'You have mine,' said Ruathain.
'And mine,' said Govannan.
Fiallach stood silently for a moment. On another day he might have refused. But today, with the joy of Gwydia flowing through him, he smiled. 'I'll follow you, Connavar,' he said. 'To the death.'
Maccus was tired. He had spent weeks riding the lands of the Northern Rigante with Connavar, visiting minor chieftains, touring farms and communities, visiting silver and copper mines, and fishing villages on the coast. His back ached from hours in the saddle every day, and his mind reeled with weariness. Connavar was inexhaustible, full of the energy of youth. Close now to fifty, Maccus was looking forward to stepping aside once Connavar took on the role of laird. He didn't doubt that the young man would want his own First Counsel, probably his father, Ruathain.
Maccus was thinking about moving to a small cabin, high in the Druagh mountains. He had built it with his wife some twenty years before. They had enjoyed many happy times there before the Long Laird had summoned him to Old Oaks and offered him the role of First Counsel. At first his wife, Leia, had found Old Oaks too busy and noisy for her liking, and they had moved some miles out of the settlement, taking over a small farm, which Leia had run. As the years passed the farm produced good profits, which became even greater when Leia began to breed pigs. Smoked ham was a rare delicacy in the highlands, and Leia's was the best Maccus had ever tasted.
He rose from his bed, and groaned as a stab of pain lanced through his arthritic shoulder. The bed was too soft for him. Outside he could hear the members of the household moving around, and smelt the smoky aroma of frying bacon. He heard Connavar's voice, then the laughter of some women.
Moving to the window he pushed it open and gazed out on the rocky landscape and the wide waters of Snake Loch. The fishermen were already out, their nets cast, their small boats bobbing on the grey waves. Maccus shivered. A cold wind was blowing from the north. It had been a nine-hour ride to the Snake, and after it Connavar had sat late into the night talking to the chieftain.
Maccus pulled on his tunic, leggings and boots, and walked out into the Long Hall. There were some twenty people present, including Connavar, all seated around a twelve-foot rectangular bench table.
'How did you sleep?' asked Arna, the one-eyed chieftain.
'Like a babe,' he answered, sitting down alongside the man. Maccus had been in the skirmish twenty years before where Arna lost his eye. It had been a ferocious fight against a large group of Sea Raiders. Maccus himself had killed the leader, a giant of a man wielding a long, double-headed axe.
'So,' said Arna, good naturedly, 'you think this child a suitable leader for the Rigante?' Connavar laughed with genuine good humour. Maccus smiled.
'Young body, old head,' he replied. 'And better him than a senile old fool like you.'
Arna grinned widely. 'You're not so young yourself, Maccus. You recall that bastard with the axe?'
'I do indeed.'
'Think you could take him now?'
Maccus thought about it, recalling the awesome power of the man, and the mound of Rigante dead around him. 'No,' he said, sadly. 'No, I couldn't.' Arna looked crestfallen.
'Of course you could,' he insisted. 'You're only as old as you feel.' Maccus gazed into the chieftain's one good eye, and saw fear there. Age makes fools of us all, he thought.
He forced a smile. 'Aye, you are right. It might take me a little longer now, mind.'
Arna chuckled. 'Never give in, Maccus. That's the secret.' He fell silent for a moment, and Maccus tensed, knowing what was coming. 'I was sorry to hear about Leia. She was a fine woman.'
The hurt began again, starting in the pit of his belly and moving up to tighten his throat. 'Thank you,' he said. A young woman appeared alongside him, laying a bowl of thick fish soup on the table, and a plate of fresh-baked bread. Maccus thanked her, broke off a piece of bread and began to eat.
It was mid-morning before he and Connavar left Snake Loch to begin the journey home. The ponies were still tired from the day before, and they rode slowly along the mountain trails.
They stopped to rest their mounts at noon, and, sheltered from the wind by a huge boulder, they lit a fire. 'Arna spoke very highly of you,' said Connavar. 'Said you were the finest of men.'
