will buy me a ring, and that, one day, we might have a farm of our own. He is a good man, Gryffe.'
'I know that.'
'Do you?' she asked, her voice accusing. 'Do you really?'
'Of course. Why do you doubt me?'
'He is asleep in his bed,' she said again. 'But he might have been lying dead beside you today, and not snoring beside me. You took him to a place of death. You did not tell him what you planned. You just rode in and killed Lorca. And my man stood beside you. Did you think of him at all?'
Bane was silent for a moment. 'No,' he said. 'I did not.'
'I thought not.' She sighed. 'He was an outlaw – a nithing! You gave him back his self-respect. I love you for that, Bane. But my man is worth more than to die for your pride.'
'I told him I was going alone, Iswain, but he would not hear of it.'
'Of course he wouldn't,' she snapped. 'Are you blind? Can you not see what you mean to these men you have brought from the forest? Do you not know what your trust has done for them? All of them have been branded worthless. They have been cast out from their tribes and their communities. They came – in the main – to consider themselves worthless. Then you came along, and lifted them. You treated them like men again. You valued them, trusted them, and they in turn value you. Why do you think young Cascor died? He was not the bravest of men, but he stood up to Lorca on your behalf. And why? Because his chieftain had ordered him to protect the cattle.'
'I am no chief, Iswain, no laird or leader. These men are not my serfs or slaves. They are here as long as they choose to be and they work for coin.'
'Pah! Have you no understanding of the nature of men? You think Cascor died for five copper coins a month? You think my man stood beside you in Lorca's camp for his two silvers? You are the king here, Bane. And a king – though he has power – also has responsibility for those who serve him. I love Gryffe…' Her voice faltered, and he saw tears falling to her cheeks. 'There, it is said! Iswain the whore is in love! And Iswain wants the ring that Gryffe has promised her – even though it be iron or brass. Iswain wants the little farm.'
Reaching out he took her hand. 'I am sorry, Iswain,' he said. 'You
are right. These men have shown me loyalty beyond the payment I give them. I will remember what you have said. I promise you that.'
Wiping away the tears she took hold of his hand in both of hers. 'You brought me out of the forest too, Bane,' she said. 'I didn't mean to scold you.'
He smiled. 'You scold away whenever you feel the need. There must always be honesty between us, Iswain. I value that greatly. Now go back to bed.'
'Are you sure you don't want a tisane?'
'I am sure.'
Rising she kissed his cheek and left the room.
Some minutes later, in warm leggings and fur-lined boots, a black cloak over his shoulders, Bane walked out into the night. There were dark patches on the hillsides, where the snow was melting, and there was a warmth in the air that promised the final death of winter. The sky was lightening, the dawn awakening.
He trudged across the snow, past the new corral and the roundhouse barn, and the silent huts of his workers. On the far hills he could see around a dozen of his steers. Several had risen and were cropping the new grass.
A grey-muzzled hound moved into the open and padded across to him. Bane patted its head and stroked its scarred flank. The hound sat down beside the man, and when Bane moved off towards the woods it went with him. The hound had appeared some weeks before, half starved, several old wounds on its side weeping pus. The herdsman Cascor had taken it in and fed it, cleaning its sores with a mixture of wine and honey.
Reaching the woods Bane looked back at his farmhouse and the silent forest beyond it. He felt calmer, more at peace than ever before in his life. It was a good feeling, and he clung to it.
The wind picked up, whispering through the branches above him. His cloak billowed out, alarming the hound, who yelped and fled several paces from him. Then Bane heard his name on the whispering wind, and spun round. There was no-one close by.
'Bane!'
'Who is there?' he called out, advancing beyond the tree line into the wood. In the east the first rays of the morning sun had turned the sky to pale gold. Bane walked on.
A crow swooped by him, settling on a twisted branch. Cocking its head it watched the warrior. 'Where are you, Old Woman?' Bane called. 'Show yourself!'
There was no response. But the crow flew from the branch, angling its flight deeper into the wood. Bane swore softly and followed, the hound padding at his heels. Some fifty paces further on the crow was waiting, perched on a boulder beside a deep rock pool. Bane scanned the trees for sign of the Morrigu.
'Is this some game we are playing?' he called out.
The muddy water in the pool began to bubble and steam. A mist rose from it, coalescing into a large, glimmering globe that hung motionless in the air above the pool. Bane watched it. The mist flattened until the globe became a shining shield the colour of polished iron. Sunlight touched it. For a moment only the shield was transformed into a mirror and Bane saw himself reflected in it. Then his image faded. At first he thought the mist was clearing. It peeled back from the centre, creating a ring which hung in the air. Inside the ring Bane could see blue sky and drifting clouds. He stepped closer and found himself staring at a sheltered bay. Four long ships were beached there. The scene shifted and he saw two hundred or so Sea Raiders marching across the snow-covered land. They became smaller and smaller, as if Bane was flying higher and higher above them. He could see the Druagh mountains now, mist clinging to the slopes. And in the distance, some sixty miles from the raiders, the settlement of Three Streams.
Bane's heart began to beat faster, and he drew in a sharp breath. How soon would the raiders reach the settlement? Two days? Three? Was it sixty miles or less? Panic touched him.
The scene in the ring of mist changed again, and he was looking down upon the settlement. Hundreds of people were gathered on the hillside, and Bane saw a body, wrapped and tied in a blanket, being lowered into a deep grave. He recognized most of the people there – his grandfather, Nanncumal the Blacksmith, was standing beside his daughter, Gwydia. Neruman the Tanner was present, as was the forester Adlin. A woman with a harsh face stepped to the graveside, throwing a handful of dirt down into the hole. Beside her a dark-haired young woman covered her face with her hands and wept, while a little straw-haired boy clung to her dress. Around twenty soldiers were close by, dressed in the chain mail and iron helms of Connavar's Iron Wolves. Some way back from the crowd, a dark shawl around her shoulders, her silver-streaked hair blowing in the breeze, stood Vorna.
Slowly her image grew larger, as if Bane was approaching her. 'Vorna!' he called.
She spun and gazed up, directly into his eyes. He heard her voice echo inside his head, though her lips did not move. 'Bane? Where are you?'
'I am in the woods near my farmhouse.'
'How are you doing this?'
'I do not know, Vorna. The Morrigu's crow is here. But that is not important now. Listen to me: there is a large force of Sea Wolves heading towards Three Streams from the east. I think they are at least three days away, but they may arrive sooner. How many soldiers are there with you?'
'Twenty. They are led by Finnigal, Fiallach's son.'
'Twenty will not be enough – the raiders are ten times that number. You must convince people to leave the settlement, and strike west towards my farm and the Narian Forest. Load all the food you can onto wagons, and burn the rest. Leave nothing for the raiders. I will come to you as soon as I can. Can you do this? Can you convince them?'
'Not all of them,' said the voice of Vorna in his mind. 'There are more than eleven hundred refugees here, many of them older people, or women with young children. Without proofs of invasion many of them will choose to stay in the shelter of the community, rather than risk walking out into the snow and the cold. But I will do what I can.'
The vision faded. The mist ring disappeared. The crow cawed and flapped its wings, rising higher and higher above the trees until Bane could see it no more.
The young warrior ran back to the house, waking Gryffe and sending him into the forest with orders to find Wik and bring him and all the other outlaws to the farm.
'Why would they come?' asked the bleary-eyed Gryffe.
'Tell Wik there is gold to be had for every man. He'll come. But tell them to come ready to fight.'
