Returning to the main room she glanced around the well-crafted walls, the shelves and the cabinets. There was a feeling of peace here and contentment that must have come from Meria's first husband, Ruathain. It certainly had never emanated from Meria herself. Gwen's own house at Golden Rocks was like this, built with care and filled with objects that spoke of love and devotion. On the far wall of the main room at home there was a piece of polished oak, carved into a heart, bearing her name. It was the first gift Bran had given her, eighteen and a half years ago. They had met at the Samain Feast. Gwen, being shy, had sat herself away from the crowd, and Bran had seen her and wandered over. Watching the golden-haired young man heading for her Gwen had felt fearful. She wished for no company, and turned her head away, hoping he would pass by. But he had not.
He had halted before her and asked, politely, if he could sit. Her shyness had, at first, made speech impossible, so she merely nodded. The dancing had begun by the fire, the music of the pipes blaring out. 'Do you dance?' he asked her. She shook her head. 'I like to dance sometimes,' he said, his voice soft, almost musical. 'Last week I was riding in the high hills above the loch, and the setting sunlight kissed the waters, turning them to gold. I felt like leaping from my pony and dancing with joy.'
'And did you?' she found herself asking.
'Aye, I did. A proper fool I must have looked, cavorting over the grass. My horse stood watching me, and I could see in his eyes that he thought me mad. But then he is an old horse, and he views the world with great cynicism.'
'How does one tell if a horse is cynical?' she enquired. He was sitting beside her, looking back towards the fire. This made Gwen feel a little more at ease, for she did not like to be stared at. His profile was very fine, and she saw in his face a gentleness often missing from Rigante men.
'Well,' he said at last, 'my horse and I have many conversations. I tell him of my hopes and dreams as I ride, and he listens. Occasionally, when I speak of my more romantic beliefs, he will toss his head and snort. That is his way of telling me that the world is not as I would wish it to be.'
'He sounds very wise, your horse.'
'Indeed he is.'
They sat in silence for a while, and Gwen was surprised to find that his company was not at all intrusive. He applied no pressure, was not inquisitive. He merely sat, completely at ease, watching the fire dancers as they leapt and twirled. She wanted to ask his name, but that would have meant initiating a conversation, so she too watched the dancers.
After a while he spoke again. 'Do you know the land to the east of Golden Rocks, where the woods back onto cliffs of sandstone and the river widens?'
'Yes,' she told him. 'It is very pretty there.'
'I plan to build a house there. I plan to build it with stone.'
'Stone? Why would you have a house of stone?'
'I want it to last. I want my children and my children's children to come there, and know the joy I experienced. I intend to have large windows facing west, so that the setting sun can shine upon my hearth. I mentioned this to my horse, and he did not snort once.'
'Then you must do it,' she said. 'One should never ignore the advice of a wise horse.'
He laughed then, and she smiled. Never before had she made a joke, and though it was not a particularly good one it was a breakthrough for Gwen. She wished he would tell her his name.
'Do you have other wise animals?' she asked him.
'No. I have a very stupid hound. We call him the Old One. He does not like other dogs, but will pad across the meadows in the early morning, ignoring all the rabbits. They are so used to him that they carry on feeding as he passes by. He likes rabbits. One of my other hounds - a young rascal named Piga - took off one morning on a rabbit hunt. The Old One charged at him, nipping his shoulder and driving him from the meadow. Then he sat down, and all the rabbits came back out of their burrows and began feeding again. I am very much mocked by my fellows for the antics of the Old One.'
A red-headed woman approached them. 'There you are,' she called. 'Come, Bran, as the Master of the Feast you should be at table.'
He waved at her. That is my mother, Meria. Commanding, isn't she? Well, I must go and do my duty.' He rose and strolled away.
Gwen found that she missed his company even as he began the
walk back to the feast tables. Suddenly he turned and strolled back. 'Come,' he said, holding out his hand. 'We can dine together.'
Fear flickered once more, but she took his hand and he raised her to her feet. They were married five weeks later.
