and lazy.'
'I'm going home, my friend,' said Bane. 'The emperor has given me two days to leave Stone.'
'So much for the gratitude of rulers, eh?' muttered Rage.
Bane shrugged. 'He is a cold man, and I should have expected no less. I'll return to Caer Druagh. I need to see the mountains, and to feel the grass under my feet. Why not come with me, show me how to run a farm?'
'Perhaps I'll visit, but Cara is to be married in four months, and I'd like to see that. I'd also like to watch a great-grandchild grow. I hope it is a boy. Girls are wonderful, but I think I need a little variety.' He rose from his seat, and drew Bane into a hug. 'You know, maybe you should find your father, and make your peace with him.'
For the first time Bane kissed Rage's cheek. Then he drew away. 'I have no father. If I could choose one it would be you.'
'That is good to hear, and I thank you for saying it. Now, before we become mawkish let's go down to the others and eat. I am famished.'
'One last thing,' said Bane. 'Will you be getting drunk tonight?'
Rage chuckled. 'Probably. I don't like to kill – even evil men like Voltan.'
Then let's drink together. We can talk about the stars and the spirits, and ramble on about the meaning of life.'
'Sounds hideous. We'll do it,' said Rage.
Snow was swirling across the plain as the young druid crouched at the foot of a standing stone, watching the wind scattering hot cinders from his tiny fire, leeching the heat away from his frozen body. Hunched against the cold stone Banouin felt the weight of failure dragging him down. Four times now in the last six months he had tried to free the ghosts of Cogden Field. But on each occasion they had ignored him and continued their senselessly ferocious battle.
The last time he had tried reasoning with the shade of Valanus, pointing out to him that Cogden was fought in bright sunlight, whereas now only the moon shone down upon the battlefield. Valanus had laughed, and gestured towards the sky. 'There is the blazing sun,' he cried. 'And the sky is blue. I have no more time for this, demon. Come, lads, one more charge and the day is ours.'
The wind died down and the shivering Banouin added dry sticks to the fading blaze. Flames licked out and he held out his hands to the fleeting warmth.
The king had allowed him this one last attempt – three weeks' leave of absence. And he had failed. Tomorrow he would have to return to Old Oaks as he had promised.
'I care for these souls,' said Connavar, 'but, in truth, I care for the living far more. The information you supply on Jasaray's troops is vital to us. No-one else has your talent, Banouin. You are the Eyes of the Rigante.'
All this was true, but the ghosts of Cogden Field were like a dagger in Banouin's soul. The land cried out to be freed of this nightly slaughter. Grass no longer grew upon the plain. Not a single weed could be seen on the dead brown earth. Banouin glanced out from behind the stone. The ghosts were still fighting, on a field of snow. Despair flowed over him.
The armies of Stone were gathering across the water, and already four Panthers – twelve thousand men – had crossed the narrow strip of sea and were camped in the lands of the Cenii. Many among the Cenii had joined the army as scouts for the campaign all knew would come in the spring – the push north into the lands of the Norvii, and then the Rigante. More battles would be fought, and more souls would continue their eternal fighting, draining the spirit from the land.
'I must find a way,' said Banouin. Brother Solstice always said that the truth had a power all its own, yet he had tried the truth on these martial spirits and they ignored it. What more can I do? he wondered.
'Morrigu!' he shouted. 'Where are you?'
There was no answer, though the wind picked up and scattered his fire. Banouin sat miserably, his sheepskin cloak tugged around him, the hood low over his face. He recalled the first time he had come to this circle of stones, with Bane. It seemed so long ago now, another time in another world. He had been heading towards his dream, and his heart had been light and full of hope.
Banouin missed Bane, and wished with all his heart that he had gone to him in Stone and asked forgiveness for deserting him. Now Bane was back in the mountains, and still he had not sought him out. He had come home rich, and had acquired land bordering the Narian Forest, twenty miles south-west of Three Streams. The land was sold cheaply, for there were many outlaw bands in the area, and the last two owners had been killed by them. Connavar had sent troops into the forest to root them out, but the area was colossal, and his men saw no-one. Many people in Three Streams had laughed when Bane bought the land, knowing that his cattle would be spirited away, his houses ransacked.
They were not laughing now. His cattle were feeding on the best grass, and not a single robber had appeared to trouble him. 'He is in league with the outlaws,' they said, and their dislike of him grew. Bane made no attempt to win them over.
Then the Sea Raiders had landed a small force near Seven Willows. Fighting men were gathered to oppose them. All men knew that Bane was a great fighter and a rider was sent to him. He told the man to leave his property. 'When the sea raiders attack my land I shall kill them,' he said. 'And I will ask no help from you.'
Dislike became open hatred then, and men talked of how he had killed Forvar and the two friends of Fiallach. 'He is a mad dog,' they said. 'He should be driven from the land.'
A delegation went to Braefar, urging him to take action. Braefar, while agreeing that Bane was a disgrace, pointed out that he paid his taxes promptly, and those taxes were used to fund Connavar's army. 'He has broken no law,' said Braefar, 'and paid weregild to the men he slew after his mother's death. However, if you wish to sell him no feed for his cattle, no supplies for his men, no shoes for his horses, that is up to you.'
This they did, and Bane was forced to send for supplies from the Pannone to the north at far greater cost. Even so, his venture thrived. When lung blight destroyed half the king's herds, and reduced many farmers to near poverty, Bane's cattle escaped the disease. People were then forced to buy from him, and his prices were high.
The saddest part of all, for Banouin, was that he knew most of the people who hated Bane were good people, with kind hearts. They were reacting to a man who wanted nothing to do with them – much as they had once reacted to Banouin. Bane no longer helped with the barn building, or attended the feast days, or joined the hunts, or trained with the militia. His every action was seen – mostly accurately – as a slight on the Rigante as a whole.
Under pressure from their families, most of the young men who worked for him had quit his service, and he now employed outsiders, Wolfsheads or runaways: men who – like Bane – wore no cloak of allegiance. Bane's cloak was black, and without adornment. Not once had he worn the chequered blue and green colours of the Rigante.
Banouin shivered. The winter cold was seeping through his boots and leggings. He stood up and stamped his feet. 'I should not hate the winter,' he thought. When it is gone war will come.
Jasaray would come from the south, and King Shard of the Vars had gathered more than three hundred ships, ready to lead an invasion in the north. The days of blood were drawing near. And here I sit, thought Banouin, worrying about the lost souls of an earlier conflict.
'Morrigu!' he shouted again.
He heard movement and stared out into the night. A horse was plodding slowly through the snow, the rider hunched in the saddle, his head hooded. The rider eased his horse into the circle of stones and flicked back his hood.
'You still don't know how to place a fire, idiot,' said Bane.
The warrior stepped down from the saddle, tethered his mount, took a large bundle of dry wood, tied with thongs, from the back of his saddle, then walked to the far side of the circle, where one of the giant stones had cracked and fallen. Swiftly he prepared a fire against the stone. Taking a burning branch from Banouin's small blaze he lit his own, which crackled into life. Shielded from the worst of the wind the fire burned hot and bright, warmth reflecting from the stone. Bane sat down, gesturing Banouin to join him.
'I would have built it here,' said Banouin, squatting down. 'But I can see the battle from this spot, and it grieves me.'
'Are they fighting now?' asked Bane.
'Yes.'
