David Gemmel - Midnight Falcon

'And why can you not understand?' he countered. 'The priests represent power in Stone. To go against them is wilful and dangerous. It has left us here, in this forsaken cesspit of a land.'

'I was happy to stay,' she reminded him.

To stay and die,' he pointed out.

'Some things are worth dying for.'

'Aye, but not trees,' he said.

The team halted before the bridge. Appius stood and stared at the raging river as it gushed past the supports. The structure looked insubstantial and neglected. With a silent curse he sat down and cracked the whip. The horses moved out onto the wooden boards. Below, in the black churning water, the swollen body of a dead bull was swept along by the flood. It rammed against one of the supports, which buckled and fell away. The wagon lurched. Appius rose in his seat, cracking his whip once more. The frightened horses lunged into the traces.

Then the bridge collapsed.

Appius was thrown clear, his head striking a post. Then he was pitched unconscious into the water.

Banouin had been miserable for most of the day, and not just because of the hissing winds and the driving rain. He had not slept well, his dreams full of anxiety and humiliation. Happily he could not remember most of the dreams, but one had clung to his conscious mind. He was standing naked in the centre of Stone, and crowds of people were laughing at him. Deep down he knew the reason for the dream, and it made him feel like a traitor and an ingrate.

It was quite simply the thought of Bane's accompanying him to Stone that had brought about this mood of depression, and the anxiety dreams that accompanied it. Banouin's plan had been to purchase suitable clothing, cut his hair, and enrol in the university. In short to become a citizen of Stone, to blend into the life of that wondrous place. No more jeers and taunts, no more feelings of inadequacy. He had planned to become a scholar, living a quiet life of contemplation and study. Now he was riding towards the city of his dreams in the company of a man of ferocious violence, the epitome of the best and worst of Rigante manhood.

Yet this man had protected him for much of his young life, and had endured the hatred of his peers for doing so. The thoughts that plagued Banouin left him feeling melancholy and unworthy.

The rain eased away for a while during mid-morning, and Bane tossed back his hood and rode in closer to his friend. 'You are not such a lively companion today,' he said.

Banouin forced a smile. 'It's the rain.'

'Come now,' said Bane, slapping him on the shoulder. 'I've known you too long. When you wear that long face there is something troubling you. Are you still concerned about the fat man?'

'No. I was thinking about my life among the Rigante,' said Banouin, which was at least partly true.

'What about it?'

'It was not happy,' said Banouin lamely. 'It is hard to be hated for something you can do nothing about. I am not responsible for the blood which flows in my veins. Why could they not just accept me as Vorna's son?'

Bane shrugged. 'Aye, life was difficult for you, right enough.'

'I never did anything to harm any of them,' continued Banouin, anger creeping into his voice. 'And they hated me. You, on the other hand, constantly got into fights and rows, and they liked you. Or they would have had you let them. There's no sense to it.'

Bane turned towards him, and looked as if he was about to speak. Then he changed his mind and rode on a little ahead, the grey picking his way carefully through the mud. It was an abrupt end to the conversation, and Banouin thought back over his last statement, to see if he had unwittingly said anything offensive. Puzzled, he urged the chestnut forward. As he came alongside his friend he glanced at Bane's face. There was no anger there, but no good humour either. 'What? What did I say?' asked Banouin.

'For a man who wants to be a scholar,' said Bane, 'you see things too simply.'

'Would you care to elaborate?'

'For what purpose?' asked Bane. 'You are leaving the Rigante. The past is gone.'

'I would still like to know.'

Bane glanced at the roiling clouds above. The rain would soon start again. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, which made the horses react nervously. Bane stroked the long neck of the grey and whispered soothing words to it. Then he looked at Banouin. 'There's an example for you,' he said. 'The horses were spooked. What did you do?'

'What do you mean?'

Bane hauled on the reins, and angled in close. Banouin's chestnut was still skittish and he calmed it. 'You complain about this horse all the time,' said Bane. 'It bucks. It doesn't like you. Yet when it is frightened you don't pet it or speak to it. To you it is just a beast of burden to carry you to the sea. You sit upon it, but you do not ride it. You have made no attempt to communicate with the horse, to become its friend.'

'What have horses to do with what we were talking about?'

Bane shook his head. 'You really don't see, do you? You have complained all your life about people disliking you. Yet when have you done anything for anyone else? Last year when Nian's barn caught fire, and everyone rushed there to try to save it, where were you? You stayed home. As we walked back through Three Streams, covered in soot and ash, you came walking by, clean and bright. You might just as well have been carrying a sign that said, "I care nothing for any of you, or your troubles." One day you will realize that you are what you are because you chose to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.'

'That is not fair! A man with half an eye could see that Nian's barn was beyond saving. It was a waste of effort.'

'That waste of effort brought people closer together. It showed that people cared for one another, and were willing to take risks for one another. When his barn was destroyed Nian could at least sit back and know he had true friends who would stand beside him. And two days later those same people got together again to raise a new barn. Was that a waste of effort? And you were missing on that day, too.'

The clouds opened, and rain lashed down over them. Bane pulled his hood into place and drew his leather cloak around his shoulders. Banouin was furious, but any words he could have summoned would have been whipped away by the storm. Bane's comments ate away at him as they rode. All his life he had been taunted and beaten by the Rigante. Why then should he care about their barns or their lives?

Towards dusk, with the rain easing, and the sky brightening to the west, the two companions were riding along the bank, of a swollen river. Up ahead a broken-backed wagon was caught up against the bank. A horse was thrashing in the water, desperately trying to keep its head above the flood. Bane kicked the grey into a run and rode alongside, leaping from the saddle and clambering over the ruined wagon. Unbuckling his sword belt he threw it to the bank, then leapt into the river alongside the weakening horse. With his dagger Bane sawed at the traces, then ducked under the water.

Banouin watched from the bank. Three times Bane surfaced and dived again. At last the horse moved clear of the wagon, but it was too exhausted to climb the slope. Bane swam alongside it. Then he shouted up at Banouin. 'Don't just sit there, you bastard! There's a rope in the back of the wagon.' Shocked by the outburst Banouin stepped down from the saddle and climbed to the wagon. There were several chests here, and two coiled ropes. Taking them both he looped them over his shoulders, then climbed down the side of the wagon. He slipped and almost fell, but grabbed at the half submerged wheel. The wagon tilted. For a moment Banouin thought it would roll over him and, almost panic-stricken, he lunged at the bank and scrabbled up through the mud. Taking up one of the rope coils he made a loop. His hands were shaking as he approached the slippery mud slope above the water, and twice he failed to drop the loop over the flailing horse's head. But the third throw was a success. The loop drew tight and Banouin tried to haul the horse from the water. His feet slipped, and the weary beast slid back, and fell to its side. A flailing hoof cracked against Bane's skull and he cried out. Banouin saw him fall back into the torrent. He was swept along for a hundred yards, then grasped a low branch and hauled himself clear. When he returned Banouin saw a wide, blood-smeared gash on his forehead. Pushing past Banouin, Bane ran to the grey, and vaulted to the saddle. Easing the grey forward he took the rope from Banouin and looped it around the horn of his saddle. Carefully Bane and the grey drew the exhausted horse from the water. It scrambled up the bank, and stood shivering in the fading light. Bane dismounted and moved alongside it, stroking its neck and flanks. 'You fought well, brave heart,' he said, keeping his voice low. Suddenly the wagon broke clear of the bank, turned over and floated away, carrying with it the body of a second horse, which had been submerged.