him he rubbed him down, then walked him to a stall, forked hay into the feeding trough, and moved back to the house.
Cara was sitting on the windowsill of the main room, watching the snow-covered hillside for signs of Rage. She glanced up as Bane entered. 'You should be fighting – not my grandpa,' she said, her blue eyes angry.
'He would not let me, Cara. And, anyway, without him there would be no fights at all.'
'I know,' she said. 'Circus Palantes want him dead so they can earn more money. I hate them!'
'He's very strong and tough,' said Bane, removing his cloak and hanging it on a peg by the door. 'Perhaps you shouldn't worry so much.' The words sounded lame, but he could think of nothing else to say.
'Grandpa is an old man. He's enormously old. They shouldn't do this to him.' Her face crumpled, and she began to cry. Bane grew increasingly uncomfortable.
'He is a man, and he makes his own decisions,' said Bane.
'He is a great man,' she replied, wiping her eyes, and returning her gaze to the hills. 'And he's coming back now. I'll make him a tisane. He always has a tisane after training.' Jumping from the sill she ran from the room.
Bane walked to the window and watched as Rage ran into the yard, then slowed, and began to stretch. Stripping off his shirt and leggings he lay down and rolled in the snow, then stood and stretched out his arms. He saw Bane, nodded a greeting, pulled on his leggings and entered the house. Cara brought him a hot tisane, which he sipped in a wide chair by the fire. Cara sat on the arm of the chair, her hand on Rage's shoulder.
'I thought you said this was a rest day,' observed Bane.
'It is for you, boy. But I've been resting all week nursing you along. I needed a good run to clear my head. Did you see Octorus?'
'Yes. He took almost all my coin.'
'You won't regret it. His armour is the finest.' To Cara, he said: 'Would you fetch me something to eat, princess?' She smiled happily and left the room. Rage drained his tisane and rose.
'He said you would be fighting someone named Vorkas.'
'That's no surprise,' said Rage. 'Word has it Palantes are grooming him for next year's Championship.' Removing his red silk headscarf he walked to the window, pushing it open. Scooping some snow from the outer sill he rubbed it over his bald head.
'Is there anything I can do to help you?' asked Bane.
'Help me? In what way?'
'Well, you said I was slowing you down. Perhaps I should train alone.'
Rage was silent for a moment, then he smiled. 'Do not concern yourself, boy. It is not your problem. And I was only half serious. You are coming along well. I saw you talking to Cara as I ran back. She looked upset.'
'Very upset – and frightened.'
'I'll talk to her.' Rage walked back to his chair and slumped down. He looked dreadfully tired, thought Bane. The young Rigante looked closely at the ageing warrior, seeing the many scars that criss-crossed his arms and upper body.
'I'd be fascinated', said Bane, 'to hear what you're going to say to her. You know you shouldn't be fighting this bout. It is madness.'
'It is all madness, Bane,' said Rage sadly. 'It always was. But I cannot change the way the world works. The farm is almost bankrupt and my stake in Crises is worthless. All I have of worth is my name. The coin I make will ensure a comfortable life for Cara – at least until she is wed. I have named Goren as her guardian, and he will take good care of her.'
'You talk as if you expect to die.'
'I will or I won't – but either way Cara will be protected.'
Chapter Six
Persis Albitane always felt uncomfortable in the presence of Crimson Priests. Not that he had anything to fear, he thought hastily, but they had a knack of making a man feel he did. He glanced at the man, and was unnerved to find the priest staring at him. As with all priests, he had a shaven head and a forked beard, dyed blood red. He was wearing an ankle-length tunic of pale gold, unadorned save for a long pendant of grey stone in a setting of cold iron.
'Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down?' asked Persis. 'They may be some time yet.'
'I am comfortable, Persis Albitane,' replied the priest. Persis shuddered inwardly at the use of his name.
'So,' he said, forcing a smile. 'Is this your first visit to Goriasa?'
'No. I came in the spring for the arrest of two traitors.'
'Yes, of course. I remember now. And how are things in Stone?'
'Things?'
Persis could feel sweat trickling down his back. 'It is a long time – almost two years – since I was last in the Great City. I was wondering…' What was I wondering? he thought, his mind close to panic. How many innocent people have you dragged from their beds to be burned at the stake? What new levels of horror and cruelty have you managed to achieve?
'You were wondering?' prompted the priest.
'One so misses the city,' said Persis, recovering his composure, 'the theatres and dining houses, the parties and gatherings. Time moves on, and one wonders if everything is as it was in the golden rooms of memory. I always like to hear news from Stone. It lessens the sadness at being so far from home.'
'The city remains beautiful,' said the priest, 'but the cancer of heresy is everywhere, and must be hunted down and cut out.'
'Indeed so,' agreed Persis.
'How many of the Tree Cult thrive in Goriasa?' asked the priest.
'I don't know of any,' lied Persis.
'They are here. I can smell their vileness.'
The door opened and the little slave Norwin entered. Seeing the Priest he bowed low. Then he turned to Persis. 'The Palantes representatives are downstairs,' he said.
Relief swept over the fat circus owner. 'Bring them up,' he told him.
Norwin bowed again to the priest and backed out of the small room. All contracts over one thousand in gold now had to be witnessed by a priest, who then pocketed two per cent of the moneys.
'I understand Rage is to fight again,' said the priest.
'Yes indeed. Are you partial to the games?'
'Bravery is what makes our civilization great,' said the priest. 'It is good for our citizens to see martial courage.'
The door opened once more, and Norwin led two men inside. Both were middle-aged, and wearing expensive clothing, their cloaks edged with ermine. Seeing the priest they bowed. Persis was delighted to see they were as tense as he in the man's presence. Who wouldn't be? he thought. In ten years they had grown from a scholastic order, compiling a history of Stone, to become the most feared organization in the land.
The first of the two men, powerfully built, his long dark hair drawn back into a ponytail, produced two papyrus scrolls, which he handed to Persis. The man bowed. 'The Lord Absicus sends you his greetings. I am Jain, First Slave to Palantes. This is my colleague, Tanyan.'
Even their slaves are better dressed than I, thought Persis, noting the quality of Jain's long, blue woollen tunic, edged with gold, the chest embroidered with an eagle's head in black silk.
Persis offered them seats, then perused the scrolls. They were standard contracts, outlining the amounts payable and the conditions of the day. He read slowly through each of the clauses. Towards the end he hesitated, then looked up at Jain. 'It says here that Circus Crises shall pay the cost of travel and hospitality for the Palantes team. This was not mentioned in our earlier negotiations.'
'That must have been an oversight,' said Jain smoothly.
'The clause will be removed,' said Persis.
