannone, the blue stripes of the Norvii, and even the red circle on yellow of the southern Cenii. The cloak alone said it all – this man was beyond tribal dispute. This man was the High King of the Keltoi.

The flames from the firepit shone on his breastplate and greaves, glittering red on the rings of his mailshirt. The men stood in silence as he moved among them. Gryffe came out from the house and moved alongside Bane. 'Gives you the shivers, doesn't he?' he whispered.

When Connavar spoke his voice was low and deep, but it rumbled like thunder in the silence.

'Two days ago,' he told them, 'we fought a mighty battle against the Vars. Twelve thousand Rigante, Pannone and Norvii against fifteen thousand Sea Wolves. The grass of the field was red with blood, and the streams ran crimson. Great heroism was seen on that day – on both sides! Men of courage and valour, men who carried mountains on their shoulders. We were outnumbered, but we were fighting for hearth and home, fighting to protect our women and our children. That is the nature of a true man.

'But you, my friends, were not fighting for your loved ones or your homes. You stood against a foe who was not your enemy. You fought for those who were not your kin. I was told in Three Streams that you fought for gold. I have seen men who fight for gold. At the first reverse they break and run. Yet many of your number gave their lives upon that hilltop. They did not run. They did not plead. They fought! You fought! And in doing so you saved the life of my mother, the wife and children of my brother, Bendegit Bran, and the son of my dearest friend, Fiallach. I am proud of you all, and to each of you I offer my thanks.

'Every one of my soldiers receives payment for his services. And you on that day of courage were my soldiers. I have, therefore, brought gold for each of you. And with it I offer you pardon for all crimes committed before this day. Where is the man Wik?'

'I am here,' said Wik, striding out of the group.

Connavar offered his hand, and Wik shook it. 'In two days,' said the king, 'I ride south to face the greatest enemy of all. I need good men, Wik. Will you join my Horse Archers?'

'I will,' said Wik.

'Good man.' Connavar raised his voice. 'Any of you who wish to ride with us are welcome. I will supply the horses and the armour, the bows and the shafts. All I ask in return is that you bury those shafts in the hearts of Stone.'

A cheer went up, but Wik raised his arms to quell the roar. 'It was Bane who led us, Lord King. It was Bane who held the line. What does he receive?'

'Anything he desires of me,' replied the king. Another cheer went up. Connavar walked back through the crowd, and into the house. Bane followed him, pushing shut the door.

'A fine speech,' he said. 'It even sounded sincere. I don't doubt they'll now ride into hell for you. Now what was the second reason you spoke of?'

'You and I must ride to the Wishing Tree woods. Tonight. Alone.'

Bane laughed. 'And why would I do this?'

'Vorna came to me. She said it was of the utmost importance. Believe me, Bane, I do not want to ride with you. I have never wanted any part of you to touch my life. But Vorna is my friend, and I owe her more than I can ever repay. If you do not wish to ride with me I will go alone.'

Bane was silent for a moment. 'And Vorna asked for me to ride with you?'

'Aye, she did.'

'Then I will go.' He looked into the king's face. 'You know, for a long time I wanted to speak with you, to win your respect. And when that proved impossible I wanted to kill you. Not any more, Connavar. To me you are just another selfish and arrogant man heading for the grave. You will get there soon enough without my help.'

'Are you ready to ride?' asked the king.

'I am ready,' said Bane.

Vorna made her way slowly up the hill towards the Wishing Tree woods. It was an hour before dawn, and the gnarled oaks seemed sinister and threatening in the moonlight. Humans had long avoided the woods, for this was the realm of the Seidh, and the perils within were well known to the Keltoi.

In the past brave heroes had ventured into this dark place. Most had never returned, and one who did was aged beyond all reason. He had entered as a young man, proud, tall and strong. The following day he had returned as a mewling old man, toothless and tottering, his brain – like his strength – all but disappeared.

Vorna paused before the tree line, and sat down on a flat stone. The wind was chill here, and she wrapped her thick black shawl around her shoulders, lifting the rim over her head. Only one other Rigante, to her knowledge, had walked these woods unscathed – the child Connavar. Vorna sighed. What did the Morrigu want of her now? she wondered. And why did she require both Connavar and Bane?

Closing her eyes Vorna reached out with her mind, calling upon the Seidh goddess. There was no response. She tried to contact the Thagda, the Old Man of the Forest, the Tree Man who had aided Connavar in distant days past. Nothing.

Vorna shivered. The wind was bitter, and she yearned to walk into the wood, to sit with her back to a huge oak and block the cold ferocity of this icy breeze. With a single word of command she could have a fire burning, but the wind would blow it away in an instant, she knew.

Slowly and coldly time drifted by. At last she heard the sound of horses pounding on the hillside. Vorna stood and saw the two men riding towards her. This close to Wishing Tree her powers were heightened, and she felt the tension radiating from them, and knew that their ride had been a silent one. Sadness touched Vorna. Two good men, kind and brave, held apart by guilt and sorrow, grief and rage.

Connavar drew to a halt before her and stepped down from the saddle. 'Well, we are here, Vorna,' he said. 'What is it you need of us?'

Bane leapt lightly to the ground, moved in close and embraced the witch. 'You are cold,' he said, rubbing her back. Removing his black sheepskin cloak he draped it over her shoulders. Vorna shivered with pleasure at the weight and warmth of it. She turned to Connavar.

'I require nothing of you, Conn, my dear,' she said. 'The call came from the Morrigu. She came to me in a dream. She said she would meet us here, before the dawn.'

'Then where is she?' asked Bane.

'I do not know. I have called to her, but she does not reply.'

'I have no time for these games,' said Connavar. 'There is much to do and time is short. I will wait a little longer, but if she has not come I will leave.'

'She told me to remind you', said Vorna gently, 'that you once asked a gift from her, and that one day she would call upon you to repay it. This is the time!'

Before Conn could reply there came the flapping of wings from the woods. All three looked round, expecting to see the Morrigu's crow come swooping out of the dark. But then silence fell once more.

'There is something wrong here,' whispered Vorna. 'I cannot sense her presence.'

'Obviously something more important came up,' said Bane lightly.

'You may be right,' said Vorna softly, 'but not in the way that you might imagine. The Morrigu may sometimes appear to be capricious, but she does not lie. She told me that it was vital for the future well-being of the Rigante that you both come to her. Something is wrong,' she said again.

She stood in silence. Beyond the woods the distant snow-covered peaks of Caer Druagh began to gleam with the promise of the dawn.

'I am going into the woods,' said Vorna suddenly. Conn stepped in close, placing his hand on her shoulder.

'That you must not do,' he said. 'You will die there, Vorna!'

'I have walked these woods before,' she told him.

'Aye, but never uninvited. You told me that – even for you – entry to these woods without first being called by the Seidh would mean death. Is that not so?'

'Yes, it is so. There are spells which need to be laid aside. Even so, I must make the attempt.'

'I'll come with you,' said Bane. 'I always had a wish to walk these woods.'