'And eight men are dead,' said Landis. 'Eight souls cast out of the world. More mothers to grieve, more children to know sorrow. Is this a life you want for yourself?'
'No, it is not,' Bane told him. 'But we do what we must.' 'Not true! We do what we choose. And we face the consequences.' Bane thanked the man, returned to the Sword Room and removed his armour. Then he put on his leggings and tunic, and a thick fleece-lined jerkin. Rage and Telors were already dressed. 'Let us leave this place,' said Rage. 'I need to get back to the farm.'
Crowds were still leaving the stadium as the three gladiators made their way to the stabling area. They cheered as they saw Bane, who waved back at them.
Snow clouds were bunching as the three riders came in sight of the farmhouse. Cara was sitting in the doorway, a thick blue blanket around her shoulders. She threw it off and ran towards them as they rode down the hillside. Rage drew rein and dismounted as Cara flew
into his arms. He hugged her close. 'I am well, princess. I am well,' he whispered.
'No more fights,' she pleaded. 'No more fights, Grandfather.'
'No more fights,' he agreed.
Bane took the mounts to the stable, while Telors, Rage and Cara went inside the farmhouse. Unsaddling the horses Bane rubbed them down, forked hay into the feed boxes then climbed to the loft and sat, staring out over the hills. He felt drained now, but not tired. Memories of the arena filled his mind: the rising roar of the crowd, the look in Falco's eyes as his blade plunged home, the soaring elation as his opponent died. And beyond it all the smiling face of Voltan.
'I will find you,' whispered Bane. 'And I will kill you.'
Climbing down from the loft he went back to the farmhouse. Rage was sitting in a wide chair, Cara on his lap. The girl's arms were around his neck, her blue eyes still bright with remembered fear. Both Rage and Telors were sitting silently, and Bane felt like an intruder. He had left them to their quiet companionship.
The fire in his room had been lit, and the room was bathed in a warm red glow. Removing his clothes Bane slipped under the covers, laying his head back on the pillow. The stitches in his shoulder were tight, the wound itching.
Pushing the discomfort from his mind he thought of Lia, and all that might have been.
It was past midnight and still Bane could not sleep. Pushing back the covers he rose from the bed. The fire had burned low, and the room was cold. Moving to the fireplace he blew gently on the coals, causing them to flicker to life, then added a few sticks. Tiny flames licked at them and once they had caught hold he added thicker chunks. The smell of woodsmoke was strong in the air, and he walked to the window, pushing open the shutters. The moon was high in a clear sky, and a chill, fresh breeze brushed across his face and chest. From the room next door came the sound of Telors snoring.
Bane stared gloomily out over the snow-covered hills. Nothing moved in the silence of the night. He shivered and pulled on a thick woollen shirt and leggings. Melancholy thoughts continued to assail him - his failure to save Lia was at the forefront of his mind, but also there was his mother's death. They both seemed connected somehow, and Bane felt a sense of guilt, like a weight around his neck. Had he been more clever, and able to master the skills of reading and writing, perhaps he would have found a way to win Connavar's approval. And, had he done so, might the king not also have been reunited with Arian? It was despair that killed her, but had Connavar come to her she might even now be alive and happy. As for Lia, if only I had taken her away, he thought, back to Caer Druagh. Or fought harder, or attacked Voltan more swiftly, then the deadly sword would not have ended her life.
Feeling the need to walk and think he tugged on his boots and draped his new fleece-lined cloak around his shoulders. Moving quietly downstairs and out into the snow he was surprised to see fresh footprints leading away towards the hills. He could still hear Telors snoring upstairs, and wondered why Rage should be walking out into the night.
The footsteps led him past the training area, and on into the hills, to a shallow cave, where Rage was sitting before a small fire. The old gladiator looked up as Bane approached. 'Would you rather be alone?' asked Bane.
'I am alone, whether you are here or not.' Rage gestured for Bane to sit alongside him on the fallen log.
'You'd have been more comfortable in front of the fire in your own hearth,' said Bane, sitting down and holding out his hands to the small blaze.
