Midnight Falcon (38 page)

Gwen found that she missed his company even as he began the walk back to the feast tables. Suddenly he turned and strolled back. 'Come,' he said, holding out his hand. 'We can dine together.'

Fear flickered once more, but she took his hand and he raised her to her feet. They were married five weeks later.

Now, as she gazed around the house in which Bran had grown to manhood, Gwen felt only sadness. Her son had been so strong, so quick and so full of life. It amazed her how swiftly that strength had evaporated. And now he was gone.

The door opened and Meria strode in. 'Can you believe the stupidity of that woman?' she said. The calm atmosphere disappeared in an instant.

'Which woman?' asked Gwen, returning to her chair.

'Vorna. She had a dream that Sea Wolves were coming across the land to Three Streams, and that we should all just leave and run away into the wilderness. I'm sure some people will. Idiots all of them.'

'It is said she once had great power.'

'Aye she did. But not any more. Now she is merely wilful.'

'Why do you hate her so?' asked Gwen.

'She befriended the bastard Bane – the man who has sworn to kill Connavar. Can you imagine that? Such treachery? She should have been hanged!'

Gwen said nothing. She walked back into the bedroom, anxious to be away from Meria and her radiated unpleasantness. Orrin was still sleeping. It had been over four hours now, and he rarely slept so long in the daytime. Gwen sat beside the bed and gently shook his shoulder. 'Time to wake, little one. I shall toast some bread for you.'

He did not stir. Gwen rolled him to his back. His eyes were dark-ringed, his skin gleaming with sweat. 'No!' she whispered. Then she cried out: 'Orrin! Orrin!'

Meria came into the room. 'What on earth is this noise about?' she asked. Then she saw the still figure of the child. 'Oh no!' she said, rushing to the bedside. 'It cannot be!' She placed her fingers upon the child's throat, feeling for the pulse. 'He is alive,' she said. 'But his heart is racing!'

'It is just like my Ru,' cried Gwen. Meria said nothing. The evidence was all too clear.

Gwen gathered the child in her arms and lifted him from the bed.

'What are you doing?' Meria asked.

'I am taking him to Vorna.'

'I forbid it!' shouted Meria, storming to her feet.

'I have one dead son,' replied Gwen. 'I will not lose another because of you.'

She carried Orrin out into the dusk and across the field to the house of Vorna.

Vorna laid the comatose child upon her own bed and looked up at the mother, seeing the terrible fear in her eyes. 'Go to the kitchen,' she said. 'Boil some water for a tisane.'

'He cannot drink,' said Gwen.

'No, but we can. Go. Do it now while I examine him.'

'Please don't let him die!' said Gwen, dissolving into tears.

'I will do what I can. Go. Make some tisane for us. I take mine unsweetened. You will find camomile in the blue jar beside the oven.'

Turning away from the woman Vorna laid her hand on the boy's head. Closing her eyes she allowed her spirit to flow into the child. He was dying. Of that there was no doubt, the organs of his body close to collapse. At first Vorna could find no reason for his condition, and she flowed deeper, her spirit merging with the blood streaming through his veins. His kidneys were the greatest source of concern, and Vorna concentrated her power there, strengthening the tissue. Even as she healed the organs she felt them come under fresh attack. It was just as Banouin had told her, concerning his treatment of Ruathain. Every time an area underwent healing it almost immediately began to weaken again.

Orrin's labouring heart suddenly gave out. Vorna sent a burst of energy into it. It flickered, then began to beat once more.

Vorna honed her concentration, flowing yet deeper into the bloodstream. Now she could feel the vital elements within the flow. Still she could detect no sign of disease. The liver began to fail, and Vorna strengthened it. Then the kidneys weakened once more, and she boosted them with fresh energy. She was tiring now, and still there was no clue to what was killing the child.

Vorna withdrew from the boy. His colour was a little better, his breathing easier. Gwen returned to the room, carrying mugs of tisane. Vorna saw her spirit soar as she looked down upon her son.

'Do not get your hopes up, Gwen,' said Vorna sternly. 'I cannot yet identify the source of his sickness. Sit quietly by and do not in any circumstances speak to me unless I ask you to. You understand?'

'Yes,' said Gwen meekly.

Vorna gazed at the child's waxen skin. Think, she told herself. Whatever is causing this is powerful indeed, and yet why had he not succumbed earlier? If it was a sickness, surely he should have caught it from Ruathain far sooner than this. As should the mother, and any others with close contact to the boy. Therefore it was not like the plague or any contact-borne sickness. Yet there had to be a link.

The boy's heart stopped again. Vorna's spirit eased once more through the skin, sending a bolt of energy to the stricken organ. Orrin's body convulsed, then the heart began again. Vorna withdrew and turned to Gwen. 'You say the sickness began only today? No indications before this?'

'None. He has always been healthy. Aren't you going to do something?'

'I am doing something, Gwen. Stay calm.'

Vorna returned her attention to the child. The surface of his skin was hot, his body battling to bring down the fever temperature. Vorna flowed deeper, once more repairing the liver and kidneys. She had never come across anything like this before. It was as if the disease was continually invading the child.

