wounds?'
'I had not realized the news had travelled this far, Majesty. Connavar is well, his wounds minor. The assassins, however, did not fare so well. He slew three himself. The fourth was taken and put to the questioning.'
'Do you mean tortured?' asked Jasaray, still examining the dagger.
'No, Majesty. We have a druid with great skill. He spoke to the man and elicited the truth from him.'
'Ah the truth. And what was the truth?'
'He and the others were hired by a merchant to kill the king.'
'Tricky creatures, merchants,' said Jasaray, replacing the dagger in its box. 'They yearn only for money. I take it the king had refused him some request?'
'We have yet to ascertain that, Majesty. The merchant fled across the water and took refuge in Stone.'
'Well, you must supply the name and I will see he is hunted down and brought to trial.' Jasaray rose from his throne. 'My men will show you and your aide to your quarters, where you may bathe if it pleases you. This afternoon you will both be my guests at the Palantes Stadium. Later we can talk of political matters.'
'Thank you, Majesty,' said Bran, offering another bow. He waited until Jasaray had left the throne room. One of the king's guards took the dagger box, then he and Fiallach followed another silver-garbed soldier to a suite of rooms. Once inside Bran sat down in a deep chair, while Fiallach cast off his cloak and stretched out on a couch.
'He's a cold man,' said Fiallach, speaking in Keltoi.
'Aye, but canny. He showed no reaction when we spoke of the merchant. Perhaps he knew nothing of it.'
Fiallach said nothing. Brother Solstice had warned them both about hidden chambers behind the walls, where spies might lurk, noting down their conversation.
Beyond the main room was a garden, and Bran gestured Fiallach to follow him out. Once outside they wandered along a curving, neatly paved path, stopping here and there to look at the many flowers. Bran glanced around, sure that from here they could not be overheard. 'You kept your temper well, my friend,' he said.
'Perhaps I'm getting older and wiser,' said Fiallach, but there was anger in his eyes.
'They all know of you, and your skills. They probably also know of your legendary temper. It is vital you do not react to any… discourtesy.'
'I know that, Bran. By Taranis, you have been labouring the point for the entire journey!'
Bran smiled. 'You are right. My apologies. I wonder if Nalademus will be at our meeting.'
'I don't much care who is there,' said Fiallach. 'I still don't know why Conn accepted this invitation. And there is more than a chance we'll be held hostage.'
Bran nodded and the two men continued their walk around the garden. They came to a small man-made pond, over which a wooden bridge had been raised. Bran leaned on the rail and looked down into the still water, gazing at his reflection. Like Fiallach he had not relished this trip, and was missing Gwen and their three boys terribly. He thought of them constantly, wondering whether little Orrin had mastered his fear of riding, and if his eldest son, Ruathain, had regained his strength following the fever. The boy had been so weak. Brother Solstice had tended him well, but Bran knew that secondary illnesses could often prove fatal.
'We cannot refuse the invitation,' Connavar had told him. 'It would be seen as both weak and hostile. Obviously Jasaray needs something from us. Find out what it is, and report it back.'
'What about Wing?' Bran had asked, referring to their brother Braefar by his soul-name, Wing over Water. 'He is skilled with words, and might enjoy a trip to Stone. He has no wife, no sons. And he constantly talks of being bored.'
'You are more suited to this task, Bran. Take Fiallach with you.'
This had surprised Bran. Fiallach was known for his seething hatred of all things Stone. 'Would that not cause offence, brother? After Cogden, Fiallach cut the heads from thirty Stone officers, and had them set on spears at the border. According to Brother Solstice only two Rigante names are well known to the people of Stone – yours and Fiallach's.'
'Precisely why he should go,' said Connavar. 'Although you are wrong about two names. There is a third. Many of the merchants who seek our favours are talking about a Rigante warrior who fights in the arenas of Stone.'
Bran had heard the stories, but had never spoken about them with Connavar. 'You want me to meet with him?' he asked.
'No. He has made his life, barren though it is.'
'I liked him,' said Bran.
Connavar's eyes had narrowed briefly, and he had scanned Bran's face for signs of criticism. Then he had sighed, and for a brief moment lost the haunted look Bran had come to know so well in the years since the death of Tae.
'I might have liked him too,' he said at last. 'He is one of many regrets I carry. If I could turn back the years, and live my life again, I would live it differently. I would have taken Tae to the lake. There would have been no war with the Pannone.'
'You know, Conn, this is something I have never understood. You are my brother, and I love you. But how long will you allow yourself to carry this burden? Take a wife, sire sons. You owe it to yourself-and to the people. You must have an heir, Conn.'
Connavar smiled. 'You are my heir, Bran. And your sons will follow you.' Connavar had walked to the window, and stared out over the countryside. Light clouds were casting dappled shadows over the flanks of the mountains.
'You could invite Bane back home,' said Bran.
Connavar swung round, his face once more set, his expression hard. 'We will talk of it no more.'
'As you wish, my king.' said Bran.
Connavar was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, brother. I had thought the hurt would lessen as the years passed. But it sits like a canker on the soul.'
'Ah, dammit! I am sorry too, Conn. I'll not mention it again. So, what is it you think Jasaray wants from us?'
'It is hard to say. He has many troubles. The war in the east has meant most of his regular troops are far from Stone. Brother Solstice tells me that there are now more Stone Knights in the city than loyal soldiers. Jasaray apparently believes Nalademus is loyal to him – and perhaps he is. But the political situation there is precarious. The arrival of Rigante ambassadors will cause a stir, and perhaps deflect criticism of the eastern campaign. In short, brother, I do not know.'
Bran had now been in Stone for ten days, he and Fiallach quartered at a villa to the south of the city awaiting the call from Jasaray. Now it had come, and still there had been no talks.
A servant came running down the path. 'The bathhouse is ready, sirs,' he said. 'And your clothes have been moved from the villa. I have taken the liberty of having them washed for you. They are currently drying.'
'That is kind of you,' said Bran.
The private bathhouse was some forty feet long, with a sunken bath large enough to take perhaps twenty people. Bran and Fiallach removed their clothes and climbed in, sitting back and relaxing in the perfumed water. Fiallach sighed and ducked his head below the surface. He came up spluttering, water dripping from his braids and his long yellow and silver moustache. Bran chuckled. 'You are being corrupted by such decadence,' he said.
'It eases the pain in my back,' said Fiallach. 'I am not as young as once I was. I do not heal so swiftly.'
They lazed contentedly for some time, then two servants arrived, holding hot towels. The Rigante warriors climbed from the bath and dried themselves, then walked through to the massage room, where two young men waited.
Bran lay on his stomach and felt the warm oil poured to his back. He relaxed instantly, and the masseur expertly stroked and probed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, easing out the tensions. He glanced across at Fiallach, who was lying face down with his eyes closed. When the massage was finished, the oil gently scraped from their bodies with rounded ivory blades, they rose and dressed, and returned to their rooms. Food had been laid there, cold cooked meats and sweet pastries alongside two jugs, one of wine, one of water. They ate, then sat back to await the call from Jasaray.
'One could almost come to like this place,' said Fiallach.
The door opened and two silver-armoured warriors entered. 'Your chariot is here,' said the first, his voice echoing the contempt in his eyes.
