David Gemmel: Midnight Falcon

Connavar bowed his head. 'Oh, Tae,' he said, 'I am so ashamed.'

'Will you still take me riding?'

Connavar gave out a groan and fell to his knees. Parax stood silently by, knowing the cause of the king's grief. He had promised to ride with Tae to a distant lake, but on his way home had met with a woman he had once loved. Arian had held to him, and he had bedded her. Hours later, upon his return to Old Oaks, he discovered that Tae had ridden out with Ruathain and had been killed during a surprise attack by men who had a blood feud with his stepfather. Connavar remained on his knees, head bowed. The giant figure of Ruathain loomed over him. 'Family is everything, Conn. I thought I taught you that.'

'You did, Big Man. I never forgot it. I have looked after Wing and Bran and Mam.'

'And Bane?'

Connavar's face grew angry. 'I regret that. But I could not bear to see Arian again. My lust for her killed Tae – and destroyed my life!'

'You made a mistake, Conn. All men do. But Bane was blameless, and he has grown to manhood without a father. He watched his mother, grief-stricken and broken, fade away and die lonely. He deserved better from you, Conn. You should have acknowledged him. It is not as if there was any doubt. He looks like you – even down to the eyes of green and gold. And because you shunned him all men shunned him.'

The dream was terribly real and Parax wanted to reach out and comfort the king, who seemed stricken by grief and ashamed. Then the vision faded, replaced by a stand of trees, branches gently swaying in the wind. Then – for the merest heartbeat – the old hunter saw a veiled woman standing close by. She was leaning on a staff. A huge black crow flew down from the trees and perched upon her shoulder. Parax was instantly terrified. For this, he knew, was the dreaded Morrigu, the Seidh goddess of mischief and death.

He awoke with a start, and cried out. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He gazed around at the tree line, but there was no veiled woman, no black crow. The smell of sizzling bacon came to him and he thought he must still be dreaming. Turning his head he saw a man squatting by a fire, holding a long-handled pan over the flames. The man glanced across at him and grinned.

'You were having a bad dream, old man,' he said amiably. It was getting dark and the wind was chill. Parax moved closer to the fire and wrapped his green cloak tightly around his thin shoulders. He stared hard at the young man. He was beardless, his long blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck, a thin braid, in the style of the Sea Wolves, hanging from his right temple. Dressed in a hunting shirt of pale green, with a sleeveless brown leather jerkin, buckskin trews and knee-length riding boots, he wore no sword, but was turning the bacon with a hunting knife of bright iron.

'You are the Wolfshead, Bane,' said Parax.

'And you are Parax, the King's Hunter.'

'I am – and proud of it.'

Bane laughed. 'Men say you are the greatest tracker of all.'

'So they say,' agreed the old man.

'Not any more, Parax,' said the youngster, with a rueful smile. 'I have been watching you. You've crossed my trail three times in the last two days. The third time I left a clear print for you to see and you rode straight past it.'

Parax leaned in closer. Now he could see the odd-coloured eyes, one green, one tawny gold. Just like his father, thought the old man. Just like the king. He seemed older than his seventeen years, harder, more knowing than he should be. 'Are you planning to kill me?' he asked.

'You want me to?'

'There would be a kind of poetry in it,' said Parax. 'The first time I met your father he was around your age. He had come to kill me. I had tracked him for days, with a group of Perdii warriors. Oh, but he was clever, and killed seven of the hunters. And he did everything to throw me from the trail. Great skill he had for a young man. I tracked him over rock, and through water. He almost fooled me one time. His tracks disappeared below the branch of an oak. He had hauled himself up, then run along the branch and leapt to a nearby tree. But I was not old and useless then. I found him.'

'So why didn't he kill you?'

Parax shrugged. 'Didn't know then, don't know now. We shared a meal, and he rode off to join the army of Stone. When next I saw him he was the man who had killed the Perdii king, and I was roped and tied and ready for deportation to the slave mines. He recognized me, and saved me. Now here I am with his son. So, are you going to kill me?'

'I have nothing against you, old man,' said Bane. 'I'd just as soon let you live.'

'Then you'd better share that bacon,' said Parax. 'Otherwise I might starve to death.'

'Of course. The food is yours, after all.' Bane speared a strip of bacon on his hunting knife, then passed the pan across to the hunter. They ate in silence. The bacon was full of flavour but a little too salty and Parax moved back to the stream for a drink.

'How did you evade the hunters?' he asked, as he returned to the fire.

'It wasn't difficult. They didn't really want to find me. Can't say I blame them. Most are married men, who wouldn't want to leave behind young widows.'

'You are a cocky whoreson,' snapped Parax.

'Indeed I am. But I am also very good with sword or knife. I have fought my battles, Parax. Twice against Sea Raiders, and three times against Norvii outlaws.' He tapped the thick gold clasp round his left wrist. 'Uncle Braefar himself awarded me this for courage. It should have been awarded by the king – but that would have been too embarrassing.'

Parax heard the rising anger in the young man's voice and changed the subject. 'So why did you allow me to find you?'

Bane laughed. 'You didn't find me, Parax. I found you. I felt sorry for you. It must be hard to lose one's skills.'

'Aye, it is hard. Though I doubt you'll live long enough to know how hard it is. So, why are we having this meeting?'

The young man did not answer at first. He carried the pan to the stream, washed it, dried it with grass, then returned it to the old man's pack. Then he stretched out by the fire. 'I was intrigued. I know why Uncle Braefar's men were after me. But not why the King's Hunter should have been sent. Nor, indeed, why you did not ride with the other hunters.'

'The king does not want to see you dead,' said Parax.

Bane gave a scornful laugh. 'Is that so? My father does not want to see me dead. How touching. In all my life he has not spoken to me – save when I won the Beltine Race and he awarded the prize. "Well done." In my seventeen years they are the only two words I have heard my father speak. And now I am to believe he is concerned for my welfare?'

'I cannot speak for his concerns. He asked me to find you. Gave me a bag of gold to give you.'

'A bag of gold? What a sweet man!' Bane spat into the fire.

'He is a good man,' said Parax softly.

'Be careful, old man,' warned Bane. 'I am not known to be overly forgiving. I have killed two men in the past five days. A third will not trouble my conscience.'

'My understanding is that they spoke slightingly of your dead mother, then waylaid you after you had beaten them with your fists. A trial would most certainly have seen you acquitted.'

'And this bag of gold is to aid my trial?'

'No,' admitted Parax. 'It is to help you once you have left Rigante lands. The men you killed were kin to the general, Fiallach. He has sworn a blood oath to fight you. The king does not want either of you hurt.'

Bane laughed, the sound merry and full of humour. 'He doesn't want Uncle Fiallach killed, you mean?'

'If that is what he had meant, then that is what he would have said,' snapped Parax.

'I like loyalty,' said Bane. 'I don't have much experience of it, but I like it none the less. So I will let you live, and I will take the bag of gold.' His voice hardened, and an edge of cold fury showed through. 'But maybe I will not leave. Maybe I will stay and challenge Fiallach. And cut his throat in front of the king.'