him, and saw no fear in the patrician features. They reached the horseman. Oranus looked up once. He was wearing a white-plumed, full-faced helm of gold-embossed iron. Only his baleful eyes showed through the curved slit. He seemed somehow inhuman. Oranus focused instead on the hilt of the sword in the scabbard at the king's side. He heard Appius speak.
'Your men fought well, Connavar.'
Connavar ignored the compliment, and when he spoke his voice, distorted by the helm, sounded metallic and cold. 'You have two choices, Appius. You can stay here and we will destroy you, or you can march your men back to the lands of the Cenii. If you give me your word you will not stop until you reach the sea I will allow you to pass unhindered. And I will see that supplies are brought to you on your journey.'
'Will you return to us the body of Valanus?'
'I doubt I could gather all the pieces, or recognize them if I tried,' said the king.
Oranus felt his legs begin to tremble, and he almost passed out with fear.
'Then it shall be as you say, Connavar. But I have badly wounded men in the fort. I will need some wagons for them.'
'You will have them. Be ready to leave in an hour.'
'I'll need a little more time to bury the heads you… returned to us.'
Two hours then,' agreed Connavar. The king swung the grey and cantered back to the waiting Keltoi army.
Oranus turned to the general. 'If we leave the fort, sir, they will surely massacre us.'
'Perhaps, though I doubt it. Connavar is a cunning strategist, but also a man of his word.'
'But why should he allow us to leave?'
'Because – although he has won the battle – his forces have taken huge casualties. Any full attack on us here would see him lose three men to our one. Yes, we would die, but it would achieve nothing. As it is, we will march away with our tails between our legs, and every surviving man will talk of the Demon King of the Rigante. We will carry his legend home, and it will spread like a plague. The next army to march here will march with fear in their hearts.'
The long, slow march to the coast had been a painful one. Many of the wounded died on the way and were buried by the roadside. All along the way Keltoi tribesmen gathered to watch the defeated men of Stone trudge wearily back to the sea.
For Oranus it was the end of a bright career. Throughout the years since he had rarely known a night pass without terrible dreams, where severed heads called out to him, where sharp swords were piercing his flesh.
Had it not been for the skill of Appius he, would have died on Cogden Field.
Oranus sighed. The best part of me did die there, he thought sadly.
Banouin lay in his bed, his splinted arm throbbing, his head aching. But these discomforts were as nothing to the terror haunting him. He had believed he had known the nature of fear; being chased and tormented, being beaten and threatened. He knew now that his years among the Rigante had merely touched the surface. The fears he had lived with were caused by external forces, like Forvar and his friends. Nothing he had ever experienced could have prepared him for what he had now discovered.
Banouin had always felt safe within his own mind, but now it was as if a gateway had opened inside his skull which, at any moment, he could fall through, and spin away into a bottomless pit of dread from which there would be no return. He could feel it pulling him even now, as if he were standing on the edge of an abyss, and losing all sense of balance. He shivered and sat up, drawing the blanket around his shoulders. I should never have ventured into the water, he told himself. That was my undoing.
Vorna had always assured him that his Talent would one day flower, that he would develop skills beyond those of normal men. Banouin had eagerly looked forward to the day. But the skills had not manifested themselves, and he had spoken to Brother Solstice about the problem. The druid had been walking the high hills, and had stopped at the house for a cool drink. Banouin had approached him at the well, where Brother Solstice had splashed water onto his black and white beard, and run his large hands through his silver-streaked hair. A huge man, broad of shoulder and thick of waist, Brother Solstice looked more like the fighter he once was than the druid he had chosen to become.
Banouin had asked him about developing his Talent. Brother Solstice had sat down on a bench seat beneath a spreading oak and gestured Banouin to sit beside him. 'Why is it that you want these powers?' he asked.
'Why does anyone want power, Brother?' he countered.
'You think they will make you special, and earn you respect among your peers.'
'Of course. And how wonderful it must be to see the future, or read a man's thoughts.'
'Why would it be wonderful?' asked the druid.
'I would know if a man intended me harm.'
'I see. So you perceive these powers to be merely of use to you?'
'Oh no, Brother, I would use them for good purposes.'
'And people would be grateful to you, and shower you with praise. You would become, perhaps, a great and valued man.'
'Yes. Is that wrong?'
Brother Solstice shrugged. 'I try to avoid examining issues on the basis of right or wrong. It seems to me they always come down to perspectives. What is right for one man becomes wrong for another. The Talent you seek is a gift from the Source. And such gifts fall like seeds. In the right soil they prosper and grow. If they fall upon rock, they wither and die. Are you rock or soil, Banouin?'
'How can I tell?'
The druid smiled. 'Look to your actions, and how you live your life.' Then he had climbed to his feet, patted Banouin on the shoulder, and walked away.
Now, a year later, Banouin knew the answer. He had been rock. He recalled Bane's words, just before they rescued Lia and her father from the river. 'You really don't see, do you? You have complained all your life about people disliking you. Yet when have you done anything for anyone else? Last year when Nian's barn caught fire, and everyone rushed there to try to save it, where were you? You stayed home. As we walked back through Three Streams, covered in soot and ash, you came walking by, clean and bright. You might just as well have been carrying a sign that said, 'I care nothing for any of you, or your troubles.' One day you will realize that you are what you are because you chose to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.'
And that was the truth of it. When he had ventured into the torrent to save Lia and Appius he had risked his life to save others. It was that selfless act that had opened the gateway in his mind. Now he wished with all his heart that he had stayed on the river bank. For the gift was not wonderful at all. All he could see, when his frightened inner eyes peered beyond the gateway, was violence and death.
And then he saw the face, flat and expressionless, pale eyes that knew no pity. The man was tall and wide- shouldered, wearing armour of black and silver, and
Bane had almost reached the house of Barus when he heard movement behind him. He spun and saw the two roughs previously hired by the pimp Nestar. Both of them were armed with knives.
The first ran at him, and aimed a clumsy thrust at Bane's belly. Bane blocked it with his left arm, then hammered his right elbow into the man's face, spilling him to the ground. He fell directly in the path of his comrade, who tripped over him and stumbled. Bane kicked his legs away, and he too fell. Bane sat on a low wall and shook his head.
'By Taranis, you are the clumsiest robbers I've ever seen. Are you intent on being killed?'
'He broke by doze,' said the first, the words horribly mangled. He sat up and tried to stem the blood oozing from his nostrils.
'I told you to go wide,' said the second man, rubbing a bruised knee. 'Didn't I say that? Go wide to the right, leave me a clear thrust?'
'By doze!' moaned the first man.
