Midnight Falcon Page 6

  'I can understand it,' he said. 'I feel no anger or hurt.'

  'Suppose I had told you this when you were five years younger, hated and despised by all the other boys?'

  'I would have been devastated,' he admitted. 'I would have been too young to understand.'

  'Yes,' she said, 'the child would invest that truth with a perception of its own. "My mother did not love me." "I was not wanted." In many ways that is what the young Bane did. Connavar did not acknowledge him, therefore Connavar hated him, and hated his mother. Connavar was an evil creature. An enemy. This is the way Bane dealt with his perception of the truth. And it haunts him still.'

  'Then there is nothing we can do?'

  'I would not say that. There is great strength in him, great loyalty and love. With good friends close by he may yet find his way. That is what we can do. Remain his friends.'

  'I will always be that,' Banouin had promised.

  The dancing shadows on the cave wall were making Banouin sleepy. He glanced out at the skyline, and saw his friend still sitting on the cliff top. Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and trudged out to join him. 'It is a fine night,' he said, hunkering down beside the blond warrior, his feet dangling over the cliff edge.

  'Aye, it is,' agreed Bane. 'Some people find the night threatening, but I love the dark. It seems timeless and calm. When I was a child, maybe five or six, my mother would take me to the Riguan Falls on warm nights. We would swim there in the moonlight. I remember that I longed to be a fish, swimming for ever. I loved those nights. When we climbed out she would light a fire, and then we would sit and eat a supper she had brought with her. After that I always felt sleepy, and she would wrap me in a blanket and hold me close, so that I slept with my head in her lap. They were the most peaceful of nights, and I never dreamt at all.'

  'It is strange', said Banouin, 'how good memories can make you feel sad. I feel the same way about the Big Man. When I was young I would constantly run out into the yard to see if he was coming to visit us. And when he did I would whoop with joy and scamper off to meet him. Now, when I recall his face, and his bright blue eyes, I feel a lump in my throat. So much would have been different had he not died in that battle.'

  'Perhaps. Perhaps not,' said Bane. 'I used to play that game in my head. What if . . . ? It is a stupid game. What's done is done. It cannot be undone. If I could have this day back again I would avoid the Green Ghost. Or, if not that, then I would merely have thrashed the fat man. But I cannot have it back. Just as I cannot return to the Riguan Falls and sit with my mother, a blanket around me, the taste of a sweet cake upon my tongue.'

  'Life does seem unfair sometimes,' said Banouin.

  Bane laughed. 'Aye, but there are good times. Your mother and I rescued a badger cub once. It was blind and she healed it. Then we took it back to the woods and watched it amble away to a new life. That was a grand night. I like to think that cub went on to become a fine beast, with a mate and cubs of his own. Maybe he did. Or maybe he was killed by hunters. Fortunately I'll never know.' Bane picked up a stone, and hurled it high over the cliff, watching it drop to the water below. 'I hope the sea is as calm as this when we cross,' he said.

  'You are coming across the water with me?'

  'Of course. I promised your mother I'd see you safe all the way to Stone.'

  'I'll be safe,' said Banouin, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. 'I don't think you'll like Stone.'

  'If I don't I shall bid you farewell,' said Bane. 'Anyway, I'm tired. I think I'll get some sleep.' Rising smoothly he wandered back to the cave.

  Banouin sat alone for a while, lost in thought. He loved Bane, but the thought of arriving in Stone with him was a daunting and depressing one. Like taking a wild bear to a wedding dance. The thought shamed him, but he could not push it away.

  Bane lay in the cave, trying to deal with the now familiar waves of sorrow, and seeking a way through the desolation he felt. Parax had been right. He had planned to lead the hunters a merry chase, and then go down fighting, putting an end to this bitter existence. Bane had not consciously realized it, and only when Parax had spoken the words had the truth of them registered. It was not that he particularly wanted to die. He loved life, the feel of the warm sun on his face, the sound of a waterfall, the call of a hunting falcon. Nor was it merely the death of Arian, or the continuing hurt of his rejection by Connavar.

