Midnight Falcon (30 page)

Bane sprinted up the hillside, hurdling a fallen tree, then slowed to an easy run as he entered the woods. The wounds on his left shoulder and side were healing fast. Rage had removed the stitches yesterday. The two men had – at first – exchanged only a few words.

'You are still angry with me,' said Bane, as Rage snipped the last stitch, pulling clear the thread.

'Not angry,' said Rage, 'disappointed.'

'I think you are wrong. I can beat him.'

Rage had shrugged. 'That is not the point. You no longer need to fight him, to risk throwing away your life. It is not about revenge now, or justice. It is just vanity. He defeated you, and now you must prove that you are the better man. Life should be worth more than that, Bane.'

The words echoed in his mind as he ran. He couldn't explain the depth of his feelings to Rage, nor the despair he had felt through most of his young life. Lia had been the rainbow after the storm, the one great chance to change his destiny. When Voltan killed her he had planted a seed of hatred in Bane's heart, a seed that had flowered and grown. Not a night had passed without Voltan's face hovering in Bane's mind as he slipped into sleep. Not a morning had broken without a thought of the merciless gladiator and the blade that had sent Lia's soul hurtling from the world. For more than two years now the hatred had eaten away at him, and Bane believed it would only pass when he faced the warrior, eye to eye, sword to sword. It was the Rigante way.

Dipping his shoulders Bane powered up yet another hill, then onto a winding path that flowed down into a wooded valley. A low mist drifted across the bracken, and Bane slowed his run, unable to see the ground ahead. The last thing he needed now, a day before the fight, was to twist his ankle on some hidden root or stone. Ahead he saw two men hauling the trunk of a dead tree towards a slope. One was old, with only one arm, the other in his teens. They were struggling with the trunk. A broken branch had wedged itself against a buried rock. The one-armed man chopped off the branch with a hatchet, and they began to pull once more. Bane joined them, grinned at the old man, then took up the end of the rope. The trunk moved more easily now and they hauled it down the slope to a clumsily built cottage beside a stream.

'My thanks to you,' said the old man. 'We would have made it, but by heavens it was quite an effort.'

'You are Bane,' said the slim, dark-haired youngster. 'I saw you fight Dex.'

The older man moved in closer and peered at Bane. 'Aye, you have the look of a swordsman,' he said, his voice less friendly.

'Is it true you are to fight Voltan?' asked the youngster.

'Aye, it is true.'

'I hope you make him die slowly!'

'That is enough!' roared the old man. 'I don't want to see any man die slow, not even foul creatures like him. There has been more than enough killing already.'

'How can you say that?' asked the young man. 'He was one of those who murdered our friends, took them for burning. He deserves a painful death.'

The older man sat down on the fallen tree, pulled clear the leather cup which covered the stump of his left wrist, and scratched at the scarred and puckered skin. He glanced up at Bane. 'As I said, our thanks to you. Do not let us keep you from your training.'

Bane stood for a moment, then ran on, heading back up the slope, and off onto an old deer track. As he reached the higher ground he saw the city below him, glistening in the early light. His legs were tired now, his calves burning.

The bathhouse at Circus Occian was open, though the water was not yet heated, and Bane moved through to the new open-air training area, designed by Rage. Several of the younger gladiators were already there, hoisting weights under the supervision of Telors. Bane stretched out his aching muscles, then did some light work on the climbing ropes, hauling himself up to the top of the frame and down several times.

Telors joined him. 'Not too much now,' he said. 'Save something for tomorrow.'

'You think I am being foolish?'

'It is not for me to say. Men do what they must. Personally I'd have asked the emperor for a mountain of gold and my own personal whorehouse.' Telors shrugged.

'You've seen him fight,' said Bane. 'Rage does not believe I can take him.'

'Vanni regrets saying that. He wouldn't have wanted to say anything to make you doubt your abilities. He was hoping he could talk you out of the contest.'

'What do you think? Give me the truth.'

'I can't give you the truth, Bane, only opinion. I once saw a big soldier, fully armed, with breastplate, shield and sword, brought down by a boy carrying a makeshift wooden spear. When a man fights anything can happen.' He gave a rueful smile. 'And I'm not going to stand here and tell you how good Voltan is – not the day before you fight him. I can tell you how good you are. You are a match for almost anyone. You have the speed, the strength, and most importantly the heart. I'll be with you tomorrow. I'll put a fine edge on your sword, and your breastplate will gleam with oil.'

'Breastplate? It is a death bout.'

Telors looked uncomfortable. 'The emperor has suspended the usual rules. Voltan will fight without armour of any kind.'

