In an instant he saw a vision of two soldiers looming above the bed, and the swollen, angry face of Nalademus beyond them. The soldiers had knives in their hands and were reaching for him. In terror he sat bolt upright.
The vision vanished from his mind.
Clambering from the bed he grabbed the edge of the mattress and pushed it back. In the lantern light he saw a patch of wet upon the planks of the bedframe below it. When he touched it with his finger it felt sticky. Banouin lifted his hand, and saw that it was blood. Running to the washroom he cleaned his hand, then hurled the bloodstained towel to the floor. His heart was hammering, his mind awash with fear.
The man who had lived in this room had been murdered that day, killed in his bed while Nalademus watched. Then servants had removed the blood-drenched mattress, replacing it with another that did not quite fit. The murdered man had not been killed swiftly, for the blood had continued to flow, seeping through the mattress to the frame beneath. What had been his perceived crime? Banouin wondered.
Back in the main room Banouin drank some water, and gazed once more at the little porcelain figures. When at last exhaustion overcame him he walked back to the bed, pulled the mattress back in place.
Then slept fitfully on the couch.
A bad dream awoke him in the middle of the night, and he sat up shivering with fear. The memory of the dream drifted out of his consciousness like water falling through his fingers. All he could remember were sharp knives pricking at his skin.
Rising to his feet Banouin wandered out to the balcony. Stars were bright in a clear sky and he felt the tension easing from him. He wished he could close his eyes and let his spirit soar free, but that was impossible here, surrounded by stone. A cold wind blew and Banouin walked back to the couch and threw the blanket round his shoulders. Back inside the room he felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on his spirit. Returning to the balcony he sat down under the starlight, and gazed out over the city of Stone.
From here he could see the towers of the university building, and the awesome, moonlit majesty of the Palace of the Republic, where the emperor now dwelt. Stone is truly magnificent at night, he thought. And found himself filled with both sadness and shame. This was the city of his dreams, and because of that he had blinded himself to the truth. Yes, Stone was beautiful, but it was the beauty of the tomb, its glorious exterior merely hiding corruption and decay within.
The buildings had been designed and constructed by men of awesome talent, using only the finest materials. Those materials had been purchased by conquest, by the butchering of neighbouring races and civilizations. The foundation of Stone was blood. Every column, every statue, every block of every road was drenched in it.
Anger flared in Banouin, fuelled by self-loathing. Why did I not see it? he asked himself. The truth was as nakedly bright as the moon above. He had seen it, but had pushed it away to a dark, and hopefully forgotten, corner of his mind, concentrating instead on the more positive aspects of city life: the university and the Great Museum, the libraries and the architecture. In this way his selfish dream had stayed alive. But coming here, to the Temple, this place of concentrated evil, had lit a torch, and by its light all the ugliness of Stone was laid bare.
He wished he could run from here, all the way to the Park of Phesus, to sit beneath the willow and free his spirit to soar in the sweetness and purity of the night.
'Come sit with me, Banouin,' came a voice. Banouin surged to his feet and spun round. The doorway to his room had disappeared. Where the frame had been was now a bower of honeysuckle, thick and heavily scented. The room had disappeared also, and he saw the Morrigu, heavily veiled and sitting on a tree trunk just beyond the honeysuckle. A fire was glowing in a circle of stones before her, and Banouin could smell the musky odours of the forest: wet earth and rotting leaves.
The Morrigu beckoned to him, and he moved to the fire, squatting down beside it and pushing his hands into the soft earth. The scent and sounds of the forest soaked into him, filling his spirit. Drawing his hands from the earth he held them to his face, and drew in a deep breath.
'Look at you, citizen of Stone,' said the Morrigu, 'grubbing your hands into the soil like an animal. Do you miss the dirt, Banouin?'
'You may mock me, lady, and perhaps I deserve it. But I never smelled a sweeter scent in all my life.'
'And do you know why?'
'Yes I do,' he told her. There is life in this earth, vibrant life. There are seeds waiting to grow, and insects are burrowing through the soil. It is rich and fertile, and crying out for growth. It is beautiful,' he said.
'Ah then, perhaps you can take a handful back to the city with you. You can carry it to the university and say to them: "Look, the Rigante boy has brought you some mud." And they will garland you with flowers, and perhaps declare a day of celebration in your honour.'
'You are in a foul mood today,' he said.
'I delivered you, Banouin. Your little eyes were closed against the brightness of the lantern's glare. They have remained closed ever since. Now they begin to open. You want me to applaud? You hold that earth in your hands and you talk of its fertility. All that is true. But why is it feeding you now? Why does it lift you? Answer me that!'
'I ... I don't know.'