  Rather it was a combination of these and many other pressures, not least the sense of isolation following the early years of being shunned by his fellows, and then, as he grew older, being offered only menial tasks because he could not master the relatively simple skills of reading and writing. It was almost as if the king had decreed this onerous duty on the peoples of the Rigante, Pannone and Norvii merely to add to the already unbearable pressures of Bane's life.

  He lay back in the cave and felt his anger rising. Vorna had probably saved his life by asking him to look after her son. And now that son, Bane's only friend, was ashamed of him. He had seen the look in his eye when he talked of accompanying him to Stone, the sudden shock and dismay. He did not let Banouin know that he had seen it, and it hurt the more because he had to hide his pain.

  But then he had always hidden the pain. When have you ever let people see the real man? he wondered. When have you ever let fall the mask? Cheerful Bane, bright Bane, Bane the storyteller, the singer of bawdy songs. In other settlements but Three Streams Bane was popular with all he met, but the man they laughed and joked with was not the man behind the mask.

  Even with his mother Bane hid his feelings. She had anguish enough, he had thought, and so he joked and laughed with her. No-one else could bring a smile to her face. No-one else really tried.

  Now she was gone. Even Vorna's skills had not been enough to save her. This had confused Bane, for Vorna had taken the cancer from the blind badger and restored its sight, and Bane had railed at her.

  'Magic alone was not enough,' Vorna had said. 'Arian no longer had the will to go on.'

  Bane understood it now. He had felt it for himself, up in the hills as the hunters searched.

  He felt it now in this cold cave.

  Thoughts of Arian filled his mind. When, he wondered, had she finally lost the will to live? Often she would walk the high hills, staring towards the north. Bane always believed she was waiting for Connavar, hoping he would one day ride by, and that he would stop and talk to her. He never did.

  Two years ago, at fifteen, Bane had decided to meet with the king -meet with him in a way that would force Connavar to speak with him. And when they spoke Bane would ask him why he shunned them. The plan was simple enough. All Bane had to do was win the Beltine Race, five miles over rough country. The problem was that there were at least seven other youngsters faster than he among the Rigante of Three Streams alone.

  So Bane trained every day for months, building his stamina, pounding along mud-covered trails, running up high hills, pushing himself to the point of collapse. In the early weeks he would sometimes stagger to a halt and vomit beside the trail. Then he would run on, lungs afire, muscles burning. Gradually he became stronger, driven on always by the thought of meeting his father, seeing at last pride in his eyes.

  The race had been hard fought. One boy from the Northern Pannone had stayed with him for four of the five miles, but Bane had powered away from him in the last mile, finishing fast and sprinting towards the feast fires at the foot of Old Oaks. The last two hundred paces had been run between lines of cheering tribesmen, and at the finish he saw the king, standing alongside his brothers Braefar and Bendegit Bran.

  Connavar was a big man, wide in the shoulder. He was wearing his famous patchwork cloak, bearing the colours of the five tribes, and at his side was the legendary Seidh sword that men said could cut through stone and iron.

  Heart pounding, lungs close to bursting, Bane had slowed at the finish, then stood, hands on hips, staring into the eyes of the king. It was like looking into his own eyes, and their gaze met and locked. There was n
o expression on Connavar's scarred features, and he did not smile. He stepped forward and said: 'Well done.' Then he turned away before the breathless Bane could answer, and strode back through the crowd.

  For a moment there was silence in the crowd, then Bendegit Bran stepped forward, and put his arm round Bane's shoulder. 'The champion is from Three Streams,' he shouted. He patted Bane on the shoulder. 'That was a fine run.' The crowd cheered again and Bran led Bane away as the other runners started to pound down towards the line.

  'Are you all right?' asked Bran.

  Bane had looked into his uncle's handsome face and nodded. 'Just tired,' he said, looking beyond him at the distant figure of Connavar, walking up the hill path towards Old Oaks. 'Is the king not staying for the feast?'