'Then so shall I. It is to be a duel, not an execution.'

'I thought you'd say that,' admitted Telors. 'It does you credit. Rage would have said the same.' A servant called out that the water was heated, and Bane moved back inside.

The bath was sixteen feet long and nine feet wide. Steam was rising from the surface of the water, carrying the scent of lavender. Bane stripped off his clothing and slipped into the water, ducking his head and swimming to the far end, where he sat on a ledge, resting his head on the rounded brass rail surrounding the bath. Tension eased from his muscles.

He lay in the water for some time, then towelled himself dry and wandered to the massage room, where an Occian slave rubbed oil into his skin, and worked on the muscles of his legs and upper back. Bane dozed for a while. When he awoke he found he was alone. The slave had placed warm towels over his body, and had left him sleeping. Rising he went to his locker, put on a fresh tunic and leggings and walked barefoot back into the bathhouse. Leaving his training clothes with a slave for washing he tugged on his boots and walked out into the sunlight.

It was a beautiful day and he strolled along the avenues back towards the villa. Most of the celebrations were over now, but there was still an air of elation over the city. At the villa the gardeners were at work, weeding the flower beds, and Bane saw Cara, dressed in a pale green dress, walking among the roses. A dark-haired and handsome young man was walking with her. Cara saw Bane and waved. He strolled over to them. 'This is Maro,' said Cara. 'He is the son of the general Barus.' Bane shook hands with the man. 'He has come to see Grandfather,' continued Cara, 'but he is still out on his run.'

'He must have taken the western route,' said Bane. 'I have not seen him today.'

'Maro and I are to be married,' said Cara.

'If your grandfather agrees,' put in Maro.

Bane smiled. 'I am sure he will – if that is what you desire, princess. However, I am hurt. I always thought you would save yourself for me.'

'You are too old,' she said, with a mocking grin. 'And not handsome enough.'

Bane put his hand over his heart. 'Women are so cruel. Be warned, Maro!'

He bowed and walked away. Cara ran after him, taking his arm. 'You and Grandfather should end this quarrel,' she told him.

'We have not quarrelled,' he said.

'You do not look me in the eyes any more,' she said suddenly. 'Why is that?'

'Nonsense,' he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright blue and pale. Voltan's eyes. He looked away. 'Your guest is being neglected,' he added.

'Have I done something to offend you, Bane?'

'Not at all.' He felt awkward standing there.

'Are you still planning to fight tomorrow?' she asked him.

'Yes.'

'I met him, you know. Voltan. I met him in the marketplace. I liked him. Oh, I know people say he is evil, but I saw him at one of our meetings. The Veiled Lady touched his head and blessed him. So he can't be all bad.'

Bane sighed. 'I do not know if he is all bad. He killed someone I loved. He will die for that, not for some . . . political intrigue.'

'He will die anyway, Bane. We all do. It is a shame that you cannot forgive him.'

'Some things cannot be forgiven.'

'I do not believe that.'

'That is because you have never suffered,' he said, a note of anger in his voice. 'It is so easy for people like you, living in luxury, servants attending your every need. What is there to forgive? A cook makes your porridge too thin? Oh, I forgive you. But the women of the Gath who saw their babes plucked from their arms by Stone soldiers, their little heads smashed against the walls of the houses, they know what suffering is. Do they forgive? I saw Voltan plunge his sword into the heart of the woman I loved. He laughed as he did it. And you ask me to forgive? Look around you! Everything you have here – everything in this city – is built on the blood of slaughtered people. Maybe one day they will forgive you. But I doubt it.' Furious now, he strode away from her.

As he reached the front of the house he saw two men walking along the gravel path. 'Persis!' he shouted, and went to meet them. Both were dressed in filthy clothes, which stank horribly.

'It is good to see you, my boy,' said Persis wearily. 'Is there somewhere we can cleanse ourselves of this dungeon aroma?'

'Of course. Follow me.'

Persis was too large and Norwin too small for any of the clothes in the house to fit them, so while they were bathing Bane sent a servant to the market to purchase fresh garments. Cara and Maro, who had seen the men arrive, came to Bane as he waited in the east-facing main living room. 'Was that Persis?' she asked.

'Yes. They were freed yesterday, but with no money and no friends here they sought us out.'

'I am glad that they did. I shall get the cook to prepare them some food.' She moved away and Maro remained. Bane gestured him to a chair.

'I know a friend of yours,' said Maro. 'Banouin.'

'He is not a friend. He is someone I once knew.'

'Oh. I did not realize. He speaks of you fondly.'