For another hour she fought on, but she was now tiring rapidly. Pulling back from his body she slumped in her chair and sipped her cold tisane. Whatever had killed Ruathain was now destroying his brother. Again she turned to Gwen. 'How long was Ruathain sick?'

'Almost a year now. At first he just felt weak, and had no
appetite. He would sleep all the time. Then, as the months passed, he grew
weaker and weaker. He rallied when Banouin tended him – but only for
a while. Why has it struck Orrin so savagely? He looks now like my Ru at the
end.'

'Orrin is younger. Perhaps that is the key. Perhaps a strapping lad can fight off this . . . this malady with more strength than a child. But there is a link here that we must find. Otherwise he will not last the night.'

Closing her eyes she entered his body again, but this time, instead of joining the bloodstream, she floated just below the surface of his skin, helping to ease out the fever. When she reached the area of his chest she felt a sudden burning that caused her to flee to the sanctuary of her body. Rising from her chair she moved to a tall chest under the window, upon which lay some balls of thread and a long pair of scissors. Returning to the bedside she cut open the little boy's tunic.

Upon his chest lay a ring of white gold, with a moonstone at the centre. Orrin had hung it round his neck with a long leather thong.

'What is this?' asked Vorna, cutting the thong and lifting the ring clear.

'It is Ruathain's ring. Orrin must have taken it as a keepsake, to remind him of his brother.'

Vorna laid the ring upon the floor, then returned to the child. Now, as she flowed through him, healing the tortured tissue, there was no secondary attack. Orrin's heartbeat grew stronger, his fever abating.

Vorna covered him with a blanket. 'He looks a little better,' said Gwen.

'He is well,' Vorna told her. 'The evil is gone from him.' Lifting the ring on the end of her scissors she examined it. It was beautifully crafted. 'Where did Ruathain acquire this?' she asked.

'Meria gave it to him. It was originally a gift for Connavar from a Stone merchant, but the king does not wear rings. So Meria gave it to Ru. Why do you ask?'

Vorna walked to the kitchen, returning with a flat length of black slate which she laid on the chest by the window. Lifting a lantern from a bracket on the wall she placed it alongside the slate, then dropped the ring onto the gleaming black surface. As Gwen watched, Vorna held her hand over the ring and whispered a Word of Power. The temperature in the room plummeted, and upon the slate ice formed instantly. The moonstone glowed bright, then cracked open. Grey fluid oozed from the stone, spreading out across the slate. Vorna snapped her fingers, and the temperature rose once more. Gwen stared at the ruined ring.

'It is poison,' said Vorna, 'distilled by a mistress of the craft. She split the stone, hollowed out the centre, and made many imperceptible holes through the surface. Then she filled the centre with poison, remade the stone, and set it within this ring of white gold. Once the moonstone touched human skin it would slowly seep its poison into the blood. It was obviously meant to kill Connavar.'

'Then all I had to do to save Ru was remove the ring?' said Gwen. 'Oh, sweet heaven!'

'Do not blame yourself, Gwen. You could not know. The fault is not yours.'

'Yes, it is,' said Gwen. 'I wanted to come to you and ask you to tend my son. But I did not. Had I done so my Ru would still be alive.'

'Mam!' said Orrin. 'Mam!'

Gwen went to the bedside. 'Hello, my little one,' she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, Mam. I was sitting with Ruathain, and there was this bright light. And I woke up.' He looked around. 'Where are we, Mam?'

'You have been sick, little one, but Vorna healed you. This is Vorna. Say thank you.'

'Thank you, Vorna,' he said obediently.

'It was my pleasure, young man.'

Orrin's eyes closed and he fell asleep. Gwen brushed the hair back from his brow and kissed him tenderly. 'I don't have the words to express my gratitude,' she said. 'What can I do to thank you?'

'Leave here tomorrow with those heading west,' said Vorna. 'For death is coming to Three Streams, and my powers can do nothing to prevent it.'

It was more than four hours after Bane had seen the vision before the first of the outlaws walked from the forest. In that time Bane ordered a steer slaughtered and a fire pit dug, and as the men made their way towards the farmhouse the smell of roasting beef filled the air.

The first to arrive was the slender, round-shouldered Wik, and with him were some forty men, mostly armed with longbows and daggers. Bane greeted them, and Iswain began to cut meat for them. There were not enough plates, but Iswain had gathered sections of broken black slate, which she had stacked on a long trestle table. 'How many still to come?' asked Bane.

Wik shrugged. 'Valian is scouring the other small camps. Maybe another sixty. Maybe less. What is this about?'

'Let's talk inside,' said Bane.

The two men wandered into the farmhouse. Bane did not know Wik well, but his impression was not a good one. Wik was a man who lacked the appetite for work of any kind. Lazy and untrustworthy, he would sooner live in squalor and semi-starvation for months in the hope of one good robbery than labour for his daily food. What he possessed, in Bane's opinion, was an animal cunning, and an ability to gather to him like-minded souls. The man was not unintelligent, but nor was he as bright as he believed. Bane watched as Wik's dirty fingers tore at the rich meat. 'Well?' asked the outlaw leader, juices flowing to his wispy brown beard.