'Stupid child. It is not your flesh that it feeds. It is your spirit. And from your spirit comes your power. I have watched you in Stone, running to old willow and freeing your spirit to fly back to Caer Druagh. Oh, how happy you were. Did you never question why old willow brought you freedom? Or why you could not use your talents to the full anywhere else in Stone? No, of course you did not. You were so full of your selfish dreams. Old willow stands on the last sacred spot in these five hills. All the others are covered now. Entombed. And the spirit of the land withers and dies.'
'I know it now,' said Banouin. 'I understand that Stone is a city of evil. And I am sorry it has taken me so long to realize it.'
'Trust me, child, you still do not realize the significance. This world - all worlds - survive only because of the harmony between spirit and matter. The dirt in your hands is charged with spirit, fresh and full and wondrously magical. Without the spirit it would be lifeless. No seeds would grow, no insects thrive. Once - when I was young - this world was ablaze with spirit. Throw a seed into the air and wherever it landed it would sprout and grow tall. The Seidh prospered here - along with scores of thousands of spirit creatures. Men called us gods, and worshipped us. And we helped man. We raised him from the earth, and taught him to look at the stars. Did we do this because we loved man? No. It was because we saw in man a creature capable of feeding the spirit of the world. Each act of selflessness, of love, of courage and compassion added to the world's energy.' She gave a harsh laugh and threw another dry stick to the fire. 'Of course every act of greed and vileness drained the spirit. It will surprise you not at all to learn that evil men devour the spirit many times faster than good men can enhance it. Like a statue, I suppose. A good craftsman can create a masterpiece in four or five years. A fool with a hammer can destroy it in a few heartbeats.
'We laboured long to find a balance. We struggled to teach man the error of his ways. Quite simply we failed. And one by one the spirit creatures left this world in search of other, more pleasant homes. The more foolish of us stayed behind, still trying to teach errant, arrogant man. And, as the spirit withered, so too did we. You asked me once why I chose to look this way. I did not choose it, Banouin. You chose it. You and your race.'
'I am sorry,' he said, the words sounding lame and entirely inadequate.
'Don't tell me how sorry you are, Banouin. Show me!'
The world spun. Banouin opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the balcony. There was no ivy clinging to the door frame, no fire dying in the circle of stones.
But upon his hands there was the smell of sweet earth.
For three days Nalademus continued to improve, but on the fourth he suffered a pounding headache. Banouin heard h
im hurling crockery across the room, and shouting obscenities at a servant. He hurried along the corridor.
'I'll pluck out your eyes, you clumsy oaf!' screamed Nalademus, as the servant cowered by the door, his head in his hands.
Banouin felt the rage from Nalademus like a blow, which almost made him step back. Instead he fastened to the emotion, gentling it, and radiating it back to its bearer, softened and changed. The Stone elder stood towering over the servant and his fists unclenched. He shook his massive head. 'Get out,' he told the frightened man. 'Go on, away with you.' The servant scrambled clear and sped along the corridor. Nalademus turned to Banouin. 'My head is splitting.'
'Sit down, lord. I shall soothe it for you.' The big man sank into a deep chair and Banouin moved behind him. Nalademus tensed instantly. 'I will do you no harm, lord,' said Banouin softly, placing his fingers on the elder's temples. Closing his eyes Banouin drew out the pain, easing the rigid muscles of the neck and shoulders.
'That is good,' whispered Nalademus. 'The pain is almost gone.'
'I fear it is my fault, lord. Some of the herbs I use do have secondary effects. Headaches are not uncommon, and they can be extremely severe. I shall lessen the amounts.'
Banouin moved away from the elder, but Nalademus bade him sit in a chair opposite. 'You have great skills, young man. How may I show my gratitude to you?'
'You already have, lord, by freeing Sencra. By your leave, I will remain here for two more days until your recovery is complete, then return to my studies and my work at the university.'
'You will reside here, Banouin,' said Nalademus. 'You will receive a handsome salary, and a carriage will take you to the university on any days you choose.'
'Thank you, lord,' said Banouin, his heart sinking.
'Now tell me about Bendegit Bran.'
Banouin's jaw dropped. 'Why, lord?' he stammered.
'He arrived in the city ten days ago, as a guest of our emperor. He and a brutish general named Fiallach travelled under escort from Goriasa. They are staying in a villa overlooking the bay. I will probably have to meet them myself, and would be grateful if you could tell me something of them.'
Banouin gathered his thoughts. 'Bran is the half-brother of our king, Connavar, lord. He is also a general of the Horse Archers, and governs the northern lands of the Pannone. He is a good man, and was always very kind to me and my mother.'
'Is he a married man?'
'Yes. He had two children when I left Caer Druagh.'
'What of his ambitions? Does he seek to rule himself?'
