Midnight Falcon (26 page)

'Why would that be?' asked Bane. 'Surely the message is the same, but it comes without risks?'

'Perhaps that is part of the answer. We value little that comes without risk. But, more importantly, once society absorbs and accepts a religion the rulers set out to subtly change the message. It will happen here eventually.'

'And people will accept this?'

'Of course. The Tree Cult do not believe in the taking of life. Killing is wrong, they say. In a few years some government-elected officer of the Cult will say that it is not killing that is wrong, but murder. He will cite the case of a man defending his family against attack, or his daughter from rape. He will say, "Surely the Source would not expect that man to sit idly by." Most family men would find agreement with that argument. Then they will begin to talk of Stone as "a great family" and the nations around us as "hostile, barbarous and evil". There will then be justification for attacking them, on the grounds of "saving the family of Stone".' Rage laughed, though there was little humour in the sound. 'It is like watered wine, Bane. In the right amounts it is tasty and good for the digestion and the heart. But if you keep adding water all you end up with is the memory of the wine.'

'You are a cynical man – when sober,' said Bane.

'I wish that I wasn't. I like much of what I have heard about the Tree Cult, about their caring for one another, and their refusal to be drawn into the circle of hate. Did you know that on the night before their executions they hold prayer meetings at which they forgive their accusers?'

Bane smiled broadly. 'It makes no sense to me. A man hates you, and seeks to kill you, then you must either run or kill him. There is no third way.'

'You can befriend him,' said Rage. 'Then he will no longer be your enemy.'

'Now you are joking, surely?' said Bane. 'You think I could befriend Voltan after what he has done?'

'Not from a position of hatred,' Rage told him. 'First you'd have to forgive him.'

'Would you forgive him?'

Rage turned towards him. 'I already have, boy. He is Cara's father, and because of him a child I loved killed herself.' He patted Bane's shoulder. 'The circumstances are different, I know. He did not set out to kill Palia, but the result was the same. I lost someone I loved. So did you.'

'I'll forgive him', said Bane, his voice shaking with anger, 'the moment he lies dead at my feet.'

Rage fell silent and the carriage moved slowly up the hill. A servant opened the wrought-iron gates before the villa, and the driver picked up the pace along the gravel path, hauling on the reins outside the main entrance. Rage paid him, and the two men strolled inside.

Cara came walking out to meet them. 'Why are you not at school?' asked Rage, taking her into a hug, and kissing her cheek.

'It is Mid Term, Grandfather. Are you not pleased to see me?'

'Always,' Rage told her. She swung to Bane.

'And what about you, tribesman?' she asked him.

Bane smiled and looked at her. She was wearing an ankle-length blue silk gown, gathered at the waist by a wide belt of grey leather, stitched with golden wire. Her yellow hair was tied back, save for two ringlets at her temples.

'You are looking beautiful, princess,' he said, offering her a bow.

'No-one calls me princess now. That's a child's nickname,' she scolded him. 'You think me a child?'

'Far from it,' said Bane, keeping his gaze from her full breasts and the curve of her hips. 'Welcome home, Cara.'

'Walk with me in the garden,' she said, advancing on him and hooking her arm into his.

'It used to be my arm,' grumbled Rage. Cara grinned at him.

'I adore you, Grandfather, but there is something I want to talk to Bane about.'

Lanterns had been hung on iron poles along the garden path, and the two young people walked slowly towards the circular fountain at the rear of the house. 'Well, what is your news?' asked Bane.

Cara glanced back. 'Let me show you something,' she said, moving off to stand beside a yellow rose bush, which was covered in blooms. 'But first you must promise not to tell anyone.'

'I promise,' he said.

Cara knelt before the rose, scanning the flowers. 'This one,' she said at last, pointing to a fading bloom, its stalk bent, its petals falling. 'Come and look.'

Bane knelt beside her. Cara cupped her hands around the bloom and closed her eyes. Bane watched for a moment. The rose stalk stiffened, the bloom lifting. Slowly the dying petals swelled, as if with new life. When Cara removed her hands the rose stood proud, and its scent was magnificent.

'A clever trick,' said Bane. 'How is it done?'

Cara looked round to make sure they were alone. 'I went to see the Veiled Lady. She touched my brow, and told me I had latent talent, and that she had released it in me. I could be a healer,' she said.

