Bane shrugged. The only men who will die by my blade are those who choose to attack me. That is their choice, not mine. I knew that black-bearded whoreson would come back. So I rested a little, then went out to meet them.'
'You enjoyed it, though, didn't you?' accused Banouin. 'As you cut his throat you felt a surge of exultation.'
'Aye, I did!' snapped Bane. 'And what of it? He was my enemy and I vanquished him. That is what true men do. We fight and we know pride - and we leave the women to sit in the corners and wail over the dead.'
True men?' said Banouin slowly. 'Of course. True men do not wish to live quiet lives, in harmony with their neighbours. They don't waste time poring over useless scrolls and trying to assimilate the wisdom of the ancients. They don't long for a world without wars and bloodshed and death. No. True men joy in the slitting of throats in the dark.'
Bane shook his head. 'I won't argue with you, Banouin. If words were arrows you'd be the deadliest man alive. But this is not a debate. They came to kill us. One of them died for it. And no, it doesn't touch me. Any more than it did when I aimed that blow at Forvar's neck.'
All colour drained from Banouin's face. 'You mean you meant to kill him?'
'Aye, I meant to kill him. And I have not suffered a moment of regret since.'
'That is where you and I are different,' said Banouin sadly. 'I have not known a day when I have not thought of it with regret.'
'This is a pointless conversation,' said Bane. 'And you have made me forget my dream.'
CHAPTER TWO
On the fifth day they entered the lands of the Southern Rigante, a wide, rolling plain that seemed to stretch before them into eternity. Looking back Banouin could see no sign of Caer Druagh. The mountains of his home were more than two hundred miles distant now. For the next ten days he and Bane rode ever south, spending their nights in villages and settlements. They were always made welcome, for all the tribespeople were anxious for news of Connavar, the Demon King. Did he have plans to ride south and smash the armies of Stone and the treacherous Genii? Was he wed, and did he have an heir? Banouin had little to tell them, but Bane was a great storyteller and a fine singer, and he would sit with the tribesmen in the evenings, drinking ale and swapping tall stories, and finally leading them in a series of rousing songs. Not once did he mention that he was Connavar's son, nor did he speak disrespectfully of the king while with strangers. This surprised Banouin, and he asked his companion about it one morning as they rode away from a settlement.
'I have reason to hate him,' said Bane, his expression unusually serious. 'But he did save these people when Valanus led the Panthers north. It was Connavar and the Iron Wolves who crushed the advance, and drove the enemy back into the lands of the Genii. I cannot take that away from him. My hatred is mine alone.'
On the eighteenth day they reached the River Wir, and journeyed by flat-bottomed boat for two hundred miles. The days were pleasant on the water, watching the countryside glide by. At the start Banouin was nervous of the four-man crew, who seemed to him to be cut-throats. Bane laughed his fears away. He and the crew got on famously. Each night they would moor the craft near settlements, allowing the two companions to lead their mounts ashore to feed.
One evening, the day they crossed the border into Norvii lands, Bane got into an argument with a huge tribesman and they moved outside to settle it with fists. The fight was fast, furious and ugly, but at the close, with both men bloodied and bruised, Bane suddenly began to laugh.
'What is so funny?' asked his opponent.
'Well,' said Bane, 'you are the ugliest whoreson I've ever seen. But the more I beat upon your face the better-looking it gets.'
The men crowding around burst into laughter. At last even the fighter grinned. 'You're a cocky little game-bird,' he said.
'I am indeed. Can I buy you a drink?'
'Why not?' replied the man.
Banouin could not duplicate Bane's easy familiarity with the people they met, and would often find himself sitting alone in a corner, observing. He envied, with just a touch of bitterness, Bane's ability to make friends. Banouin thought about the river crew. Hard men who would think nothing of killing a passenger and heaving his body over the side had warmed to Bane as if he were a blood relative. It was mystifying. Yet Bane was not always full of camaraderie. Often he would fall silent for long periods, his expression dark and brooding. Sometimes, when in such a mood, he would avoid settlements and the two travellers would go ashore and camp out in woods or hollows. He would talk then of his sadness for the life his mother had led, and how she had been shunned by the folk of Three Streams.