  Bran looked embarrassed. 'He is a solitary man. He rarely stays among crowds for long.'

  'Last year I heard he sat the winner of the race beside him at table,' said Bane.

  'Then you shall sit beside me this year,' said Bran.

  'I think I'll go home,' Bane had replied.

  'That's a two-day ride, Bane. Stay. Enjoy the feast.'

  Bane had walked away, saddled the borrowed pony, and set off into the darkness.

  Eighteen months later, when he fought his first skirmish against the Sea Raiders, killing two and wounding a third, he had been awarded the gold clasp he still wore on his wrist. It was a tradition that these were given out by the king. Bane had received his from Braefar. It was no surprise by then.

  It was around this time that Arian began to fade. She ate like a sparrow, and the weight dropped from her. Even Bane could no longer make her smile.

  Bane pulled his blanket around him and rolled to his side, resting his head on his saddle. He heard Banouin's soft footfalls as he entered the cave, but kept his eyes closed.

  I will see you safely to Stone, he thought, and when the walls of the city are in sight I will say farewell.

  * * *

  The wagon trundled on through the driving rain, the two weary horses moving slowly, heads down against the wind. The driver sat huddled below the canvas canopy, his right hand holding the reins, his left arm round the shoulders of the teenage girl beside him.

  Despite the canopy the rain had soaked them both, and the girl shivered. 'How long, Father?' she asked.

  'According to the map we're about a mile from the bridge,' the old man told her. 'After that maybe five miles. We should be there before dusk.'

  He smiled as he said it. The sky was so dark now it already felt like night. Appius lifted his whip and cracked it over the heads of the team. They surged into the traces and the wagon picked up speed. His daughter snuggled in close. He patted her back and, reaching over, tugged her hood forward to try to protect her from the rain. The hood was already drenched. She looked up at him and smiled. His heart leapt. So like her mother, he thought. So beautiful.

  Appius looked back at what the map indicated was a road. The thought made him shake his head in frustration. Road? It was a wide, muddy track, pitted and irregular, and his wagon was trundling along in the deep grooves made by other lumbering vehicles. Only an idiot or a barbarian could call this a road. Back in Stone there were roads! Roads of well-laid stone over gravel and sand.

  He sighed. Back in Stone there were also the Crimson Priests, the Blood Trials, the burnings. The wind died down, and the rain began to ease. No longer did it lash into their faces, but now pattered against the canopy above their heads. To the west the sun broke through the clouds. Appius pushed back his hood, exposing his close-cropped white hair.

  Lia looked up at him and smiled. 'Everything looks so wonderful when the sun shines,' she said.

  'What would look wonderful right now is a bathhouse, with steam rising from perfumed water,' he said. 'And then a massage, and a long sleep.'

  'Barus said the town was quite civilized. There should be a bathhouse.'

  'Just so long as there's no temple,' he said, his good humour fading.

  'The priests have not crossed the water,' she said. 'But they will.' Lia leaned back and stretched, removing her hooded cloak and shaking the water from it. He glanced at her and felt immediately renewed and revived. Her dark hair was cut short, after the latest fashion in Stone, and it emphasized the extraordinary beauty of her features, her large, dark eyes, and the radiance of her smile. He wondered if he was merely seeing her with a father's eye, but then recalled the effect she had on his young officers. Most were struck dumb in her presence. Maybe here, he thought, at this arse end of the empire, she will put aside the stupidities her mother instilled in her. Then, after a reasonable period, they could return to Stone and take up their positions in respectable society. Lia could marry a man she loved and know true happiness. And he could sit in the sunshine and watch his grandchildren grow.

  I should live so long, he thought miserably. His back ached, and he could feel his knee joints swelling with the wet and the cold. Fifty years a soldier, marching in all weathers, sleeping on cold ground. It is a marvel I can walk at all, he thought.

  But never in his worst nightmares did he expect to end his days across the water, in the very land that had seen the destruction of a Stone army. He shivered at the memory. Of all the participants in that reckless exercise Appius alone had emerged with credit, organizing his Panther into a fighting retreat to the safety of the previous night's fortified camp. Even then he had lost half his men.