Bane felt a tightness in his stomach. 'You shouldn't have done that,' he said. 'Don't you know how dangerous it is?'

'Of course I know,' she snapped. 'I went with three friends, and I was very nervous. But I heard her speak, Bane. I watched her heal people with a touch. It was extraordinary. Then she walked among us. She has a black veil, and you cannot see her face clearly, but I saw her hands, and they are young hands. I don't think she's much older than me!'

'You must not go again, Cara.'

She stood up and dusted her gown. 'I didn't expect you to be so cowardly,' she told him.

He rose. 'I am thinking of Rage, and what it would do to him if you were taken, dragged to the arena and burnt at the stake.'

'I'll be careful,' she promised. 'But I can't forget what I have seen, and heard and felt. Standing here I can feel the life in the garden, every plant and tree, every flower and shrub. I am part of it. You are part of it.'

In the lantern light he looked into her face, and suddenly saw Voltan there, the same cornflower-blue eyes, the set of the features. He stepped back suddenly.

'What is wrong?' she asked.

'Nothing. We should be getting back.'

'Oh, Bane, you are such a disappointment,' she said. 'I have been longing to tell you. I thought, as a tribesman, you might understand what it is I have been feeling. I thought I could share it with you. I thought . . .' Her eyes showed sorrow as she turned away from him.

'What did you think?' he asked.

'I thought you might come with me to see her.'

'Oh, Cara! I killed a man today. To entertain the crowds I plunged a sword into his heart. You think this Veiled Lady would want a gladiator close to her?'

'Maybe you wouldn't be a gladiator if you heard her speak.'

'Then I don't want to hear her speak,' he said.

'Go away and leave me alone,' she told him, spinning on her heel and walking away.

Bane sat down on a nearby bench. The stitches in his side were painful, and his rib was aching dreadfully. Yet this was as nothing to the fear he felt inside. Cara had always been wilful and headstrong, and now she had set herself upon a path that would likely lead to her death. Just like Lia.

A cold breeze whispered through the garden, a gentle reminder that winter was not far away. Bane sighed, remembering the last time he had sat with Lia in the house of Barus, and the terrible events that had followed. Now it was happening again. He wanted to believe that this time he would not be powerless to prevent it, but he knew it was not so. If the Knights came for Cara, there was little that he or Rage could do, save fight and die. And this they would do.

Bitterness swept over him. All his life, it seemed, events had conspired to bring him pain: Connavar's continuing rejection, Arian's sad and untimely death, Lia's murder, Banouin's desertion. The only difference now was that Bane had advance warning of the tragedies to come.

He sat quietly for some while, and then heard Rage walking down the path. 'Did you two have a fight?' asked Rage, sitting alongside him.

'Not exactly. We had differing views.'

'She'll get over it,' said the older man. 'It is a beautiful night.'

Bane glanced up at the stars. 'Aye, it is. Tell me, do you miss Goriasa?'

'Sometimes,' admitted Rage. 'But Stone is good for Cara. I expect there will be suitors calling soon. She will be sixteen in three days.'

'He'll need to be a strong man,' said Bane, 'otherwise she'll eat him alive.'

Rage chuckled. 'I raised her to be independent and think for herself. I think maybe I did the job too well. Why did you mention Goriasa?'

'No reason. It just came into my mind.'

'Ah,' said Rage softly. 'I thought maybe you'd heard about Persis.'

'What about him?'

'He and Norwin were arrested two months ago. They have been brought to Stone for execution.'

Bane swore. 'I like him,' he said. 'He's a good man.'

'Did you know he finally made a success of Circus Orises? He organized the Gath Games, running events, horsemanship, wrestling. He filled the stadium. The last I heard he was rich again.' Rage shook his head. 'Whatever possessed the man to join the Cult? He wasn't stupid. He must have known the risks.'

'It is imperative that we move swiftly,' said Voltan, keeping his voice low, even though the windows were closed, heavy velvet curtains drawn across them. 'The war in the east is won. At least ten Panthers will be returning to Stone within the month.'

Nalademus sat at his desk, his huge head resting against the top of the padded chair, his arms folded across his stomach. Eyes closed, he listened intently to Voltan's report. 'How did such a disaster happen?' he asked.