'I have always preferred fond deeds to fond words,' said Bane. 'How is he?'

'He left the city this morning. He is going home. I shall miss him.'

Bane had no interest in talking of his former friend, and changed the subject. 'How did you and Cara meet?'

Maro smiled. 'I suppose it is safe to say it now, but I saw her at one of the Veiled Lady's gatherings. Afterwards we talked and . . .' He spread his hands. 'I grew to love her. I shall be nineteen in three weeks. We plan to wed then.'

'She is a fine girl.'

'I know that.'

'What are your plans?'

'I shall become a soldier, like my father.'

'A soldier?' queried Bane. 'I thought you Cultists did not believe in war.'

'I am not a Cultist. I have attended their meetings, and there is much about their philosophy that I admire. But this is not a perfect world, and there are many dangers in it. I am perfectly willing to offer love and generosity of spirit to all I meet, but there will be a sword at my side in case that generosity and love are not reciprocated.'

Bane nodded agreement. 'How does Cara feel about this?'

'How do you think?' responded Maro, with a grin.

Can I count on your support?' Jasaray asked Bendegit Bran, as the two met for the last time, on the steps of the Imperial Palace. Fiallach was waiting with the horses and the ten-man Honour Guard that was to accompany them to the city gates.

'I have much enjoyed our visit, Majesty,' said Bran, 'and it was a great privilege to meet you. I thank the gods that you survived the assassination attempt, and am honoured that it was a Rigante warrior who aided you on that fateful night. I shall report faithfully to my king everything you have said, and it is my hope that the days of enmity between our peoples are at an end.'

Jasaray took his arm and walked with him down the steps. 'Wars are sometimes necessary, and often inevitable,' said the emperor. 'But Stone has enemies far closer to home than Connavar of the Rigante. Tell him this. And assure him of my good wishes.'

Bran bowed, then stepped into the saddle. Fiallach also bowed. Jasaray looked into the warrior's eyes. 'I think you will be glad to be heading home,' he said. 'I fear that city life does not suit you.'

'I have a longing for the mountains,' admitted Fiallach.

'Caer Druagh is said to be very beautiful,' said Jasaray.

'If you visit us, as a friend, I will take you riding in the countryside, the high woods and the valleys,' promised Fiallach.

'That would be most pleasant,' said Jasaray.

Bran touched heels to his mount and they rode slowly from the palace, the silver-clad Honour Guard marching behind them. An hour later they cleared the gates, and took the horses into a light run across the western hills. Drawing rein at the top Bendegit Bran gazed back at the city of Stone.

'You look troubled, my friend,' said Fiallach.

'Indeed I am. War is coming, Fiallach.'

'But Jasaray said—'

'It doesn't matter what he said. He acts like a scholar and a man longing for peace. But he lives for war and conquest. I knew it when we saw the tiger in his gardens. Can you imagine at what cost they caught the beast and transported it thousands of miles? And for what? So that Jasaray could send it into the arena to be killed for sport, so that the mob of Stone could glimpse more blood. Is this the act of a scholar? No, he has won in the east and destroyed his enemies at home. Now he will seek to win the mob's approval with a war against the only enemy ever to have defeated a Stone army.'

'But what about his talk of King Shard, and his growing army? Surely Shard is a greater danger to Stone. He wouldn't have to cross the sea to fight Jasaray. His armies could march into Stone territory within days.'

'Indeed they could,' agreed Bran. 'But it is my belief that Jasaray and Shard have made an alliance. Come the spring, Shard will invade in the north, Jasaray in the south. We will have a war on two fronts.'

Swinging his horse, Bran headed west.

Fiallach rode after him. He respected Bran more than any other man, save perhaps Connavar. Bran was more than a general, and even the king deferred to him on matters of strategy and tactics. His mind was sharper than daggers, his skills in battle almost mystical. Connavar often said that Bran could read a battle the way other men read simple script.

'It is a shame that the Bastard saved him,' said Fiallach, as they angled their mounts down the slope and onto the wide western road.

Bran glanced at the giant warrior. 'Bane's act was heroic. I can't fault him for that.'

'I can,' said Fiallach, with feeling. 'He is no good, Bran. Born of treachery, he carries it in his blood.'

'I have heard this argued of bastards before,' said Bran, 'and I do not believe it. Bane carries the blood of Connavar in his veins. By Taranis, he even looks like him! He has courage and strength, and he deserved better than the treatment my brother gave him. It saddens me that you hate him so.'

'I do not wish to hear you criticize Connavar,' said Fiallach, anger creeping into his voice.

