Midnight Falcon

'But first comes the slaughter,' said Banouin softly.

'Aye, first the slaughter.'

In the hour before dusk Bane rode to the edge of the Wishing Tree woods. The mare refused to cross the tree line, shying back as he tried to heel her forward. She then stood still, her flanks trembling. Bane dismounted and stroked her neck. 'I have no wish to enter either,' he told her. Trailing the reins he left her there and walked into the shadow-shrouded trees. There was no mist, but as he walked Bane thought he could hear whispers on the wind, and felt eyes upon him. He followed the trail down to where they had first seen the Morrigu, then continued up the slope opposite, coming at last to the circle of golden stones. A young man was sitting on a rock close by. He was slender and golden-haired, his face gentle. Beside him, resting against the rock, was a golden shield of fabulous workmanship. The rim was shining steel, the centre like a spider's web of golden wire flowing around a grey, shimmering stone the size of a man's fist. The young man looked up and smiled as Bane approached.

'She said you would come,' he said, his voice low, almost musical.

'And I did,' said Bane. 'Who are you?'

'I am… was… Riamfada. Will you sit awhile?'

'My horse is waiting beyond the woods, and I have a long way to travel. So can we make this brief? Tell me why the Morrigu asked me here.'

'Your mare is already wandering back to Three Streams, from where it will be returned to the farm you gifted to Gryffe and Iswain,' said Riamfada. 'Should you decide to travel to the coast I can send you there through the portal, and save you weeks of journeying.' Riamfada lifted a slender hand and gestured towards the stones. The air rippled and Bane found himself staring down a sloping hillside at the port of Accia. The air rippled once more, the vision disappearing. 'Sit for a while,' said Riamfada. 'I have long desired this meeting.'

'Who are you?' asked Bane again. 'Or perhaps that should be what are you?'

'Once I was human, like you.' He smiled. 'Well… not exactly like you. My legs were crippled and I could not walk. But I was Rigante, and I dwelt in Three Streams. I died there before you were born. On a Feast Night, surrounded by my friends. The Seidh brought me here to dwell among them.'

'And now you are Seidh?'

'No, you cannot become Seidh. But those of us who were once human have been taught certain… skills, shall we say, involving the manipulation of matter. It is probably simpler to say we have learned magic.'

Bane reached out and touched the young man's arm. It was solid, the flesh warm to the touch. 'You are no ghost then?'

'No, not a ghost.'

Bane sat down on a flat rock. 'So why am I here?'

'To make a choice. As I said I can speed your way to the coast – or beyond if it pleases you. Once I could have transported you to Stone itself, but they tore down the circle that stood on the Fourth Hill to make way for a bathhouse and a market. But I can send you to a circle some twenty miles north-east of the city.'

Bane laughed. 'The Morrigu would not have brought me here merely to save time on my travels. What is it she requires of me?'

'She requires nothing, Bane. She asks for nothing. I was told merely to present you with alternatives.'

'And these are?'

'You can travel where you wish, to any of the circles around the globe of the world.'

'Is there a circle in the White Mountains?'

'The White Mountains of Varshalla, north of the land of the Vars?'

'Yes,' said Bane.

'Indeed there is. But why would you wish to go there? The tribes worship the gods of blood and the word among them for stranger is the same as the word for enemy. Even the Vars do not travel there.'

'Someone I love is there,' said Bane. 'I would like to see her again.'

'Then I can send you there,' Riamfada told him.

Bane glanced down at the spider web shield. 'Why do you need a shield?' he asked.

'It is not mine – though I crafted it. I made it for you, Bane, as I once made a sword for your father.'

'It is a pretty piece, though one hefty cut would destroy it.'

The young man lifted the shield and carried it to a nearby oak, hanging it upon a broken branch. 'Show me,' he said.

Bane drew one of his short swords and walked to the tree. He lunged at the shield. The blade bounced away. He hacked and slashed at it, then stood back. There was not a single mark upon any of the wires. Sheathing his blade he lifted the shield, and was amazed by its lack of weight. Slipping his forearm through the two leather straps he hooked his fingers around the fist bar. Then looked for buckles to tighten the straps. The leather slid round his arm, shrinking until the straps fitted perfectly. 'How do I remove it?' he asked.

'Simply loosen your grip on the fist bar,' advised Riamfada.

Bane did so, and the straps opened. 'It is a wondrous piece. I thank you for it.'

'I hope it proves useful,' said Riamfada.

Bane sat down once more. The sun was falling behind scattered clouds, and the sky was molten gold above the mountains. 'What is it you are not telling me, Riamfada? This is a battle shield, and though it may prove useful in the White Mountains you did not craft it for that purpose.'

'I have one more vision to show you,' said Riamfada. He gestured once more, and Bane saw the air shimmer, and found himself staring at nine men sitting within a stone circle. He recognized Braefar, and his eyes were drawn to another man, a huge, hulking warrior with long, braided yellow hair. The scene shifted and Bane saw a rider on a white horse in the distance. 'That is Connavar,' said Bane. 'Why are you showing me this?'

'The king is riding to his death,' said Riamfada. 'He knows that his brother plans to kill him. He knows he cannot survive.'

'Then why is he doing it?'

'You were here when the Morrigu told him to agree to his brother's request. Conn promised that he would – and he is a man of honour.'

'I see,' said Bane coldly. 'And you want me to rush through to his rescue. That is what this… this talk of alternatives comes down to. I am here to save the king.'

'I wish that were true, Bane, for I love Connavar, and I can feel the heaviness of his heart. But you cannot save him. This is his destiny.'

'Then why am I here?'

'To make a choice.'

'Suppose I decide to find Lia, what happens to Connavar?'

'He dies alone.'

'And if I step through to his aid?'

'He dies – but not alone. But know this, Bane, if you do step through you will be faced with another choice – one that will probably see you die within a day.'

Chapter Fifteen

Maro, son of Barus, watched as the unit slaves pitched the thirty tents of the junior officers. They worked efficiently and well, with a disciplined economy of effort that spoke of long practice. Maro, as junior duty officer in charge of the tents, felt entirely redundant. He scanned the scene, but could find no fault with the work of the twelve slaves. When they had finished he thanked them, cursing himself inwardly as he did so. He had been warned twice for such odd behaviour, but found it difficult to treat any human being with less than courtesy. Dismissing them, he wandered across the huge new compound. To the left Jasaray's personal slaves were assembling the mosaic stone floor of his command tent. Every one of the two thousand, three hundred and seven stones was numbered, and some of the slaves had been assembling and disassembling this floor for more than thirty years. They too worked with diligence and speed. It was vital that the floor was completed, the huge tent pitched, before Jasaray arrived with the centre columns.

Maro was enchanted by the activity within the new fortress, as he had been enchanted on every occasion since the campaign started. The power and ingenuity of Stone were never more apparent than in this daily ritual. Nothing was left to chance. Advance guards would pick out the land, flag officers would map out the camp, and the advance columns put aside their armour to dig out the vast defensive trench. To the north and south parties of horsemen were dragging felled trees to the gate areas, where the trunks would be split and expertly crafted into strong gates. And all the while more Panthers were arriving, marching into the fortress and immediately setting about preordained tasks: the digging of latrines, the erection of rows of tents, the setting of cookfires.