'He was always given to exaggeration.'
'Told me how you won the battle by killing the leader.'
'It wasn't a battle, Connavar. Just a skirmish.' Maccus wrapped his cloak more tightly around him and lifted his hood over his short-cropped, receding hair.
'Why did you not wish to be laird?'
Maccus had known this question would come, and he still had no real answer to it. He shrugged. 'I thought of it. Maybe ten years ago I would have fought for it. I don't know, Connavar. That's the truth. Leia used to tell me I was too quiet, that I didn't enjoy the company of men or women. It wasn't really true. I just preferred hers to theirs.' He glanced up. 'What about you? Why did you wish to be laird?'
'I have seen the evil to come,' said Connavar. 'I have to fight it.'
'A driven man. I see. Perhaps that is my answer also. I am not driven. And I am looking forward to riding the high country and returning to the cabin we built.'
'What do you mean?'
'When you choose your own First Counsel.'
Connavar laughed. 'I want no-one new, Maccus. I will need you to guide me.' Conn's comment shocked the older man, and he was surprised to find that his heart lifted. He had not realized how good it felt to be needed.
'What about Ruathain?'
'In some ways he and I are too alike. We are impulsive. No. Will you stay?'
'I don't know. I'll need time to think on it.'
'Good enough.'
'I'll be fifty in the summer. And already my bones are beginning to ache.'
Connavar added wood to the fire. 'You were kind back there, to Arna. The man is terrified of growing old.'
Maccus nodded. 'He was a bonny fighter, and like all young men he never believed that it would end. The old to us were a race apart. I think, in some ways, we believed that people chose to grow old. We were young, we were mighty, and we were mighty stupid. The years stretched out ahead of us, full of promise. We sat often at night complaining about the old men who ruled us. They were tired, worn out, timid. We talked of all the things we would do when our day came.' Maccus laughed with genuine good humour. 'Now I glance across at the young men sitting around campfires and I know what they are saying. As to Arna, it might have been different had he had children. Without them a man feels that death is a true ending.'
'You have children?'
'No. Leia lost three bairns. That is how I know.'
'You have told me what it was like to be young, my friend,' said Conn. 'How does it feel to be old?'
Maccus thought about it. Then he smiled. 'Two days ago your pony kicked out, catching your shin. How is the bruise?'
'It has gone.'
'Had the pony kicked me I would have carried that bruise for maybe two weeks. When it is wet my shoulder aches and my arm becomes slow. In winter I find the wind cuts through me and I need to wear two shirts. In short, I am slower and more fragile than once I was. I think it is this fragility which affects me most. It eats at the confidence. Yes, I was kind to Arna. If I faced that Sea Wolf today he would cut me down in a matter of heartbeats. That is hard for me to admit, for, like Ruathain, I was First Swordsman.'
'And now you are First Counsel.'
'Aye. And I'll admit it is a role I enjoy.'
Sound from the left caused Maccus to jerk his head. Pain flared from his aching shoulder. A black bear was moving slowly down the hillside towards a stream. It paused and glanced in their direction. Conn rose smoothly and drew his sword. Then he walked slowly out to stand some ten paces from the fire. Maccus drew his own blade and moved to stand beside him.
The bear watched them for a little while, then ambled on.
Maccus glanced at Connavar. The young man's face was pale, but he had stood
his ground.
'Just as well he wasn't hungry,' said Maccus. 'Otherwise he might have gone for us.'
'That would have been the last mistake he ever made,' said Connavar.
Tae had not settled well at the fortress settlement of Old Oaks. Conn was away for so much of the time, talking with the fifty-six clan chieftains, and minor lairds, who would, upon the retirement of the Long Laird, form the Lything. This was an ancient custom, whereby the chieftains could vote for a new laird. It had been instituted four hundred years before, following the overthrow of the last king, the legendary Gallis the Cruel. Conn was by no means certain of full support, and was doing his best to woo the waverers.