'It is a stone-built house. It keeps the world out. I felt the need to be part of the hills, to see the stars above me. You ever feel that way?' 'No.'
Rage sighed, and Bane smelled the uisge on his breath. 'You Keltoi are supposed to be close to nature, to walk the path of spirit. But you don't know what I'm talking about, do you?' 'Does it matter?'
'Probably not. Did you enjoy today?'
'Yes. I felt a surge of exultation as my enemy died. And the cheers of the crowd were like wine. I know it was not the same for you. Was it ever?'
Rage reached behind the log and produced a two-pint cask of uisge. Pulling the stopper he drank deeply, then passed the cask to
Bane. 'I shouldn't have fought today,' said Rage. 'It was arrogant and wrong. I tried to tell myself I was doing it for the circus, for my comrades. Truth is I was . . . irritated. I once fought for Palantes. They earned a mountain of gold from my duels. Now here they were wanting a few coppers more from the old farmer's death. I should have told them to ... go away. That would have been manly. No amount of false pride is worth the pain I caused Cara.'
'You hurt them, though,' said Bane. 'Killed their best prospect.'
'Pah, it will mean nothing to them. They'll find another. My pride wasn't worth killing a man for. And it certainly wasn't worth the deaths of five comrades.' He drank again, then glanced up at the sky. He almost fell from the log, but Bane caught him. 'That's where we came from,' he said, his voice slurring.
'Where? The sky?'
'Somewhere out there,' said Rage, waving his hand high. 'A wise woman - a seer - told me that. We are created from the dust of stars. A very wise woman, she was.'
'She sounds like an idiot,' said Bane. 'I was created by a lustful man who forced himself upon my mother.'
'The dust of stars,' said Rage. He gazed blearily at Bane. 'A long time ago - long, long time - a star exploded, and its dust was scattered across the heavens. This magical dust covered the earth, and from it all life was born. Fishes and . . . things. Trees. And when these living things die the magical dust is freed again, and makes new trees and . . . and . . .'
'Fishes?' offered Bane.
'Yes. Fishes.' He sighed. 'I felt sorry for Vorkas today. He should not have lost, and he knew it in the moment of his death. He expected me to be defensive, to try to read his movements. As my sword opened his throat his eyes changed. He looked like a child then, lost and bewildered.' Rage drank again, several deep, long swallows.
'I thought you didn't drink, old man.'
'I don't. Can't abide the stuff. Have you ever seen a ghost?'
'I think so. I had a dream when I was wounded. In it my grandfather came to me.'
'Every now and again I see her ghost,' said Rage. 'Her dress is covered in blood and she is holding a knife in her hand. She was standing at the foot of my bed tonight. I saw her mouth move, but I couldn't hear any words. Then she faded away.' He shivered. 'Getting cold,' he said.
Bane found some more wood close by and banked up the fire. 'Did you know the ghost?' he asked.
'Aye, I knew her.'
'Was it your wife?'
'Wife? I never had a wife, boy. I was a soldier for ten years, then a gladiator. No time for wives. Whores, yes. Plenty of those. Good girls, most of them.'
'Then how do you have a granddaughter?'
Rage lifted the jug and shook it. 'All gone,' he said. 'Full and now empty.' He chuckled. 'Like life.'
'You drank all of that?' said Bane, worried now, for he had known of men who died after consuming that much uisge.
'I think I'll sleep now,
' mumbled Rage. He leaned back and fell from the log. Bane tried to rouse him, but the older man was unconscious. Bane took hold of his arms and tried to heave him upright, so that he could drape him over his shoulder and carry him home. But Rage was a big man, and too heavy to lift as a dead weight. Bane laid him down.
The temperature was below zero, the little fire making no impact on the cold. If he couldn't get him back, Rage would die out here. Bane swore, then pulled Rage close to the fire, and covered him with his own cloak. He would have to go back to the house and wake Telors. Even as he thought it he knew Rage could die of cold before they returned. He cast around, gathering more fuel for the fire. It was growing colder and Bane shivered and huddled close to the flames.