'I don't believe so, lord. He is devoted to Connavar. Might I ask why the emperor invited them here?'
'That is for the emperor to know, Banouin. Not mere servants like you and me.' Banouin sensed the anger underlying the words. 'And what of Fiallach?'
'He is a mighty warrior - probably the strongest man in all Rigante lands. He must be over fifty now, but he is awesome to behold, six feet six inches tall, with enormous shoulders. He is ferocious in battle, utterly fearless and without mercy. He is one of three generals who lead divisions of the Iron Wolves, Connavar's heavy cavalry.'
'You like him?' asked Nalademus.
'He is a hard man to like, lord. But I do not dislike him.'
'And you would class him as loyal to Connavar?'
'Utterly. They were enemies once, when Connavar was a young man. Both loved the same girl, and she chose Connavar. But they have been friends now for twenty years.'
'And what of Braefar?'
'Is he here too, lord?'
'No, but I have heard him spoken of.'
'He is the Laird of Three Streams, and another half-brother to Connavar. He is a very clever man.'
'Do I hear a but in your voice?'
'I believe he feels he should have had greater duties than he has. He complains publicly about his talents being underused.'
'And are they underused?' asked Nalademus softly.
'I don't believe they are,' said Banouin. 'Whenever Connavar has offered him more responsibility something has always gone wrong. Braefar always blamed others for their shortcomings, accepting no responsibility for the errors and mistakes.'
'Interesting,' said Nalademus. 'I thank you for your time. Now I must get to work. I shall have a carriage ready for you to attend the university. Please convey my good wishes to Sencra.'
'I shall, lord,' said Banouin, rising. 'And I shall return by dusk to prepare more medicine.'
Banouin bowed and left the Stone elder.
An hour later he was strolling through the main hallway of the university building, and out into the Park of Phesus. A light rain was falling, but Banouin ignored it and ran along the white path to the willow. Pushing aside the trailing branches he sat down on the curved stone bench and relaxed his mind. His spirit soared free, floating high above the city. Swiftly he sped over the waters of the bay, hovering over the fine villas with waterside views. One by one he flew through them, seeking out his countrymen.
And then he saw them, walking together in a terraced garden. Bran seemed worried, his handsome features grim as he listened to his companion. Fiallach looked older, and there was silver in his braided yellow hair and drooping moustache. It felt good to be close to them, and Banouin realized in that moment just how much he missed the mountains of home. He wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but decided that would be rude, and flew back to his body.
He opened his eyes, and saw the dark-haired Maro leaning over him. 'I thought you had fainted,' said Maro. 'Are you all right?'
'I am fine.'
'We thought the worst when you failed to return. Then Sencra came back, and told us you had spoken up for him with Nalademus himself. That was a fine deed, Banouin.'
'He was innocent. I just explained it, that's all.'
'Heroes should always be modest,' said Maro. 'Or so my father always tells me. Come, let's go to the library. You can tell me of your adventures.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bendegit Bran stood before the Emperor and bowed low. Beside him the huge general Fiallach followed his lead. Straightening Bran waved his hand and Fiallach stepped forward, bearing an ornately carved wooden box. 'I bring you greetings from my king,' said Bran, 'and a gift.'
Jasaray, seated on a gilded throne, summoned the tribesman forward. Bran noted that the three guards in silver armour standing close to the emperor were tense and ready to spring forward at the first sign of treachery. Hardly surprising, thought Bran. Fiallach was a massive man, with fierce blue eyes and a long-standing - and well-chronicled - hatred of Stone. Jasaray himself seemed perfectly at ease. Fiallach lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestling on velvet, was an exquisite dagger, with a blade of silver steel and a hilt of gold, encrusted with pale blue gems. The pommel held a huge black opal, which had been superbly carved into the shape of a panther's head. Jasaray reached out and lifted the dagger clear. It seemed to Bran that the weapon looked incongruous in the old man's hand, and he understood in that moment why he was once known as Scholar to his men. Jasaray could not have looked less like a warrior emperor. He was skinny and slightly round-shouldered, his hair thinning, his face long and ascetic. He could have been a philosopher or a teacher, rather than the most gifted general Stone had produced.
'It is a charming piece,' said Jasaray to Bran, ignoring Fiallach. 'Please convey my gratitude to your brother, Connavar.'
Bran looked into the emperor's eyes and felt the thrill of fear. For in that gaze he saw the keen intelligence of the man. 'My king says to tell you that he remembers with great affection the time he spent with you on the Perdii campaign, and he will be delighted to hear that you are in good health.'
'Indeed I am, Lord Bran. Which is more, I understand, than can be said for your brother. How are his 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.'
&nb
sp; '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.