Those long periods when he was away were proving dull for Tae, even though she rode most days, and learned the mountain trails and narrow passes of the Druagh mountains. The land was exquisite, and she joyed in the rugged beauty of the highland, the craggy slopes, the towering peaks. But she was young, and newly wed, and she missed her husband terribly. More, she feared, than he missed her.
She did not doubt his love, but he was a man obsessed, and this frightened her a little. As did this return to the settlement where her mother had known such pain. Tae had many happy childhood memories of Old Oaks: of riding her pony alongside her father, playing with the other children on the slopes beyond the wooden walls. But the last memory was one of her mother screaming with anger and anguish and running from the Long Hall, tears streaming from her face. Tae, like her mother, had never forgiven the Long Laird for the hurt he caused, and she found his company difficult to take.
On her first morning here he had called her to his private rooms. She had stood quietly, and listened as he spoke of his own grief and his love for Llysona. But the words did not touch her, and she stared at the tired old man, waiting patiently for him to finish his confession so that she could return to Conn.
'I never stopped loving you, lass. Or your mother,' he said.
She wanted to ask if he had loved Llysona as he was rutting with his whore, but she refrained and said nothing. 'It would be a help to know you forgave me,' he said. This last statement was too much, and she felt anger melting her resolve to be polite.
'But I do not,' she told him. 'You broke my mother's heart, then sent her away. Had it not happened she would still be alive. Are we done here, for I wish to go riding with my husband.'
'We are done here,' he said, sorrowfully. She bowed to him, swung on her heel and left the room. They had not spoken privately since.
The days and weeks and months since then had seen her emotions flow from loneliness to heady joy and back again, as Conn travelled and returned all too briefly.
Today Conn had assured her they would go riding. Spring was here, the days growing warmer, and Ruathain, who had arrived at the settlement with cattle to sell, had told them of a high lake nearby, with a vista of surpassing beauty. Tae was looking forward to riding there and spending the afternoon alone with Conn.
Dressed in a tunic of green wool edged with dark leather, riding breeches and long boots, she strolled the palisade, staring out to the south for sign of Conn. He had ridden out early to see Arbonacast and Parax, and her cousin, Legat, who were tending the pony herds. With the increase in daylight the breeding season was under way, and Conn was anxious to check on his stallions.
As Tae strolled the battlements she saw Brother Solstice climbing to the wall. The black-bearded druid waved and smiled. 'How goes it, lovely lady?' he asked her.
'I am well, Brother. And you?'
'Glad to see the sun shine at last. It has been a hard winter,' he said.
'Aye,' she agreed. 'Ruathain was telling me that a great number of cattle were lost.'
He nodded. 'It has been bad - especially for the Northern Pannones. The lakes froze and they were unable to fish. There is some talk of starvation among them. The Long Laird has sent three wagons of grain to Shining Water. He is a kind man.' His dark eyes held her gaze, but she was not taking the bait. Tae was not even close to forgiving the Laird, and had no wish to discuss his merits.
'It is said you are travelling south, Brother. Are you leaving us for good?'
'No - at least I hope not. The Gathering of Druids is at the River Gath this year. There is much to discuss. I am looking forward to it. It is some years since I crossed the water, and the Gath, I recall, are a friendly people.'
'We will miss you,' she said.
'It is nice of you to say that, Tae. I fear the Long Laird will miss me more. He has few close friends.'
Tae took a deep breath. 'What he has, he has earned,' she said. 'He betrayed my mother. I see no reason to forgive him.'
'Forgiveness needs no reason, Tae. What happened between the Laird and your mother was for them to untangle. Not you. People do foolish things. It is in our nature. He meant no harm to Llysona, and certainly none to you. Llysona stayed at Seven Willows because she chose to, not because he sent her away. Her death should not be nailed to his conscience.'