Now, as she gazed around the house in which Bran had grown to manhood, Gwen felt only sadness. Her son had been so strong, so quick and so full of life. It amazed her how swiftly that strength had evaporated. And now he was gone.
The door opened and Meria strode in. 'Can you believe the stupidity of that woman?' she said. The calm atmosphere disappeared in an instant.
'Which woman?' asked Gwen, returning to her chair.
'Vorna. She had a dream that Sea Wolves were coming across the land to Three Streams, and that we should all just leave and run away into the wilderness. I'm sure some people will. Idiots all of them.'
'It is said she once had great power.'
'Aye she did. But not any more. Now she is merely wilful.'
'Why do you hate her so?' asked Gwen.
'She befriended the bastard Bane - the man who has sworn to kill Connavar. Can you imagine that? Such treachery? She should have been hanged!'
Gwen said nothing. She walked back into the bedroom, anxious to be away from Meria and her radiated unpleasantness. Orrin was still sleeping. It had been over four hours now, and he rarely slept so long in the daytime. Gwen sat beside the bed and gently shook his shoulder. 'Time to wake, little one. I shall toast some bread for you.'
He did not stir. Gwen rolled him to his back. His eyes were dark-ringed, his skin gleaming with sweat. 'No!' she whispered. Then she cried out: 'Orrin! Orrin!'
Meria came into the room. 'What on earth is this noise about?' she asked. Then she saw the still figure of the child. 'Oh no!' she said, rushing to the bedside. 'It cannot be!' She placed her fingers upon the child's throat, feeling for the pulse. 'He is alive,' she said. 'But his heart is racing!'
'It is just like my Ru,' cried Gwen. Meria said nothing. The evidence was all too clear.
Gwen gathered the child in her arms and lifted him from the bed.
'What are you doing?' Meria asked.
'I am taking him to Vorna.'
I forbid it!' shouted Meria, storming to her feet.
'I have one dead son,' replied Gwen. 'I will not lose another because of you.'
She carried Orrin out into the dusk and across the field to the house of Vorna.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Vorna laid the comatose child upon her own bed and looked up at the mother, seeing the terrible fear in her eyes. 'Go to the kitchen,' she said. 'Boil some water for a tisane.'
'He cannot drink,' said Gwen.
'No, but we can. Go. Do it now while I examine him.'
'Please don't let him die!' said Gwen, dissolving into tears.
'I will do what I can. Go. Make some tisane for us. I take mine unsweetened. You will find camomile in the blue jar beside the oven.'
Turning away from the woman Vorna laid her hand on the boy's head. Closing her eyes she allowed her spirit to flow into the child. He was dying. Of that there was no doubt, the organs of his body close to collapse. At first Vorna could find no reason for his condition, and she flowed deeper, her spirit merging with the blood streaming through his veins. His kidneys were the greatest source of concern, and Vorna concentrated her power there, strengthening the tissue. Even as she healed the organs she felt them come under fresh attack. It was just as Banouin had told her, concerning his treatment of Ruathain. Every time an area underwent healing it almost immediately began to weaken again.
Orrin's labouring heart suddenly gave out. Vorna sent a burst of energy into it. It flickered,
then began to beat once more.
Vorna honed her concentration, flowing yet deeper into the bloodstream. Now she could feel the vital elements within the flow. Still she could detect no sign of disease. The liver began to fail, and Vorna strengthened it. Then the kidneys weakened once more, and she boosted them with fresh energy. She was tiring now, and still there was no clue to what was killing the child.
Vorna withdrew from the boy. His colour was a little better, his breathing easier. Gwen returned to the room, carrying mugs of tisane. Vorna saw her spirit soar as she looked down upon her son.
'Do not get your hopes up, Gwen,' said Vorna sternly. 'I cannot yet identify the source of his sickness. Sit quietly by and do not in any circumstances speak to me unless I ask you to. You understand?'
'Yes,' said Gwen meekly.