'Stupidity,' hissed Voltan. 'Instead of using our money to hire mercenaries or weapons, Dalios paid a huge dowry to a rival king in order to marry his daughter. Then he spent a further fortune on a huge wedding feast in the capital. All the nobles were invited. Gods, it is sickening! The idiot had all his generals attend. Barus heard about the feast, and led three Panthers on a quick raid. They sacked the capital, captured Dalios, then brought up the main army and crushed all opposition.'

'Captured Dalios?' snapped Nalademus, surging upright.

'Do not concern yourself, my friend,' said Voltan. 'I had him poisoned. No-one knows of our involvement.'

'Someone always knows,' said Nalademus. 'And you are right. We must move swiftly. Once the Panthers are back in Stone, Jasaray will be invincible again.'

'Leave it to me, my friend,' said Voltan. 'Jasaray will be dead within the week.'

'An accidental death,' insisted Nalademus. 'Otherwise there will be another civil war.'

Fiallach followed Jasaray and Bendegit Bran through the elaborate maze, his irritation growing. Bran was chatting amiably with the emperor, and seemed unconcerned that every turn and channel looked exactly like the last. The eight-foot-tall walls of greenery pressed in on Fiallach, and he was sweating heavily. Clasping his hands behind his back he followed the two men, and fought to quell a sense of panic.

At last they emerged at the centre of the maze, where several benches and tables of stone had been placed around a large marble pool. Fiallach sucked in a deep breath. From here he could at least see the walls of the palace building, with its balconies and windows.

Jasaray sat down, beckoning the tribesmen to join him. 'I had this constructed after one of our western campaigns,' he said. 'It is copied from a design I found in a captured city.'

'What is the point of it?' asked Fiallach.

'For me it is a representation of life,' said Jasaray. 'We wander through it, always wondering where we are going, and rarely able to go back and put right past mistakes. I come here most nights, and wander the maze. It helps me to think.'

'It makes me want to walk through it with an axe,' muttered Fiallach.

'It does have that effect on some people,' agreed Jasaray.

Suddenly, from close by, there came a terrifying roar. Fiallach spun round, his hand moving to his empty knife belt.

'Be calm,' said Jasaray. 'My animals are being fed. There is no danger. I shall show you them later.' The morning sun cleared the palace roof, and shone directly down on the seated men. 'I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,' said the emperor, 'but there have been many pressing matters demanding my attention.' Trailing his hand in the pool he splashed a little water to his face. 'It is my hope', he said, 'that we can come to some agreement with the Rigante people.'

'What kind of agreement?' asked Bran.

'A union of friends,' said Jasaray. 'Stone has been fighting wars for thirty years now, some against foreign enemies, some between ourselves. It is time, I believe, for a period of stability and calm. Armies, as I am sure you are now aware, are costly. Connavar has fought three civil campaigns during the last two years, against rebel tribesmen from the Norvii and the Pannone. And why? Because he needs to tax the people to pay for his standing armies. And as each year passes without them being needed the populace grow more disenchanted. Here in Stone we see Connavar's armies and we wonder if they will be used against us, and therefore we also tax the public to pay for soldiers. It is very wasteful for both our economies.'

'What do you suggest?' asked Bran.

'I suggest a close treaty between our nations that will allow us both to reduce the size of our forces. The war in the east is costing us dearly, and we are beginning to have trouble with some of our northern neighbours, notably King Shard of the Vars. He also has standing armies now, and there have been several skirmishes with our troops.'

'Shard is a powerful enemy,' agreed Bran. 'My first taste of battle was against the Vars twenty years ago. Shard invaded the north of our lands, and linked with a Pannone army against us.'

'And Connavar defeated him,' said Jasaray. 'I believe your father was killed in that campaign.'

'He died, yes,' said Bran. 'His heart gave out after the battle.'

'War brings many tragedies,' said Jasaray. 'I despise it.'

'Then why are you so good at it?' asked Fiallach.

'A fair question – and one to which there is no answer. I was a scholar and a teacher. I was brought into the army to organize supplies and help with logistic matters. It then transpired that I had previously undiscovered skills in the area of tactics. In life, I have discovered, men gravitate towards what they are good at. I am a good soldier. That does not mean, however, that I enjoy the slaughter and the bloodshed. I do not. It is extremely wasteful. I have no desire to lead an army into the lands of the Rigante. The borders of the Stone empire are large enough. Further expansion would be dangerous. That is the message I want you to convey to Connavar.'