to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.'
'That is not fair! A man with half an eye could see that Nian's barn was beyond saving. It was a waste of effort.'
'That waste of effort brought people closer together. It showed that people cared for one another, and were willing to take risks for one another. When his barn was destroyed Nian could at least sit back and know he had true friends who would stand beside him. And two days later those same people got together again to raise a new barn. Was that a waste of effort? And you were missing on that day, too.'
The clouds opened, and rain lashed down over them. Bane pulled his hood into place and drew his leather cloak around his shoulders. Banouin was furious, but any words he could have summoned would have been whipped away by the storm. Bane's comments ate away at him as they rode. All his life he had been taunted and beaten by the Rigante. Why then should he care about their barns or their lives?
Towards dusk, with the rain easing, and the sky brightening to the west, the two companions were riding along the bank, of a swollen river. Up ahead a broken-backed wagon was caught up against the bank. A horse was thrashing in the water, desperately trying to keep its head above the flood. Bane kicked the grey into a run and rode alongside, leaping from the saddle and clambering over the ruined wagon. Unbuckling his sword belt he threw it to the bank, then leapt into the river alongside the weakening horse. With his dagger Bane sawed at the traces, then ducked under the water.
Banouin watched from the bank. Three times Bane surfaced and dived again. At last the horse moved clear of the wagon, but it was too exhausted to climb the slope. Bane swam alongside it. Then he shouted up at Banouin. 'Don't just sit there, you bastard! There's a rope in the back of the wagon.' Shocked by the outburst Banouin stepped down from the saddle and climbed to the wagon. There were several chests here, and two coiled ropes. Taking them both he looped them over his shoulders, then climbed down the side of the wagon. He slipped and almost fell, but grabbed at the half submerged wheel. The wagon tilted. For a moment Banouin thought it would roll over him and, almost panic-stricken, he lunged at the bank and scrabbled up through the mud. Taking up one of the rope coils he made a loop. His hands were shaking as he approached the slippery mud slope above the water, and twice he failed to drop the loop over the flailing horse's head. But the third throw was a success. The loop drew tight and Banouin tried to haul the horse from the water. His feet slipped, and the weary beast slid back, and fell to its side. A flailing hoof cracked against Bane's skull and he cried out. Banouin saw him fall back into the torrent. He was swept along for a hundred yards, then grasped a low branch and hauled himself clear. When he returned Banouin saw a wide, blood-smeared gash on his forehead. Pushing past Banouin, Bane ran to the grey, and vaulted to the saddle. Easing the grey forward he took the rope from Banouin and looped it around the horn of his saddle. Carefully Bane and the grey drew the exhausted horse from the water. It scrambled up the bank, and stood shivering in the fading light. Bane dismounted and moved alongside it, stroking its neck and flanks. 'You fought well, brave heart,' he said, keeping his voice low. Suddenly the wagon broke clear of the bank, turned over and floated away, carrying with it the body of a second horse, which had been submerged.
Blood was dripping from Bane's brow. He wiped it away. 'I'm sorry,' said Banouin. 'I should have thought of tying the rope to a saddle.'
Bane said nothing for a moment, then he shrugged. 'We rescued the horse, so it all ended well.' Banouin examined his wound. It was not deep, and required no stitches, but it was bleeding profusely, and a lump was forming above Bane's left eye.
The wind died down, and a faint sound came to Banouin. He swung round. 'Did you hear that?' he asked.
'Yes. It sounded like a cry.'
It came again, more clearly. 'Help us!'
Ahead of them the river bank rose steeply, the waterline below strewn with boulders. Banouin ran ahead, climbing the slope. He gazed down at the rushing water, and saw a young woman clinging to a jutting rock some thirty feet from the shoreline. White water was crashing against the rocks, and at any moment she was likely to be swept away. Then he saw that she was also holding on to another figure, a white-haired man, who was feebly trying to haul himself further on to the rock.
Bane joined him, and gazed first at the trapped pair, then down at the shoreline. 'Can't get the horses down there,' he said. Then he swore softly.