Vorna gazed at the child's waxen skin. Think, she told herself. Whatever is causing this is powerful indeed, and yet why had he not succumbed earlier? If it was a sickness, surely he should have caught it from Ruathain far sooner than this. As should the mother, and any others with close contact to the boy. Therefore it was not like the plague or any contact-borne sickness. Yet there had to be a link.
The boy's heart stopped again. Vorna's spirit eased once more through the skin, sending a bolt of energy to the stricken organ. Orrin's body convulsed, then the heart began again. Vorna withdrew and turned to Gwen. 'You say the sickness began only today? No indications before this?'
'None. He has always been healthy. Aren't you going to do something?'
'I am doing something, Gwen. Stay calm.'
Vorna returned her attention to the child. The surface of his skin was hot, his body battling to bring down the fever temperature. Vorna flowed deeper, once more repairing the liver and kidneys. She had never come across anything like this before. It was as if the disease was continually invading the child.
For another hour she fought on, but she was now tiring rapidly. Pulling back from his body she slumped in her chair and sipped her cold tisane. Whatever had killed Ruathain was now destroying his brother. Again she turned to Gwen. 'How long was Ruathain sick?'
'Almost a year now. At first he just felt weak, and had no appetite. He would sleep all the time. Then, as the months passed, he grew weaker and weaker. He rallied when Banouin tended him - but only for a while. Why has it struck Orrin so savagely? He looks now like my Ru at the end.'
'Orrin is younger. Perhaps that is the key. Perhaps a strapping lad can fight off this . . . this malady with more strength than a child. But there is a link here that we must find. Otherwise he will not last the night.'
Closing her eyes she entered his body again, but this time, instead of joining the bloodstream, she floated just below the surface of his skin, helping to ease out the fever. When she reached the area of his chest she felt a sudden burning that caused her to flee to the sanctuary of her body. Rising from her chair she moved to a tall chest under the window, upon which lay some balls of thread and a long pair of scissors. Returning to the bedside she cut open the little boy's tunic.
Upon his chest lay a ring of white gold, with a moonstone at the centre. Orrin had hung it round his neck with a long leather thong.
'What is this?' asked Vorna, cutting the thong and lifting the ring clear.
'It is Ruathain's ring. Orrin must have taken it as a keepsake, to remind him of his brother.'
Vorna laid the ring upon the floor, then returned to the child. Now, as she flowed through him, healing the tortured tissue, there was no secondary attack. Orrin's heartbeat grew stronger, his fever abating.
Vorna covered him with a blanket. 'He looks a little better,' said Gwen.
'He is well,' Vorna told her. 'The evil is gone from him.' Lifting the ring on the end of her scissors she examined it. It was beautifully crafted. 'Where did Ruathain acquire this?' she asked.
'Meria gave it to him. It was originally a gift for Connavar from a Stone merchant, but the king does not wear rings. So Meria gave it to Ru. Why do you ask?'
Vorna walked to the kitchen, returning with a flat length of black slate which she laid on the chest by the window. Lifting a lantern from a bracket on the wall she placed it alongside the slate, then dropped the ring onto the gleaming black surface. As Gwen watched, Vorna held her hand over the ring and whispered a Word of Power. The temperature in the room plummeted, and upon the slate ice formed instantly. The moonstone glowed bright, then cracked open. Grey fluid oozed from the stone, spreading out across the slate. Vorna snapped her fingers, and the temperature rose once more. Gwen stared at the ruined ring.
'It is poison,' said Vorna, 'distilled by a mistress of the craft. She split the stone, hollowed out the centre, and made many imperceptible holes through the surface. Then she filled the centre with poison, remade the stone, and set it within this ring of white gold. Once the moonstone touched human skin it would slowly seep its poison into the blood. It was obviously meant to kill Connavar.'
'Then all I had to do to save Ru was remove the ring?' said Gwen. 'Oh, sweet heaven!'
'Do not blame yourself, Gwen. You could not know. The fault is not yours.'