'I want to hire you and your men,' said Bane. 'For five days.'

Wik belched. 'You have anything to drink here?' he asked.

'Ale or uisge?'

'Uisge would be good.'

Bane took a jug from the cupboard and poured a generous measure into a clay cup. Wik downed it in one. 'Hire them for what?' he asked.

'To fight. Why else?'

'Who are we to fight?'

'Sea Wolves. They are heading for Three Streams.'

Wik finished his meal, and licked his fingers. 'How many Sea Wolves?'

'Two . . . maybe three hundred.'

Wik laughed and shook his head. 'Are you insane, man? We will have maybe a hundred men. Lazy turds most of them. Aye, and cowards among them.'

'But you are no coward,' said Bane.

'I am not an idiot either. Where are Connavar's soldiers? Where are these famed Iron Wolves?'

'There are twenty of them at Three Streams, the rest are near Seven Willows ready to take on the Vars king and his army.'

Wik thought for a moment. 'Then we should be sacking Three Streams first. Twenty soldiers my men can take.'

'I plan to offer every one of your men two gold pieces for five days' work.'

Wik's eyes widened. 'Man, that's a fortune! You have that much gold here?'

'Of course I do not,' said Bane. 'But it is close by, buried and waiting. You I will offer ten gold pieces.'

'You are richer than I thought, Bane. What, in the name of Taranis, are you doing living in this place? You could have a palace!'

'I am where I wish to be. What you must consider is where you wish to be.'

'What does that mean?'

'It is very simple. Among the people at Three Streams are relatives of the king. His mother is there, as is the wife of Bendegit Bran and her children. The man who saves them from the Sea Wolves – and that is you, Wik – will be offered great rewards. Your crimes will be pardoned, and it is likely you will have more gold than you can spend. No more sitting in the mud of a forest camp. You will have the palace you desire.'

Wik thought for a moment. 'A dead man has no need of a palace. I fought the Sea Wolves once, when I was still a Pannone. Evil bastards, but they can fight. No give in them.'

'Riches and fame do not always come easily,' said Bane. 'Ask yourself how many times in your life will you be offered the chance to save the king's mother – and be a hero into the bargain. At the very least you will come out of this with ten gold pieces – plus two for every man who dies.'

'I'll have some more uisge,' said Wik. Bane poured another measure, which disappeared even faster than the first. 'What is your plan?'

'I am hoping the people in Three Streams will evacuate the settlement. We will form a rearguard behind them. We will not tackle the Sea Wolves head on, but fight and move, wearing them down.'

'No pitched battle then?'

'Not if it can be avoided.'

Wik pushed his cup towards Bane, who filled it. 'And what if you're killed, Bane? How do we get our money then?'

'I will see to it that you are all paid whether I live or not.'

'Oh, and I just trust you on this, do I?'

'Aye, you do, Wik. But, as a gesture of good faith, I will give you five gold pieces in advance.' Bane unhooked the pouch from his belt and tipped the contents to the table. The five heavy golden coins rolled across the wood. Wik stared at them for a moment, then scooped them up. Dropping four into his own pouch he drew his dagger and cut into the fifth, examining it closely. Then he added it to the others.

'Are we agreed?' said Bane.

'Aye, we are agreed. We'll defend the people of Three Streams for five days.'

By dusk more than ninety outlaws had assembled by the corral. Wik and the stocky Valian moved among them. Finally Bane walked out, wearing breastplate and helm, two short swords hanging at his side. Climbing onto the trestle table he called the outlaws forward. 'You know me,' he said. 'I am Bane. You know also that I have promised two gold coins to every man who marches beside me for these next five days. I hope you are not insulted by this, for you are all Keltoi, and I know many of you would willingly march for nothing against a savage enemy threatening the lives of Keltoi women and children. The reason I make this offer is simple. The soldiers of the king are paid when they fight for the king. And for the next five days you are all soldiers of the Rigante. So do not spurn the gold, my friends. Just earn it! We will leave two hours before the dawn.'

Leaping down from the table Bane strode back to the farmhouse. Gryffe joined him there. 'That was nicely said,' he observed. 'However, most of them wouldn't pull their mothers from a pit unless she paid them first.' Bane grinned and moved inside. Iswain was waiting there.

'So now you are all soldiers of the king,' she said, her voice sorrowful.

'Gryffe will remain here,' he told her, 'and make arrangements to feed those who have fled from the settlement.'

'What?' roared Gryffe.

Iswain's eyes blazed. 'How dare you insult my man!' she thundered. 'I will stay here and make arrangements for the refugees. The other women from the camp will help me. You'll not shame Gryffe by going without him.'

Bane raised his hands. 'My apologies to you both,' he said. 'It was not my intention to offend anyone. Nothing would delight me more than knowing Gryffe was at my side. But I thought . . .'