'Good day to you,' he said.
The first of the three approached him. His left eye socket was empty and Banouin saw that three fingers were missing from his left hand. In that moment he experienced his first vision. He saw the man running into battle, swinging an iron sword. He was wearing the green and blue chequered cloak of the Rigante. An arrow struck the bridge of his nose, cutting through his eye. He stumbled, but then ran on at the enemy.
'Who are you?' asked the man, his voice deep and unfriendly.
'I am a Rigante, like you,' said Banouin. 'I am from Three Streams.'
'I am not Rigante,' said the man. 'I am a Cast-out. A Wolfs-head.'
'You fought bravely at Cogden Field. Why would they throw you out?'
The man looked surprised. 'You know me? No, you are too young to remember Cogden.'
'I'll take the tunic,' said the second man, a hulking figure with a thick, matted black beard. Banouin glanced at him. The man's face was flat and expressionless, his small eyes deep-set and cold.
'Why should you get the tunic?' asked the third man, who was smaller, with a thin, wispy blond moustache. 'It'll be far too small for you.'
'I'll sell it,' said Black Beard. 'You can have the breeches and boots.'
'Why are you doing this?' asked Banouin, fighting to keep his voice calm.
The one-eyed man stepped in close. 'Because we are robbers, idiot. Now remove your clothing, and perhaps we'll let you live.'
Banouin looked into the man's single eye and saw no pity there. His legs started to tremble, and he felt just as he had when Forvar tied him to the tree. His heart beat wildly, and he hoped his bladder would not betray him. 'You will not let me live,' he said. 'You intend to kill me, but you do not wish my blood upon the clothes, nor cuts through the cloth. What kind of men are you?'
'Scum of the worst kind,' said a voice. Startled, the men spun to see a golden-haired warrior leading a dappled grey horse through the trees. Dropping the reins he drew a longsword from a scabbard attached to the saddle and strolled forward.
'Don't fight them, Bane,' pleaded Banouin. 'Just let them go.'
'You don't change, do you?' said the warrior amiably. 'Always soft-hearted. We can't just let them go. What about the next traveller who passes this way? We'll be dooming him. These creatures are vermin. They should be treated as such.'
'Vermin!' hissed the one-eyed man. 'Who do you-?'
Bane raised a hand. 'If you don't mind,' he said, 'I was talking to my friend. So if you value the last moments of your miserable life, be silent. Take a lingering look at the swans, or the trees, or whatever.' He turned back to Banouin. 'Why do you want them to live? They were about to kill you.'
Banouin pointed to the one-eyed man. 'He was a hero at Cogden Field. He was proud and brave. In terrible pain he fought and gave no ground. His eye was torn out by an arrow, his hand mutilated. Yet he stood firm, with all the other heroes. I do not know what has made him what he is, but he could be a good man again. If you kill him he will never have the chance.'
Bane swung his gaze to the other two men. 'And what of these? You think they might choose one day to be gentle druids, or healers?'
'I do not know anything about them. But I ask you to let them go. No harm has been done.'
'Why are we listening to this?' Black Beard asked One-eye. 'He's just one man!'
'Indeed he is, you ugly whoreson,' said Bane, 'and he'd be grateful if you'd just draw your sword and put an end to this debate.'
'Leave your sword where it is!' shouted Banouin. 'Please, Bane, just let them go.'
Bane sighed. Moving to One-eye he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. 'He has been like this since a child,' he said. 'It is beyond understanding. I blame the mixed blood, and the fact that his mother is a witch. You know, when other children tormented him he never sought revenge. Has no understanding of hate at all. I've never known anyone like him.' He sighed again. 'And he brings out the worst in me. So, against my better judgement, I'll let you live.' Suddenly he brightened. 'Unless, of course, you'd prefer to fight?'
One-eye shrugged off Bane's hand and walked to where Banouin stood. 'I am not afraid of death,' he said. 'You believe me?'
'I do,' said Banouin.
'I am glad we didn't kill you,' said One-eye. 'It was good to be reminded of what I once was. You really believe I can become that man again?'
'If you choose to,' said Banouin.
'Probably too late for me,' said the man sadly. Gesturing to the others he walked away. The slim blond man followed instantly, but Black Beard stood for a moment, staring malevolently at Bane.
'Any time, goat-face,' said Bane.
'Karn!' yelled One-eye. 'Let's go!'
Reluctantly Karn followed the others.
Bane sat down on a fallen tree and looked at his friend. 'That was a mistake,' he said.
'What are you doing here?' asked Banouin.
'Looking after you, apparently. Do you have any food?'
It took Banouin an age to light a small fire, but finally tiny flames licked at the tinder. Bane had wandered off, and Banouin unpacked his saddlebag, removing an old copper pot, a wooden plate, a bag of dried oats, and a chunk of dry-cured salt beef. The sun was dipping below the horizon when Bane returned. He squatted down next to Banouin.
'Time to go,' he said.
'Go? I've only just got the fire going.'
'Life just isn't fair,' said Bane. 'But if you'd like to be alive in the morning I suggest you saddle your horse.'
'One-eye won't come back,' said Banouin. 'I looked into his mind, and I know there is still some good in him.'
'Maybe he won't, but the big ugly one will. And he won't come alone.'
Bane moved to his horse and mounted. Banouin repacked his saddlebag, tacked up the chestnut and went back to the fire. 'Leave it,' said Bane. 'In fact, add a little more wood. It'll draw them, throw them off the scent.'
Banouin did so, then climbed into the saddle and the two men rode out of the woods and down the slope to the old road.
The horses plodded on as the sun fell. It was colder now, the wind sharp. Banouin lifted his cloak from behind the saddle, untied the thongs and swung it round his shoulders. The sudden flaring of cloth alarmed the chestnut, who reared suddenly, dumping the young man from the saddle. He landed heavily. The gelding ran off to the south. Bane heeled his mount and raced after it. Banouin sat up. He felt sick and dizzy. Bane rode back leading the runaway.
The stars were bright now, a crescent moon shining in the sky. 'Are you hurt?' asked Bane.
'No. But you were wrong about me not knowing how to hate. I'm beginning to loathe that horse.'
Wearily Banouin stepped back into the saddle. Bane led them away from the road and down into a tree-lined hollow where they made camp. Bane lit a small fire, its light shielded by boulders. Then he moved away into the trees. When he returned he sat down beside Banouin. 'You can't see the fire from the road,' he said. 'We ought to be relatively safe here.'
Once again Banouin unpacked the utensils and the food. There was a stream close by and Banouin filled the pot, added oats and salt, and set it over the fire.
'Thank you for saving my life,' he said at last.
'That's what friends are for,' replied Bane brightly. They ate in silence, and Bane lay down, his head upon his saddle, his cloak as a blanket.
Banouin was not tired, and sat quietly by the fire, feeding it with dry sticks and watching the flames leap and dance. The incident with the robbers had left him both disappointed and dejected. It had shown how far he was from being a Rigante warrior. Not once had he even considered drawing the hunting knife at his belt. He had been paralysed with fear, and within moments of begging for his life.
He glanced down at the sleeping Bane. His arrival had surprised them, but it was his confidence that had