'Not all of them,' Banouin pointed out, as they sat in the moonlight beside a small fire. 'She used to visit my mother. And the Big Man was good to you both.'
'I don't remember him,' said Bane. 'I was too young when he died. But my mother spoke of him often. She said she was sitting, cradling me, in grandfather's forge three nights after her husband cast her out. Ruathain came to her there. He asked her if her husband had given me a soul-name. She said that he had not. The Big Man told her that he had been out walking on the night of my birth, and he had seen a falcon flying through the night sky. This was a rare thing, he said, and he felt that it was an omen. Whenever she told me this story my mother's eyes would fill with tears. She said he put his arm round her and asked if she would accept Midnight Falcon as my soul-name.' Bane sighed. 'It was the first act of tenderness she had experienced following my birth. It was said that Ruathain's wife was furious with him, and demanded he see no more of my mother. He refused, and often visited her, to see how we were faring. I wish I could remember him. He was a great man, by all accounts.'
'Aye, he was,' said Banouin. 'My mother warned him not to go to that last battle. Told him he would die if he did. But he went anyway, to protect Connavar. Mother knew he would. Said it broke her heart.'
'She was in love with him?'
'I never asked her. Maybe she was. It's not something you think about with old people, is it?'
Bane had laughed then, his good humour restored. 'My grandparents used to make their bed creak most nights.'
'Oh, that's disgusting,' said Banouin. 'Thank you for putting that image in my mind before I sleep.'
On the day they left the boat to continue their journey overland Banouin had seen genuine regret in the eyes of the crew. They wished Bane good luck on his travels, and made him promise to seek them out when he returned, so they could hear of his adventures. Not one of them bade farewell to Banouin.
The journey south was slower now, as they entered the great Forest of Filair. Settlements were further apart, and the riders had to veer many miles east or west in order to purchase supplies and food. At each stop they enquired as to the location of the next village before moving on. Banouin purchased a pack pony in order to carry more supplies, and Bane traded in his old bronze sword to acquire a leaf-shaped iron blade and a short hunting bow with a quiver of twenty arrows.
It was pouring with rain when the riders reached the forest's end. The plain of Cogden stretched out before them, flat and empty save for the four huge mounds erected above those fallen in the battle. Banouin shivered when he saw the Barrows. Twenty-eight thousand had died here on that terrible day. He had hoped to arrive at the battlefield much earlier in the day, so that they might ride through it in daylight. But Bane's horse had thrown a shoe, and they had been forced to detour to a settlement where a blacksmith forged and fitted a new one.
Now, with dusk fast approaching, they would have to camp in this desolate place. It did not seem to worry Bane. As night fell the rain eased away. Somehow Bane managed to light a fire, which hissed and spluttered against the damp wood. Spreading his cloak on the wet ground Bane was soon asleep. Banouin sat alone, feeding branches to the flames.
Fear touched him, and he glanced around. Nothing was to be seen, save for the four Barrows and the bright moon. The fear grew, unfocused and all-consuming. His mouth was dry, his heart beating wildly.
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Then he felt their presence . . .
At first all he could see was the night mist, rolling across the field; then it changed, flowing and rising until Banouin could see grey forms, the figures of men, cold and silent. For a moment he thought the scene was born of his fear, unreal - invented. Then the figures took clearer shape, becoming ten ranks of fighting men moving slowly across Cogden Field. Clad in helms of ghostly iron with embossed ear-guards, they carried long, rectangular shields and short stabbing swords.
This was the long-dead army of Stone. Banouin stared at them. Their forms were translucent, and shimmered in the moonlight. When they reached the Barrows, instead of climbing them, they passed right through. There was no sound. The advancing line broke into a run. Banouin glanced to his right. There, pale and spectral, was another line, this time of brightly armoured horsemen. Silently they charged at the enemy, swords as pale as moonlight slashing into them. Banouin saw a man stagger back, his arm hacked from his body. Then a spear ripped through his guts and he fell, the spear snapping in two. Horses fell, pitching their riders, who were stabbed mercilessly as they struggled to rise. All the terrible sights of war unfolded in eerie silence before his eyes.
