With smooth, strong strokes he swam to where Govannan was washing his silver hair. Coming up behind him Conn flicked the general's legs from under him, dunking him into the water. Govannan came up spluttering and threw himself at Conn, and the two men fell below the surface. Govannan came up first. As Conn surfaced he was pushed under once more. This time it was Conn who came up spluttering. 'Is that any way to treat your king?' he asked. Govannan laughed, and lunged at him again. Conn swayed, caught Govannan by the arm and twisted him. The general flopped to his back. Before he could go under the water again Conn drew him up. 'It is too beautiful a day to be spent fighting with you,' he said.
The two men waded towards the shore. Just as they were about to emerge from the water, something sharp bit into Conn's calf. With an angry cry he looked down and saw an otter attacking him. His hand lunged into the water, grabbed the creature and hauled it clear. Then he flung it with terrible force. The otter struck a tree and flopped to the ground, its neck broken. There was blood in the water. Conn climbed to the bank and examined the wound. It was not deep.
'Damn, but these water dogs can be a nuisance,' said Govannan, kneeling by the king.
Conn sat very still, all colour fading from his face.
'Are you all right?' asked Govannan, concerned.
'I am fine,' said Conn. 'Is the creature dead?'
Govannan moved to the tree and nudged the otter with his foot. It did not move. He picked it up. 'Aye, it is dead.'
Conn rose from the ground and walked back to his tent.
Otters had many names among the tribes; water dogs was the most common, but in the old High Tongue they were called Hounds of the River Bank.
All his life Conn had been fearful of his birth geasa. Vorna had told his mother he would die on the day he killed the hound that bit him. It was this prophecy that had led Meria to urge Ruathain to stand beside him in the first battle against Shard, for Conn had killed a dog that fastened his teeth to his wrist guard. Having survived the battle Conn had believed the geasa to be broken. Now he knew differently. All his life he had avoided close contact with dogs and hounds.
Back in his tent he bound the wound in his calf. 'If today is the day, so be it,' he said aloud.
Then he donned his armour.
Banouin had also spent a fitful night, and his spirits were low as the dawn came. Brother Solstice, with whom he shared a small tent, saw the strain in his eyes. 'Do you fear the coming battle?' he asked the younger man.
Banouin shook his head. 'No, it is not fear but sadness. I have been thinking of the thousands of young men who will lose their lives – men on both sides. And for what, Solstice? What, ultimately, will be achieved by this coming violence? Surely man, with all his intellect, can find some other way to settle disagreements, without more seeds of hatred being sown, more souls to haunt a battlefield.'
'It would be pleasant to think so,' said Brother Solstice. 'Yet harmony is often achieved by violence. Forest fires are terrible, but without them the forest itself would not survive. The deer rely on the wolf to cull the herds, eliminating the weak, ensuring that the food supply will be adequate for their survival. If the Source had decided upon a world without violence he would surely not have created the hawk and the lion.'
Banouin thought about this for a moment. 'Is it your argument then that the Source in some way desires this coming conflict, and the slaughter which accompanies it?'
'I am not arrogant enough to even guess at the answer to that, my friend. My heart is heavy with the thought of the dead to come. But, I tell myself, evil must always be countered. We did not ask the soldiers of Stone to invade our lands. We did not request them to enslave our women and butcher our children. So what are we to do? Allow them to achieve their aims? When a man sits by and allows another to kill and rape and plunder, then he is as guilty as the offender.'
'According to that argument,' said Banouin, 'you should be carrying a sword and shield tomorrow.'
Brother Solstice smiled. 'Believe me, my boy, were I standing close to a mother and her child, and a soldier of Stone was advancing upon them, I would take up sword and shield. I am not as holy a man as I would wish to be.'
'Then you accept that holy men should avoid violence, no matter what lives are threatened?'
'I do accept that we are pledged to uphold the sanctity of life,' said the druid. 'And I revere those men who can live by such a code. I am not – yet – one of them.'
Banouin pushed open the flap of the tent and stepped out into the early-morning sunlight. Cookfires had been lit all over the valley, and thousands of soldiers were moving around, some tending to their horses, others sharpening weapons, or playing dice bones. Brother Solstice dismantled the tent and Banouin helped him fold the canvas, then roll it.
'In Stone,' said Banouin, 'there was a group known as the Tree Cult. They believed in non-violence and they were killed in their thousands. Not once did they raise their hands against their killers. And they won, for they are now accepted among the citizens.'
'I have heard of them,' said Brother Solstice, 'and I admire them enormously. My first spiritual teacher – a wonderful old druid named Conobelin – told me that you can change the minds of men by argument or debate, but you cannot change their hearts by the same means. Hearts are changed by actions.' Brother Solstice tied the rolled tent. 'You say the Cultists won – though I might debate that. But why did they win? As I understand it Jasaray arrested and executed Nalademus. Why was he able to do that? Because two men with swords saved him from both traitors and a wild beast. And in saving him, and gaining a victory for the gentle Cultists, we now have a Stone army ready to destroy our lands and butcher our children. Is that what the Source desired? A man could drive himself insane seeking deeper meanings within such complex events.' Brother Solstice stood silently for a moment, staring around the valley and the shores of the lake. 'I find that it helps', he said at last, 'to focus one's mind not on the evils but on the greatness of man, on the power of his love, rather than the nature of his hatreds. Love of family, love of friends, love of land. The Rigante are a fine people, Banouin. I hold to that. We seek not to enslave our fellows, but to live with them. We do not make war upon our neighbours. But when war comes to us we fight. Not a man here, among these thousands, does not wish he could be somewhere else. He is here to defend those he loves, and in that there is nobility of purpose.'
Banouin shook his head. 'The Morrigu talked of feeding the spirit of the land. She said that man alone among the animals has the talent to do this. Every kindly thought and deed, every moment of compassion and forgiveness, is like a raindrop of spirit to the earth. But war? War is a torrent of dark rain that poisons the earth, bringing us one tiny step closer to the death of the world.'
Brother Solstice put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'Yes, it is, my friend. It is vile. But when the fighting is over you and I will move among the wounded and heal them as best we can. And we will – if it pleases the Source – watch them return to their farms and their lands and hug their wives and their children. We will see them smile at the infinite beauty of the sunset, and dance on Feast Nights with all the joy of life. And we will hope that they will put aside hatred and teach their children to love their friends and neighbours, so that future generations can avoid wars and thus replenish the spirit of the earth. It is all we can do.'