Suddenly the cold eased away, and Bane felt the warmth of a spring breeze upon his back. A crow fluttered down to stalk around the unconscious Rage. Bane turned slowly.
An old woman, leaning on a staff, came walking from the edge of the trees.
'Greetings, Rigante,' she said, her voice muffled by the heavy veil she wore. Sitting down upon the log she stretched out her hand to the fire. Flames leapt up, circling her fingers, then danced upon the palm of her hand. Her fingers closed around the flames, and Bane saw her fist glowing like a lantern. He glanced back the way she had come. There were no footprints in the snow. Fear touched him then. All Rigante knew of the Seidh, the gods of the forest. But of them all the Morrigu was the most feared, and few among the Keltoi tribes ever spoke her name aloud. It was said to bring ill luck.
'You are the Old Woman of the Forest,' he said. 'You came to Banouin at Cogden Field and made the ghosts appear.'
'I did not make them appear,' she said. Her veiled head tilted down to look at Rage.
'He is a good man,' said Bane. 'And my friend. Do not seek to harm him.'
'I have no wish to harm him, child.' The crow hopped along the ground until it was alongside Rage's head. Bane drew his knife.
'If that foul bird pecks at him I shall cut its damned head off,' he said.
'How like your father you are,' she told him. 'Using anger to drown fear. You sit there, heart hammering, limbs trembling, and yet still you are defiant. Your knife, however, is useless here.'
'What do you want? I need no gifts from you to torment me and see me die.'
'Such is the arrogance of man,' she said. 'When the Seidh were first formed the world boiled and storms raged across the planet; storms of a ferocity you could not possibly imagine. Molten rock spewed from broken mountains, and the earth trembled and crashed against itself. The Seidh were there, Bane. We have seen the death of stars, and the birth of man. We watched your slug-eating ancestors creep from their caves, and slowly, oh so slowly, begin to learn. And we helped you, inspired you. We lifted you from the mud and showed you the sky, and the stars beyond. We fed your spirit. And so you grew. But your minds are small, and filled with pettiness. You make everything small to match your own lack of understanding. Torment you? See you die? Child, I saw your great-grandfather die, and his great-grandfather. And what torments could I offer that you do not already possess?'
'I know the stories of you,' said Bane. 'Your gifts are perilous.'
She turned her face towards him. He blanched as he glimpsed the corruption under her veil. 'When you run these hills with your friend you occasionally crush an insect beneath your heel. How might the other insects view your purpose in life, Bane? Would they say, "He was created to kill us"? Would they believe in you as some grim demon fashioned to bring destruction to their race? My purpose here is not to torment man. I care little for man. We inspired you to an understanding of the beauty of the world. But we could not change your nature. You are killers. Greed and lust and cruelty bedevil you, creating in every man a war that is seldom won by the spirit.' She fell silent for a moment. 'I am not your enemy, Bane. Nor am I man's enemy.'
Rage moaned in his sleep. 'His dreams are tormented,' said the Morrigu. Rage's fists were clenched and he groaned again. Lightly she touched him with her staff, and he sighed, and slept peacefully. 'You sleep well, Vanni,' she whispered. 'Sleep without dreams.' There was a moment of tenderness in her voice, which surprised Bane.
'You know him?'
'I have known him longer than I have known you, Bane. I saw him first as a young soldier. Four of his fellows had dragged a Keltoi girl into the woods to rape and kill her. Vanni stopped them. Many such small acts of kindness I have seen from him. And then there was Palia.'
'Palia?'
'The girl he raised as his daughter. The mother was a prostitute, what the soldiers of Stone call a unit whore. She followed the army on campaigns, and attached herself to Vanni's unit. She became pregnant, and decided to have the child. The unit paid for her to return to Stone. They joked about which one had fathered the child. It could have been any of the twenty who had paid for her services -including Vanni.
'Then the real fighting began. It was fierce and terrible. Vanni's unit was trapped in the mountains, and all but wiped out. Vanni fought his way clear, and carried the one other survivor to safety. The man died under the surgeon's knife. When Vanni returned to Stone he sought out the whore, and discovered that she had been killed in a side street by an evil man. The child she had borne was being raised by the wife of the man who owned the brothel where she plied her trade. Vanni bought the child, and had her cared for by a good family. He paid for her clothes, and food and lodging, then for her schooling.'