A black crow glided down to the grass close by and stood, its baleful glare fixed on Banouin. Then a voice sounded from behind, startling him. 'These are scenes men sing of, and brag of, and lust after.' Banouin spun round. An old woman stood there, her shoulders hunched beneath a threadbare shawl, her hands clasping a long, crooked staff. Her hair was thin and wispy white, like mist clinging to her skull. She was impossibly ancient. Banouin's heart began to beat wildly. He knew of this woman, this creature of the
Seidh. This was the Morrigu, whose promises tasted of nectar and burned like poison. The young man said nothing, but his dark eyes flicked towards the sleeping Bane. 'He cannot hear me, and he will not wake,' said the Morrigu. 'Will you bid me welcome to your hearth?'
'You . . . are not welcome here,' he forced himself to say.
'How that cuts me,' she said with a sneer. 'You, who I delivered safe when nature had decreed your death.'
'I don't know what you are talking about,' he told her.
'Vorna did not speak of me, then? How disappointing. On the night you were born her life was in danger. The babe - the you that was to be - was breeched, and there were no midwives, no druids on hand to save her - or you. So I came. And you were delivered by these old hands.'
'I don't believe you.'
'Yes, you do, Banouin. It is part of the Gift. You always sense when people are lying.'
'Even if you did save me, I don't doubt you had your own reasons,' he said, his voice firmer.
'Indeed I did.' She paused. 'Well, if I am not welcome here, will you at least walk with me awhile?'
'Why would I wish to?'
'Perhaps to prove to yourself that you are not the coward you believe yourself to be. Perhaps to repay your debt to me. Perhaps out of curiosity.' She stepped closer, and he could see that the skin beneath her right eye had peeled back, exposing the bone beneath. Banouin recoiled. 'Or perhaps because of your love for your sleeping friend.' Once more Banouin looked down at Bane. Something moved upon his friend's chest, and Banouin saw it was a coiled snake. It slithered up, then laid its flat head on Bane's neck.
'Don't kill him,' pleaded Banouin.
'I have no wish to kill anyone,' said the Morrigu. 'All I wish for is a walk across this field of the slain.'
'I will come with you,' he said. 'Make the snake disappear.'
'What snake?' she asked. Banouin glanced down. Bane was sleeping peacefully. The serpent had gone.
The Morrigu trudged past Banouin, leaning heavily on her staff. The young man followed, and they walked out onto the battlefield. The struggle was titanic, with neither side giving ground. The army of Stone fought with discipline and courage, while the tribesmen battled with passion and desperate bravery. Time and again Banouin saw acts of individual heroism that went unnoticed by the participants: a slim Rigante, standing astride a fallen comrade, trying to protect him; a soldier of Stone, his sword broken, charging into the mass of tribesmen, slamming his shield at them, and trying to wrest a fresh blade from the hands of the enemy.
'Why do they still fight?' he asked the Morrigu.
'They do not know they are dead,' she answered.
'How can they not know?'
'The arrogance of man,' she replied.
They walked on. Banouin saw a tall, handsome Stone officer, with close-cropped hair, waving his short sword above his head. Like a windblown echo he heard a thin, piping call to arms. 'One more charge, lads! One more charge and we'll have the day!'
'Who is that?' he asked.
'That is Valanus - the most famous of all Stone generals.'
'Famous?' queried Banouin. 'It is my understanding that to speak his name aloud in Stone is a criminal offence. He was the first Stone general to lose a major battle against barbarians.'
'That is still fame,' she said. 'Every man knows of him and his deeds. It is what he wanted. Indeed, it is what he asked for.'
The ghostly fighting continued until not one of the combatants was still standing. Banouin and the Morrigu reached the top of the nearest Barrow and the young man looked down upon the field of the fallen. A cool breeze blew across the shimmering silvered grass and slowly the dead began to rise again, whole and mended. Then they trudged back to their battle lines and formed up once more.