'Did he send you to me?'
'No. He would be affronted to know that I am speaking on his behalf.'
'I have no feelings for him, save of disgust,' Tae told the druid. 'I will not change.' She stared towards the south, willing Conn to ride into view. 'He walked the tree with my mother. He made vows and broke them. She never forgave him. Neither will I.'
'She was not a forgiving woman,' said Brother Solstice. 'It was a great flaw in her character.'
'I'll thank you not to criticize my mother,' said Tae sharply. She strode from the battlements and across the open ground towards the hall.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
VORNA WAS TROUBLED. HER SLEEP HAD BEEN PLAGUED BY DREAMS, harsh and vivid. She had seen a young man, dark haired and pale eyed, and six other men with him. The young man had been given a sword and a bow. The weapons were dripping with blood. As each drop struck the floor it became a coin, bright and golden.
Vorna awoke feeling tired, drained of energy. Rising she had changed and fed Banouin, then carried him to Meria's house. Ruathain's wife had promised to look after the child as Vorna moved through the settlement, giving potions to children sick with the fever. She had taken the Morrigu's advice and told no-one of the return of her powers, though she used them constantly.
Her last visit was to the home of an elderly man with deep belly pain. She found he was dying of a cancer that had burrowed its way throughout his now frail body. It was too advanced for her to heal, but she took away the man's pain, then drew his wife aside and told her of his impending death. Though the woman took it stoically, and thanked her for her efforts, Vorna could see the torment in her eyes.
As she was returning to Meria's home a vision struck her. At first it was as though she had gone blind. A terrible darkness descended over her eyes, and she staggered. This was followed by a blinding light, and she saw, in her mind's eye, a tree oozing blood. A young lion, its back scaled with silver armour, was attacking an old bear. As they were fighting, a white dove flew by. The lion slashed its claws through the air. The dove was smashed to the ground. Back in the undergrowth six wolves were waiting. The wolves were large, their eyes red and gleaming. Like the lion their upper backs were of silver scales. As the blood flowed from the tree it sank into the earth, which began to writhe and twist. The earth parted, and newborn calves struggled from the blood-covered mud, to stand quivering in the clearing. Vorna watched as the wolves licked their lips and eyed the calves. Then the vision passed, and her sight returned.
Vorna sat down below Eldest Tree and tried to analyse the vision. She knew, with dread certainty, that it was a prophecy, and was anxious to unravel its secrets. The bear was a symbol linked with Connavar. Yet Connavar was not old. It could not be him. She remembered her first dream. Blood becoming coin. Blood coin. Weregild. The payment made by the transgressor to the victim's family in order to halt a feud.
It still made no sense. Instead of walking to Meria's house Vorna went to her own home, and sat quietly by the fire.
 
; An old bear.
Could it be the Long Laird? She dismissed the thought. The Laird was more likely to be represented in a vision as a bull, the king of the herd. And who were the armoured wolves? Soldiers of Stone perhaps, or Sea Raiders? Perhaps the bear was merely a representation of the land itself under attack. Vorna didn't think so. It didn't feel right. The two visions were linked in some way, and she focused her memory on the first - the young man with the bow of blood. She did not recognize his face, nor the faces of the other six men.
Six men. Six wolves. She knew she was inching closer to an answer. Sitting very quietly Vorna relaxed her mind. The bow was dripping blood which became weregild, blood payment. Then she remembered Ruathain, riding to the land of the Pannones, to offer such payment to end a blood feud.
Ruathain. The old bear.
It was then that she realized the wolves were not armoured at all. They were scaled like fishes. The Fisher People of Shining Water. And then it all fell into place. The Pannones of that region had suffered terribly during the winter. A young warrior had therefore been primed to fight Ruathain. In this way a new blood feud would be established, and Ruathain might once again offer cattle and ponies to halt it. Hence the calves born in the blood-drenched mud.