'Kings are not beyond criticism, my friend. In truth, I also blame myself. I should have gone to Conn a long time ago and argued Bane's case. I did not. And it shames me. My father raised me to believe that love of family was the first duty of a Rigante. I have lived by that with my own children. Bane is my nephew, and I should have embraced him as such.'

'He would have spurned you,' said Fiallach sadly, 'as he spurned me. When he was a youngster – around thirteen, I think – I sent him an invitation to come to Seven Willows and spend the summer with us. He wrote me an insulting reply. That insult alone shows his nature. He'll get no second chance from me.'

'That is curious,' said Bran, 'for Brother Solstice told me that Bane never could master reading and writing. It seems odd that he should have written to you.'

'Well, he didn't actually write it,' said Fiallach. 'Braefar wrote telling me what Bane had said. But it is the same. He said he had no wish to spend any time in my company, and did not regard me as family. Had he been a man then, and not some callow boy, I would have killed him for his impertinence.'

Bran shook his head. 'It never ceases to surprise me how often Braefar's name figures in misunderstandings, disagreements and quarrels.'

'You think he lied to me? That is ridiculous! What would be the point?'

'I cannot answer that,' said Bran. 'I have never understood it. There is a deep well of bitterness in him, and I think he takes pleasure in creating the same bitterness in others. It is like a game to him. I'll tell you truly, Fiallach, I do not know what Bane might have said, and it could be that Braefar reported it truthfully. It is just that I have come to view my brother and his motives with great suspicion.'

'I think you do him an injustice,' said Fiallach. 'He has always been most courteous to me. His only complaint has been that Connavar does not offer him work more suited to his talents. Braefar is a clever man, but he commands no regiments, and is restricted to running Three Streams and the border lands with the Norvii.'

'I am glad that you like him,' said Bran. 'Let us leave it at that.'

Bane's mood was sombre as he sat in the Sword Room beneath Circus Palantes. Telors was close by, gently honing the edge of the Rigante's gladius. A towering figure moved into the doorway. For a moment Bane thought it was Rage, for the light of a powerful lantern was behind him. The man stepped inside and Bane saw it was Brakus, Gladiator One. He glanced up at the golden-haired man. Brakus moved past him to a locked cabinet on the far wall, took a key from the pocket of his leather jerkin and inserted it into the lock. Bane saw him remove two leather-covered flasks and a small scroll wrapped in ribbon. He was a big man, larger than Rage, but he moved with the same cat-like grace.

He made to leave, but Telors spoke up. 'Ignoring old friends, are we now, Brak?'

The gladiator paused, then grinned. 'By heavens, Telors, when did you grow that disgusting foliage? I remember when you were young and handsome.'

Telors chuckled and the two men shook hands. 'I heard you and Vanni were training the Occian fighters. You've done a good job.'

'It's good to be back,' said Telors. 'I thought you'd be retired by now. You must have a mountain of gold already.'

Brakus shrugged. 'I keep promising myself that each fight will be the last. But then some arrogant young fighter steps out of the shadows, telling me I'm old and how he's going to kill me. Pride takes over then.' He looked across at Bane. 'You want to tell me how old and tired I look, boy?' he asked.

'You look strong and fit to me,' said Bane.

Brakus nodded. 'Indeed I am. Tell me, what made you want to take this bout? You're famous enough without it, and Voltan will prove no easy meat.'

'It is personal,' put in Telors. 'Voltan killed a friend of his – a woman.'

'Oh, I see. Well, good luck to you, Bane. Perhaps we'll meet again.'

'I doubt it,' said Bane. 'This is my last fight. Tomorrow I'm heading for home.'

Brakus smiled. 'Then all my notes on you will be wasted.' He walked to the doorway, then turned. 'You have a habit of clenching your left fist before an attack. Voltan will spot that quickly.'

'Thank you. It is a habit Rage has warned me of. I can't seem to lose it.'

'Voltan is very fast on the riposte. Lose that habit today, or you won't be going home.' He swung to Telors. 'Good to see you, my friend. I'm having a small gathering to celebrate my birthday in three days. Come up to the house. Bring Vanni with you.'

'I'll do that,' said Telors. Brakus left and Telors went back to honing the blade.

'I thought Rage would come,' said Bane.

'Aye, well, you know what he thinks.'

'I know. He thinks I'm going to die. He's wrong.'

'He's been wrong before. We all have.' Telors glanced at the marked candle on the shelf, and gauged the time. 'Less than an hour before the fight. How do you feel?'

