his hands.
Banouin felt the rage from Nalademus like a blow, which almost made him step back. Instead he fastened to the emotion, gentling it, and radiating it back to its bearer, softened and changed. The Stone elder stood towering over the servant and his fists unclenched. He shook his massive head. 'Get out,' he told the frightened man. 'Go on, away with you.' The servant scrambled clear and sped along the corridor. Nalademus turned to Banouin. 'My head is splitting.'
'Sit down, lord. I shall soothe it for you.' The big man sank into a deep chair and Banouin moved behind him. Nalademus tensed instantly. 'I will do you no harm, lord,' said Banouin softly, placing his fingers on the elder's temples. Closing his eyes Banouin drew out the pain, easing the rigid muscles of the neck and shoulders.
'That is good,' whispered Nalademus. 'The pain is almost gone.'
'I fear it is my fault, lord. Some of the herbs I use do have secondary effects. Headaches are not uncommon, and they can be extremely severe. I shall lessen the amounts.'
Banouin moved away from the elder, but Nalademus bade him sit in a chair opposite. 'You have great skills, young man. How may I show my gratitude to you?'
'You already have, lord, by freeing Sencra. By your leave, I will remain here for two more days until your recovery is complete, then return to my studies and my work at the university.'
'You will reside here, Banouin,' said Nalademus. 'You will receive a handsome salary, and a carriage will take you to the university on any days you choose.'
'Thank you, lord,' said Banouin, his heart sinking.
'Now tell me about Bendegit Bran.'
Banouin's jaw dropped. 'Why, lord?' he stammered.
'He arrived in the city ten days ago, as a guest of our emperor. He and a brutish general named Fiallach travelled under escort from Goriasa. They are staying in a villa overlooking the bay. I will probably have to meet them myself, and would be grateful if you could tell me something of them.'
Banouin gathered his thoughts. 'Bran is the half-brother of our king, Connavar, lord. He is also a general of the Horse Archers, and governs the northern lands of the Pannone. He is a good man, and was always very kind to me and my mother.'
'Is he a married man?'
'Yes. He had two children when I left Caer Druagh.'
'What of his ambitions? Does he seek to rule himself?'
'I don't believe so, lord. He is devoted to Connavar. Might I ask why the emperor invited them here?'
'That is for the emperor to know, Banouin. Not mere servants like you and me.' Banouin sensed the anger underlying the words. 'And what of Fiallach?'
'He is a mighty warrior – probably the strongest man in all Rigante lands. He must be over fifty now, but he is awesome to behold, six feet six inches tall, with enormous shoulders. He is ferocious in battle, utterly fearless and without mercy. He is one of three generals who lead divisions of the Iron Wolves, Connavar's heavy cavalry.'
'You like him?' asked Nalademus.
'He is a hard man to like, lord. But I do not dislike him.'
'And you would class him as loyal to Connavar?'
'Utterly. They were enemies once, when Connavar was a young man. Both loved the same girl, and she chose Connavar. But they have been friends now for twenty years.'
'And what of Braefar?'
'Is he here too, lord?'
'No, but I have heard him spoken of.'
'He is the Laird of Three Streams, and another half-brother to Connavar. He is a very clever man.'
'Do I hear a but in your voice?'
'I believe he feels he should have had greater duties than he has. He complains publicly about his talents being underused.'
'And are they underused?' asked Nalademus softly.
'I don't believe they are,' said Banouin. 'Whenever Connavar has offered him more responsibility something has always gone wrong. Braefar always blamed others for their shortcomings, accepting no responsibility for the errors and mistakes.'
'Interesting,' said Nalademus. 'I thank you for your time. Now I must get to work. I shall have a carriage ready for you to attend the university. Please convey my good wishes to Sencra.'
'I shall, lord,' said Banouin, rising. 'And I shall return by dusk to prepare more medicine.'
Banouin bowed and left the Stone elder.
An hour later he was strolling through the main hallway of the university building, and out into the Park of Phesus. A light rain was falling, but Banouin ignored it and ran along the white path to the willow. Pushing aside the trailing branches he sat down on the curved stone bench and relaxed his mind. His spirit soared free, floating high above the city. Swiftly he sped over the waters of the bay, hovering over the fine villas with waterside views. One by one he flew through them, seeking out his countrymen.
And then he saw them, walking together in a terraced garden. Bran seemed worried, his handsome features grim as he listened to his companion. Fiallach looked older, and there was silver in his braided yellow hair and drooping moustache. It felt good to be close to them, and Banouin realized in that moment just how much he missed the mountains of home. He wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but decided that would be rude, and flew back to his body.
He opened his eyes, and saw the dark-haired Maro leaning over him. 'I thought you had fainted,' said Maro. 'Are you all right?'
'I am fine.'
'We thought the worst when you failed to return. Then Sencra came back, and told us you had spoken up for him with Nalademus himself. That was a fine deed, Banouin.'
'He was innocent. I just explained it, that's all.'
'Heroes should always be modest,' said Maro. 'Or so my father always tells me. Come, let's go to the library. You can tell me of your adventures.'
Chapter Eight
Bendegit Bran stood before the emperor and bowed low. Beside him the huge general Fiallach followed his lead. Straightening Bran waved his hand and Fiallach stepped forward, bearing an ornately carved wooden box. 'I bring you greetings from my king,' said Bran, 'and a gift.'
Jasaray, seated on a gilded throne, summoned the tribesman forward. Bran noted that the three guards in silver armour standing close to the emperor were tense and ready to spring forward at the first sign of treachery. Hardly surprising, thought Bran. Fiallach was a massive man, with fierce blue eyes and a long-standing – and well- chronicled – hatred of Stone. Jasaray himself seemed perfectly at ease. Fiallach lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestling on velvet, was an exquisite dagger, with a blade of silver steel and a hilt of gold, encrusted with pale blue gems. The pommel held a huge black opal, which had been superbly carved into the shape of a panther's head. Jasaray reached out and lifted the dagger clear. It seemed to Bran that the weapon looked incongruous in the old man's hand, and he understood in that moment why he was once known as Scholar to his men. Jasaray could not have looked less like a warrior emperor. He was skinny and slightly round-shouldered, his hair thinning, his face long and ascetic. He could have been a philosopher or a teacher, rather than the most gifted general Stone had produced.
'It is a charming piece,' said Jasaray to Bran, ignoring Fiallach. 'Please convey my gratitude to your brother, Connavar.'
Bran looked into the emperor's eyes and felt the thrill of fear. For in that gaze he saw the keen intelligence of the man. 'My king says to tell you that he remembers with great affection the time he spent with you on the Perdii campaign, and he will be delighted to hear that you are in good health.'
'Indeed I am, Lord Bran. Which is more, I understand, than can be said for your brother. How are his