'What can we do?' asked Banouin.
Bane ran back to where Banouin had left the ropes, looped a coil over his shoulder and carefully made his way down to the water's edge. Banouin climbed down the slope to where Bane was standing. The blond warrior was tying one end of the rope to his waist.
'You can't go into that torrent,' said Banouin.
'What do you suggest, my friend?' said Bane, his eyes angry. 'Perhaps we should sit and watch them die, rather than take part in a waste of effort.'
'That's not what I meant,' said Banouin sadly. 'I meant that you can't go in. Your head is bleeding and you are exhausted from getting the horse clear. And even if you did reach them I would not have the strength to pull you all in. I'll go.'
Bane offered no argument. He removed the rope from his waist and tied it around Banouin. 'You'll have to enter the water further upstream,' he said. 'Otherwise the current will sweep you straight past them. Strike out at an angle. When you get close swing round, so that your legs can take the impact of the rocks. Otherwise you'll smash your ribs.' He looked into Banouin's eyes. 'Are you sure you want to do this?'
'Of course I don't want to,' snapped Banouin. 'Now let's get on with it.'
The two men ran back along the bank for around a hundred paces; then, with Bane letting out the rope, Banouin dived into the water and began to swim, using a fast overhand crawl. The current was far more vicious than he had realized, and his arms tired fast as he swam. Bane was racing back along the shoreline, holding onto the end of the rope, but he was still some way behind as Banouin saw the rocks rushing towards him. Desperately he swung his body, but he did not have time to fully extend his legs and was dashed against the stone. Agonizing pain seared through his shoulder and right wrist as he struck the rock. He would have been swept clear had the woman not grabbed him. She hauled him back and he managed to get a handhold on the rock.
'Your friend will not be able to pull us all clear,' she shouted. 'You help my father. I will make it to the shore along the rope.'
Banouin was in too much pain to argue. The girl took hold of the rope and began to pull herself along it. Banouin reached out with his right arm and tried to hold on to the white-haired man, but his fingers were numb. The old man gave a weak smile and hooked his fingers into Banouin's sleeve. As his weight came down on the arm Banouin cried out. The man let go instantly, and almost went under. Swinging, Banouin hooked his legs around the man's body, drawing him close. He surfaced.
'Put your arm round my neck,' Banouin told him. The old man did so. Banouin transferred his gaze to the shore. The girl made it to the bank, then joined Bane at the rope. Bane raised his hand, gesturing Banouin to let go.
Grabbing the old man with his left hand he pushed himself clear of the relative safety of the rocks. Water surged over them both, and the rope tightened. For a while Banouin thought he was going to die, as his lungs came close to bursting. Then he bobbed to the surface and felt the pull of the rope. His feet touched bottom. The old man was unconscious now, but still Banouin clung to him.
Leaving the girl to hold the rope Bane waded in and hauled them both to the bank. Banouin collapsed and lay back, breathing heavily. He heard the old man groan, then Bane was alongside him.
'My arm is broken,' said Banouin. Bane tenderly examined the swollen wrist.
'Aye, I think it is. We'll bind it tight and get you to a healer.'
The girl came and knelt beside him. Her hair was short and dark, her violet eyes large beneath strong brows. Just looking at her beauty made the pain recede. 'You are very brave,' she said, her voice low, almost husky.
He could think of nothing intelligent to say, and tried to smile instead. Then he began to tremble violently. 'What is wrong?' asked the girl.
'It is just shock,' he heard Bane say. 'Get a fire going and I'll tend to him.'
Bane half carried him to the tree line, and laid him down beneath a spreading pine. It was quite dry here. A little way to the left the old man was lying on his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The girl was trying to start a fire, rasping Bane's knife against a flint rock and sending sparks into a small pile of shredded dry leaves. Banouin was still shivering, and was now feeling nauseous. His arm was throbbing, his fingers swelling. Bane brought him a blanket, which he draped over his shoulders.