'Yes, it is,' said Gwen. 'I wanted to come to you and ask you to tend my son. But I did not. Had I done so my Ru would still be alive.'
'Mam!' said Orrin. 'Mam!'
Gwen went to the bedside. 'Hello, my little one,' she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes, Mam. I was sitting with Ruathain, and there was this bright light. And I woke up.' He looked around. 'Where are we, Mam?'
'You have been sick, little one, but Vorna healed you. This is Vorna. Say thank you.'
'Thank you, Vorna,' he said obediently.
'It was my pleasure, young man.'
Orrin's eyes closed and he fell asleep. Gwen brushed the hair back from his brow and kissed him tenderly. 'I don't have the words to express my gratitude,' she said. 'What can I do to thank you?'
'Leave here tomorrow with those heading west,' said Vorna. 'For death is coming to Three Streams, and my powers can do nothing to prevent it.'
It was more than four hours after Bane had seen the vision before the first of the outlaws walked from the forest. In that time Bane ordered a steer slaughtered and a fire pit dug, and as the men made their way towards the farmhouse the smell of roasting beef filled the air.
The first to arrive was the slender, round-shouldered Wik, and with him were some forty men, mostly armed with longbows and daggers. Bane greeted them, and Iswain began to cut meat for them. There were not enough plates, but Iswain had gathered sections of broken black slate, which she had stacked on a long trestle table. 'How many still to come?' asked Bane.
Wik shrugged. 'Valian is scouring the other small camps. Maybe another sixty. Maybe less. What is this about?'
'Let's talk inside,' said Bane.
The two men wandered into the farmhouse. Bane did not know Wik well, but his impression was not a good one. Wik was a man who lacked the appetite for work of any kind. Lazy and untrustworthy, he would sooner live in squalor and semi-starvation for months in the hope of one good robbery than labour for his daily food. What he possessed, in Bane's opinion, was an animal cunning, and an ability to gather to him like-minded souls. The man was not unintelligent, but nor was he as bright as he believed. Bane watched as Wik's dirty fingers tore at the rich meat. 'Well?' asked the outlaw leader, juices flowing to his wispy brown beard.
'I want to hire you and your men,' said Bane. 'For five days.'
Wik belched. 'You have anything to drink here?' he asked.
'Ale or uisge?'
'Uisge would be good.'
Bane took a jug from the cupboard and poured a generous measure into a clay cup. Wik downed it in one. 'Hire them for what?' he asked.
'To fight. Why else?'
'Who are we to fight?'
'Sea Wolves. They are heading for Three Streams.'
Wik finished his meal, and licked his fingers. 'How many Sea Wolves?'
'
Two . . . maybe three hundred.'
Wik laughed and shook his head. 'Are you insane, man? We will have maybe a hundred men. Lazy turds most of them. Aye, and cowards among them.'
'But you are no coward,' said Bane.
'I am not an idiot either. Where are Connavar's soldiers? Where are these famed Iron Wolves?'
'There are twenty of them at Three Streams, the rest are near Seven Willows ready to take on the Vars king and his army.'
Wik thought for a moment. 'Then we should be sacking Three Streams first. Twenty soldiers my men can take.'
'I plan to offer every one of your men two gold pieces for five days' work.'
Wik's eyes widened. 'Man, that's a fortune! You have that much gold here?'
'Of course I do not,' said Bane. 'But it is close by, buried and waiting. You I will offer ten gold pieces.'
'You are richer than I thought, Bane. What, in the name of Taranis, are you doing living in this place? You could have a palace!'
'I am where I wish to be. What you must consider is where you wish to be.'
'What does that mean?'
'It is very simple. Among the people at Three Streams are relatives of the king. His mother is there, as is the wife of Bendegit Bran and her children. The man who saves them from the Sea Wolves - and that is you, Wik - will be offered great rewards. Your crimes will be pardoned, and it is likely you will have more gold than you can spend. No more sitting in the mud of a forest camp. You will have the palace you desire.'