'Let me know when it is over.'
'Why?'
'I will help you release their souls.'
'You are not a mystic. How can you help me?'
'You never did know how to talk to fighting men,' said Bane. 'I do.'
The Morrigu sent you, didn't she?'
'No. Your mother came to my farm. Asked me to help you.' He looked directly into Banouin's eyes. 'Vorna has always been a friend to me. I help my friends where I can.'
Banouin looked away. 'I am sorry about what happened in Accia,' he said.
'Pah, it is in the past. Forgotten.'
'Is that true?' asked Banouin, hope flaring.
'Of course it is not true,' snapped Bane. 'I was trying to be polite. Now tell me about this battle of souls.'
'What is there to tell? They fight eternally the battle of Cogden Field, not knowing that it is over and gone. Their spirits are trapped here, caught in a web of hatred and violence. I have tried talking to Valanus. He hears me, but does not believe what I tell him.'
'And why is it important to you that he does believe?' asked Bane.
'It is the land, Bane. It suffers as they suffer. All life is being drained from this place, like a stain that grows and grows. There must be an end to it. The dead must know peace.'
'Why should they be any different from the living?' asked Bane. 'When do we ever know peace?'
'You still sound bitter.'
Bane laughed, with genuine good humour. 'Ah, you misread me. I am no longer the man you once knew. I found a friend in Stone, a great friend, a man who risked his life for me. That changed me. I am more content now. I care nothing for Connavar and his rejection of me, nor for the dislike of my fellow Rigante. I live my own life, answerable to no man.'
'Like a leaf in the breeze,' said Banouin. 'The Rigante are your people.'
Bane shook his head. 'My people are the twenty men who work for me. And the friends who have stood by me: Vorna, Rage and Telors. The rest of you can rot and die. How is the battle faring?'
Banouin glanced back and shuddered. 'It is at its height. It will go on like this for an hour or more, then start again.' Bane added more sticks to the blaze. Banouin watched him. His hair was still long, a tight yellow braid hanging from his temple, but he had grown a golden beard now, trimmed close to the chin. He seemed larger across the shoulder.
'Mother told me that Lia was alive, and that you rescued her,' he said.
'Aye, I rescued her.'
'I am glad.'
'Well, that is good to hear.'
'Please don't hate me, Bane. What I did was cowardly and wrong, but I am trying to make amends with my life.'
'Druid's robes suit you,' said Bane. 'Men say you are a great healer and a prophet. I am pleased for you. And I do not hate you. I have no feelings for you at all, neither hatred nor love. You are just a man I know.'
'But we were friends once, weren't we?'
'I don't think that we were. Anyway, it is immaterial now. How is the king? I understand there was yet another attempt on his life.'
'Yes. Two Pannone attacked him while he was hunting. Killed his horse and wounded him. The wound was not deep and I healed it.'
'One cannot blame the Pannone,' said Bane. 'They didn't ask to be overrun by the Rigante.'
'Most Pannone believe in the king,' said Banouin. 'As do most Norvii and the other smaller tribes now under his banner. But there will always be those who yearn for the old days.'
Bane laughed. 'By the old days you mean the time when they were free to make their own decisions, and not pay taxes to a foreign king?'
'He is not a foreign king,' said Banouin. 'He is a Keltoi, fighting to preserve our ancient way of life in the face of a terrible threat.'
Bane shook his head. 'Does it not seem strange to you that the act of protecting that way of life is altering it beyond recognition? Citizens of Stone pay taxes. The Keltoi never did. The Rigante, Pannone and Norvii crossed the water centuries ago to find a land where there would be no kings. They thrived as free peoples. There were no armies. When enemies threatened every man took up arms to defend the land. There were no tax gatherers, no clerics, and a few simple laws. What freedoms do we have now? If I was to hold this conversation in Three Streams I would be arrested as a malcontent.'
'Without the unity forged by Connavar this entire land would be under the godless rule of Stone,' said Banouin.
'As it probably will be one day anyway,' said Bane.
'Not as long as Connavar lives.'
'Then may he live long,' said Bane.
The two men lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The snow began again, heavy and fast, large flakes spluttering on the campfire. Bane lifted his hood back into place, and leaned back against the fallen stone. Banouin fed the fire, and occasionally glanced back at the silent battle. It was nearing its end. He nudged Bane, who came instantly awake. 'Give me your hand,' he said, lying down next to Bane.
'Why?'
'If you are to help me with the ghosts, you must be as a ghost. Give me your hand and I will draw your spirit from your body.'
Bane did so, and felt a cold rush of air sweep over him, as if he had dived into a winter lake. He shuddered, and rose to stand naked alongside the spirit of Banouin.
'How do you wish to be clothed?' asked Banouin, who was apparently wearing a pure white druid's robe.
'Can it be anything?' asked Bane.
'Anything.'
'Then dress me as a Stone officer, with gilded breastplate and helm.' Even as he spoke he felt the armour settle upon him, a bronze reinforced kilt appeared around his waist, and two bronze greaves nestled against his calves.
'Where is the sword?' asked Bane.
'You think you'll need one?' countered Banouin.
The two ghostly armies began to form on opposite hilltops as Bane and Banouin strode out across the Field. Bane glanced down. His booted feet made no marks upon the snow, and he could feel no hint of the winter winds. The two spirits made their way towards the silent Stone ranks, which shimmered in the moonlight. Bane stared in wonder at the soldiers before him. They seemed to have been carved from mist, translucent in the moonlight. The sounds of faraway commands came to them.
'Panther Three form up. Rank Seven at the beat!'
A drum sounded, its slow ponderous beat echoing across the field. Bane saw the troops shuffling into formation in ranks of seven. He and Banouin continued to walk up the hill. The spirits of the Stone soldiers ignored them, continuing their battle preparations.
As Bane came within thirty feet of the first line he halted. Then he cried out in a loud voice: 'Appius, where are you?'
Now the spirits noticed him, and he felt their cold stares upon him. 'Appius!' he called again. Then: 'Oranus, where are you? Speak to me, Oranus!'
The first line parted and an officer stepped from it. He was tall and handsome, his breastplate intricately engraved, as were his greaves, helm and wrist guards.
'It is Valanus,' whispered Banouin.
'Appius!' yelled Bane again.
'Who are you?' demanded the officer, coming closer, sword in hand.
'I am Bane, son of Connavar the King.'