'I'm fine.' Bane sat and gazed around the room. It was a far cry from the Sword Room at Circus Orises. Brightly painted frescoes adorned the walls, and there were niches inset, carrying busts of the greatest heroes of Palantes. Bane scanned them. 'Where is Rage?' he asked.

'Palantes removed the bust when Rage was disgraced.'

Bane settled back. Before a fight he had never had difficulty emptying his mind of all other worries, but today was different. Memories and thoughts crowded him, each vying for attention.

Suppose he were to die today, who would care? His friend Banouin had deserted him, his father had never acknowledged him, and now Rage had not even turned up to watch him face his toughest test. He glanced at Telors. He liked the man, but they were not close. If Bane's body was dragged from the arena, Telors would shrug and go back to the villa, have a few drinks, say nice things about him, and get on with his life.

Suddenly Bane felt alone, and in that moment fear began to grow inside him. What have I done with my life? he wondered. What have I achieved? He shook his head. These were not good thoughts before a death duel and he rose and moved to the table, lifting a leather-covered flask and breaking the wax seal to pull forth the cork. All the gladiators prepared their own drinks, sealing them with wax so that no competitor could drug them before a bout. Lifting it to his lips he drank deeply. The crushed-fruit drink slipped down his throat like silk. 'Not too much,' said Telors. 'You won't want to be bloated.'

Bane sat back down. He had dreamt last night that the Morrigu came to him. He had awoken to the rustling of the wind through leaves, and the whispering of branches. Sitting up he saw that his bed was now in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by oaks. The Morrigu was sitting upon a tree stump.

'Satin sheets,' she said. 'How rich you have become.'

A black crow swooped over the bed and settled on a branch close to the Morrigu.

'What do you want of me?' he had asked.

'Considering the foolishness you are engaged upon I think it more apt to ask what you might require of me.'

Bane rose from the bed and took a deep breath. He could smell the cool air flowing from the mountains. 'I would have wished only one thing from you, Old Woman. I would have wished to save Lia's life. Now there is nothing. I will win tomorrow or I will die.'

'Yes, yes,' she said, 'you could not save your love. Life can be like that, Bane. But what of your own life? If you ask me I will grant you the strength and speed you need to defeat Voltan.'

'I already have that.'

'No, you don't. Vanni told you that. Voltan is bigger, stronger and faster. He is more deadly. Ask me!'

'No!'

'Is it pride that stops you?'

He had thought about the question. 'Perhaps it is, but I won't use magic against him. I want no help. I will face him as a man on equal terms.'

'How noble,' she said. 'Do you believe for a moment that Voltan would do the same?'

'I am not responsible for what Voltan does – or does not – do. I want him to pay for Lia's death, and to know that is what he is dying for.'

'And what will this achieve, Bane? Do you think he will care? Do you think that it will create in him the merest speck of remorse?'

Bane shook his head. 'It is not about him. It is about me. When I have killed him I will know peace.'

'Ah, I see. It is all about Bane. Not about Lia, or the evil of Voltan. Just Bane.'

'Yes it is about Bane,' he said angrily. 'And why should that not be so? Who has ever fought for me? I have always been alone. I loved my mother, and I think she loved me when I was a child. But, as I grew, every time she looked at me she saw Connavar. And she withdrew from me.' He laughed, the sound hollow, causing the crow to flap its wings. 'Where are my friends and loved ones? The one friend I thought I had deserted me when he thought me dying. Yes, it is indeed about Bane. If I die tomorrow, who will mourn for me?'

'Who indeed?' she answered. 'Well, if I am not needed I shall not remain. Return to your bed, Rigante. Sleep.'

It had been a curious dream, born no doubt of his fears, but it haunted him still.

'Time to loosen those muscles,' said Telors.

Two soldiers in silver armour moved into the Sword Room. 'The emperor commands your presence,' the first told Bane.

'He needs preparation time,' said Telors.

'Come with us,' said the second man, ignoring Telors.

Bane pulled on a shirt of black silk and followed the guards through the underground corridors and up a flight of steps to the second level. Out in the open he glanced around and saw that the stadium was full, rank upon rank of citizens waiting for the afternoon's entertainment. Circus Palantes could seat almost thirty thousand people, but hundreds more were standing in the aisles.

'Big crowd,' said the first guard.

'Don't get too swell-headed,' said the second, 'they've mostly come to see the Veiled Lady burn. They're wondering if she'll work a miracle and fly away into the sky.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'Some hope.'

'I thought all the Cultists had been freed,' said Bane.

'Not her. She'll be burning alongside Nalademus. Good joke, eh? Wonder what they'll have to say to one another as they're raised up above the pyres?'