  The man Connavar was a devil in human form. He had organized his troops brilliantly, and Valanus, expecting the usual Keltoi tactics of a massed charge, had fallen into a trap. Cut off from supplies, unable to build a camp, the weary, hungry army had been attacked first by heavy cavalry, then by mounted archers. Cogden Field. The name made his skin crawl. Twelve thousand soldiers of Stone had died there.

  Back in Stone the shock had been colossal. Appius had been arrested and returned for trial, but he and three other officers had been acquitted of negligence, the full brunt of the city's fury falling upon dead Valanus, who had, it was said, led his fifteen thousand men against an enemy a million strong. It was such arrant nonsense that Appius could hardly credit it. Yet the people believed it. Their pride would not let them even consider that a Stone army could be defeated by a mere thirty thousand Rigante. No-one wanted to hear the truth - save Jasaray. And then only in secret.

  He remembered the day the general - yet to be emperor - had summoned him to his home, forcing Appius to relive every moment of the battle, sketching out fighting lines, recalling tactics. First the Rigante had killed all the Genii scouts used by Valanus, and the army had been forced to march blind. Then a detachment had cut behind them, savaging the supply column, killing the drivers and burning the wagons. At the last they had surrounded Valanus on Cogden Field, a combined force of Rigante, Norvii and Pannone tribesmen, all under the command of Connavar.

  'I trained him,' said Jasaray, and Appius thought he detected a note of pride in the general's voice.

  'You trained him too damned well,' Appius said. 'We'll have to take an army back - and swiftly.'

  Jasaray shook his head. 'All in good time. The defeat has frightened the populace. They no longer trust the Council to make strong decisions. Neither do I. It is my belief that a single figure should rule Stone: a single mind controlling the destiny of our city.'

  'Your mind, general?' Appius had asked.

  'If they call upon me it would be unpatriotic to refuse. Where do you stand, my old friend?'

  'As I always have, Scholar. By your side.'

  'I expected no less,' admitted Jasaray.

  The wagon lurched as a wheel hit a sunken stone. Appius backed up the horses, and moved round the obstacle. He could see the bridge up ahead now. It was a wooden structure no more than fifty feet across.

  Aye, he had supported Jasaray, watched him become emperor. But when his own family were in trouble . . . ? 'Put not your faith in emperors,' he whispered.

  'Did you say something, Father?'

  'No, I was just thin
king out loud.'

  'Will Barus get into trouble for loaning us his house?' asked Lia, suddenly.

  'No, there will be no trouble. We are not runaways, Lia. They did not serve the papers. We have committed no crime.'

  'But we knew they were coming when we fled.'

  'We did not flee,' he snapped. 'We sought the emperor's permission to remove ourselves from Stone. He granted it. That was the sum of his help. So we did not flee.'

  'You are bitter. It does not become you. Anyway, we left in the dead of night, while friends of ours were being taken to prison. It felt like flight.'

  'No friends of mine were arrested, Lia. I have never subscribed to their foolish ways. I never will.'

  'I do not think they were foolish,' she said. 'And I do not believe the Source would think them so.'

  'Aye, a god of real power, this Source. All who believe in him are put to death and he raises not a finger. But let us not argue it again. I had all this with Pirae.'

  Both fell silent at the mention of her name. Appius was not present when the Crimson Priests arrested her. He was serving on the eastern border, helping to put down a bloody revolt. He arrived in Stone the night after her trial, and missed her execution. Pirae had refused to recant, and had faced down her accusers, calling them 'small men with small dreams'.

  It seemed strange to him that a woman who had spent her life in the pursuit of every illicit pleasure should have come to her end with courage and dignity. He glanced at Lia. She was not his daughter. She had been sired by one of Pirae's many lovers. He doubted if even Pirae had known which one. Yet he loved Lia more than he had ever loved anything. She was sunlight upon his soul; cool clear water in the desert of his life.