And the battle began again.
'Why does someone not tell them they are dead?' said Banouin. 'Then they could pass over the Dark Water and be free of this life.'
The Morrigu laughed. The sound made him shiver. 'Come, then,' she said. 'You can tell Valanus.'
Banouin followed her back into the battle. As she reached the Stone general she tapped at his form with her staff. He turned and looked not at her, but directly at Banouin. 'Who are you, spirit?' he asked.
'I am not a spirit, sir, but a man. You are the spirit. This battle was fought many years ago, and you died here. It is time to move on.'
'Died?' said Valanus, with a wide smile. 'Do I look dead to you? Get thee gone, demon. This is my day. And when it is over I shall be lord of this land.' Turning away he raised his sword. 'One more charge, lads! One more and we will have the day!'
'Well, you told him,' said the Morrigu. 'But it is in the nature of men never to listen. In death as well as in life.'
'Why are you here?' he whispered.
'For reasons of my own. What is it you wish for?'
Banouin laughed. 'Do you think me stupid enough to tell you? Like poor Valanus, whose name is now accursed?'
'Would your request be as his, child? Would you want fame and glory? Would you want riches?'
Banouin turned his back on the ceaseless, silent warfare raging around him and walked back to the campsite. Bane was still sleeping, and the fire was burning low. The Morrigu moved alongside him. 'Can you feel Caer Druagh calling you?' she asked.
'I find I miss the mountains,' he admitted. 'I had not thought I would.'
'Do you know why the Seidh exist?'
'No.'
'One day you will. And on that day you will return to Caer Druagh.'
'What is it that you want from me?' he asked her. 'I am not a warrior. I have no lust for battle and glory. My intention is to reside in Stone and study.'
'Then do so, Banouin. Look through all the ancient texts. Look for the truth hidden within dusty pages and yellowing scrolls. You will not find what you are looking for. The answer, when it comes, will come from your heart.' She sank down to the ground and rubbed her hand across her face. Skin peeled back and fell away, exposing more bone. Banouin turned his face away.
'Aye, not a pretty sight, am I?'
'I don't know why an immortal should choose such a grotesque countenance,' he said.
'Perhaps I didn't choose it, child.' Wearily she pushed herself to her feet. 'Perhaps what you see is the very essence of the Morrigu.' Her
voice tailed away. 'You have much to learn. And the first lesson is approaching. Understand this: you cannot conquer fear by running away from it.'
The crow flapped its wings and soared towards the sky. Momentarily distracted, Banouin swung back to where the Morrigu had been.
She had vanished.
The dawn sun cleared the eastern mountains.
The battlefield was deserted now. With a deep sigh Banouin sat down by the dying fire. Bane awoke and yawned. He looked up at Banouin through bleary eyes. 'Have you been sitting there all night?'
'Aye.'
Bane grinned. 'Thought the ghosties would come for you, did you?'
'And they did,' said Banouin.
By noon the riders had passed far beyond the Field of Cogden, and were climbing low wooded hills overlooking the eastern coast. In the far distance they could see merchant ships, hugging the shoreline, heading north. 'I have been thinking of Forvar, and his death,' said Banouin, as they rode.
'Oh no, not that again.'
Banouin ignored the protest. 'I often wonder if he might have changed as he grew older. He was very young, and the death of his father blinded him with hate.'
'You think too much,' Bane told him. 'You always have. He was a brute, and he died because he was a brute. End of story, my friend. What he might have been is irrelevant. He's dead and gone.'
'Perhaps he isn't gone,' said Banouin. He told Bane of the ghostly battle, and the arrival of the Morrigu. His friend listened in silence.
'Are you sure you didn't dream this?' he asked, as Banouin concluded his tale.
'I am sure.'
'And Valanus thought you were the ghost?'
'Yes.'
'So why did the Old Woman appear to you? What did she want?'
'I don't know, Bane. But the whole scene was so irredeemably sad. To spend eternity endlessly reliving scenes of carnage and death. Valanus still believes he can win the battle.'