'Why would he do that?' asked Bane. 'He did not know who fathered her.'
'Why did you save the horse in the river?' she countered.
'You were there?'
'I am everywhere, Bane. But I was talking about Vanni. He called the child Palia, and she grew to be a beautiful girl, both in body and nature. Yet she was delicate of soul. She fell in love with a man who used her, and cast her aside when she became pregnant. Her mind was unhinged by what she saw as his betrayal of her, and soon after the birth she took a knife, slashed her wrists and died.'
'The ghost Rage sees,' whispered Bane.
'Aye, the ghost.'
'So all he did was for nothing,' said Bane.
'Stupid child!' hissed the Morrigu. 'Such acts of kindness and love are never for nothing! They feed the world! Like a stone dropping into a pool they send out waves in every direction. They inspire and, in doing so, enhance spirit.'
'Did Rage kill the man who betrayed her?'
'No, he did not. The man was a soldier. His only crime was that he seduced Palia. He had made her no promises, and he had already left the city with the army to go on campaign. Vanni had become Rage by then, Gladiator One. But the death of Palia all but destroyed him. He fought on for a while, but his heart was broken. Then came the day when he could fight no more. He walked away from the arena, and brought his granddaughter to Goriasa.'
'You say you are fond of him,' said Bane,' and yet he is a killer. Is this not a contradiction?'
'You are all killers,' replied the Morrigu. 'But there is in Vanni a desire for spirit, and a great measure of goodness, kindness and compassion. He has what the Seidh term a great soul.'
Bane glanced down at the sleeping Rage. The cold of winter swept over the snow and Bane shivered.
'Ah there you are,' said Telors, emerging from the tree line. Bane flicked a glance to his right. But the Morrigu had gone. The black-bearded gladiator trudged across the snow and knelt by Rage. 'I knew he'd do this,' he said. That's why I stayed the night.'
Together they hauled Rage upright. Dipping down, Telors heaved the sleeping man over his shoulder, staggered, then began the long walk back. Halfway there, with Telors exhausted, Bane took over. Both men were more than weary as they reached the farmhouse. Bane laid Rage down on the rug by the fire in the main room. Telors took a cushion from a couch and placed it under Rage's head, then they covered him with a blanket and walked back into the kitchen. Telors lit a lantern, and poured himself a goblet of water.
'He drank a great deal,' said Bane. 'I've heard of men dyi
ng after imbibing like that.'
'I'll sit with him.'
Bane cut a slice of bread from a loaf, smeared it with butter, and joined Telors at the table. 'I thought he didn't drink strong spirit,' said Bane.
'He doesn't usually. It started back in Stone after ... a personal tragedy. Death bouts began to affect him, and after them he would get drunk then wander off somewhere. I always found him and brought him home.' Telors moved to a cupboard and took out a small jug of uisge, adding a measure to his cup of water. He offered the jug to Bane, who lifted it to his mouth and took several deep swallows.
'Did he talk much?' asked Telors.
'What about?'
'Oh, life ... his past?' Bane saw the worried look on Telors's face.
'No. He said something about coming from the stars. That's all.'
Telors looked relieved. 'He'll be fine in the morning. Cara will cook him breakfast. She's a sweet girl. I wouldn't like to see her hurt.'
Bane suddenly understood Telors's concern. Cara did not know of her mother's suicide, nor the truth of her background. Bane took another swallow of uisge. It was very strong, and he felt its effect almost immediately.
'Rage was magnificent in that bout yesterday,' he said, changing the subject. 'Fast, sure and deadly.'
'That's Rage,' said Telors, his face relaxing into a smile.
'Would he have beaten Voltan?'
'I see you're learning your history. Well, the answer is that I don't really know. Both were awesome in their prime. I guess if I had to put all my money on a fighter I'd pick Voltan. But if someone was fighting for my life I'd want it to be Rage. Does that answer your question?'