David Gemmel - Midnight Falcon

'Then you saw Bane,' said Vorna.

'Aye, I saw Bane. And in him I saw Varaconn. It was as if he had stepped through a gate in time. Oh, Vorna! What have I done with my life?' Tears began to fall. 'I let my grandson die. I almost doomed the settlement. I have become a harridan, unloved by all. But worse, far worse, I turned my back on Connavar's only son.'

'Yes, you did these things,' said Vorna coldly, 'and they cannot be changed. All our deeds have consequences, and we must face them. You are now facing yours.'

Meria brushed away her tears. 'You are not making this easy for me, Vorna.'

'No, I am not.'

'Do you hate me so much?'

'I do not hate anyone,' Vorna told her. 'Once we were friends, and I treasure those memories. Now we are not. I can live with that. It interests me to know why you chose to end that friendship.'

'I was wrong to do so,' said Meria. 'It was weak of me, and petty. It happened after I learned of Ruathain's death at the Great Battle. Brother Solstice told me that Ru had a diseased heart, and that you had been tending him. He said that you had warned Ru not to fight. But I did not know of his condition. You recall my son's geasa?’

'Of course. I prophesied it. He will die on the day he kills the dog that bites him.'

'Exactly. And Conn was bitten by a dog. The hound's teeth locked onto Conn's wrist guard and did not break the flesh. When I told Ru he said that this was not a true bite. I took no notice. I was so terrified that Conn would be killed in the following day's battle that I urged Ru to go with him, and defend him. I told him – may the gods forgive me – that he had once promised to defend Varaconn and had failed, and that he must not fail again.'

'And he did not fail,' said Vorna. 'He fought all day alongside Connavar. His heart only gave out after the battle. But why did this cause you to hate me?'

'I did not have the courage to blame myself for his death,' said Meria, 'so I convinced myself that had you told me of his condition I would never have sent him into battle. Thus his death became your fault, not mine. And then, when you befriended Bane, my hatred grew. I look back at what I have become and I am ashamed, Vorna.'

'Then change,' said Vorna, 'but know this, it is too late.'

'Too late? What do you mean?'

'It is too late for you to forge a relationship with Bane. He needed you as a babe, as a toddler, as a child. He does not need you now. Nor does he want you.'

'But you are his friend, Vorna. You could explain to him…'

'What would I explain to this twenty-year-old warrior who has grown to manhood despised and rejected by his family? He needs no explanations. He knows. He watched his mother die before her time, weighed down by the contempt of others who blamed her alone for Connavar's loss. Now he is a man, and through the disappointments of his childhood has no desire for familial affection. Your time to build a relationship with Bane has long gone. If you truly desire to change, then let that change show with those children who might yet benefit from it, your own grandchildren, Orrin and Badraig.'

'Then you will not help me?' said Meria, her face hardening, her green eyes gleaming in the firelight.

Vorna laughed. 'Now that is the Meria I know.'

Meria slumped back in her chair, the light of anger fading from her eyes. 'I suppose that it is,' she said. 'But I don't want to be her any more. Tonight I tried to cuddle Orrin and he ran away from me. He was frightened.'

'These things take time,' said Vorna, her voice softening. She rose from the chair. 'I will make some tisane, and we will talk of happier days.'

Three days passed with no news of the great battle being waged between the Rigante and the Vars near Seven Willows. The people of Three Streams went about their business, but they were fearful. What if Connavar was to fail? What if – having defeated a few hundred Vars – ten thousand were to appear in the distance? Scouts were sent out to watch the eastern horizon, and people left many of their clothes and belongings packed ready for flight.

On the morning of the fourth day a rider came galloping over the hills. As he came closer they saw he was one of Bendegit Bran's Horse Archers, his silver mailshirt gleaming in the sunshine, his bow tied to his saddle. His horse thundered over the first bridge and down into the settlement centre. People ran from their homes, anxious for news. He waited until more than fifty were gathered, with still more pouring in.

'Victory!' he shouted. 'The Vars are defeated, their king slain.'

A huge cheer went up, and word spread fast through Three Streams. Men and women gathered around the rider. His horse became skittish and reared. People fell back then. The rider calmed his mount and leapt down from his saddle, leading the nervous horse to the corral alongside the forge. 'Where is the Lady Meria?' he asked. Men pointed to her house and the Horse Archer strode across the open ground, a huge crowd following. He turned to them. 'I will give a full report at the Roundhouse in an hour. First I must deliver messages to the king's mother and to the wife of Bendegit Bran.'

He left them then, and walked to the front door of the house. It was open, and Gwen was standing in the doorway.

'Is Bran alive?' she asked.

The rider removed his black leather helm, and bowed. 'He is alive and well, my lady. I am Furse, son of Ostaran, and I have a letter for you.' Opening the pouch at his side he pulled forth two wax-sealed letters. He gave the first to Gwen.

Meria emerged from the kitchen, flour upon her hands. 'I heard the shouting,' she said. 'I take it my son has won another great battle?'

'Indeed he has, Lady Meria.'

'Gwen, fetch our guest a cup of ale. He must be thirsty after such a ride. Then he can sit and tell us all the news.' Meria looked at the rider closely, as Gwen moved past her into the kitchen. He was slender and not tall, his pale hair cut short after the fashion of the men of Stone. 'Do I not know you, young man?' Meria asked.

'You do, lady. I am Furse. My father-'

'Ah yes, Ostaran the Gath. I like him. He makes me laugh. Sit you down, sir.'

Gwen returned with a mug brimming with ale. Furse thanked her and drank deeply. Then he sat, and gave a wide smile.

'We smashed them,' he said. 'Bendegit Bran organized the deployments. It was his strategy. We took them on three sides, forcing them up onto the Hallowed Hills. Then Connavar led the Iron Wolves against their left flank, splitting their force. They fought hard, these Vars, but it was an easy victory. They tried to hold to the hilltops, but we drove them off. At the last King Shard tried to lead his men in a charge, attempting, I think, to break and run for their ships. But Bran had thought of this, and my father's Horse Archers cut them off.

'Ah, ladies, but the finish was glorious. Shard – a mighty man and fully six and a half feet tall – stood alone upon a narrow bridge. His men were dead, or fleeing the field, but he stood brave and strong, and taunted us, calling for a champion to fight him, man to man. Three he killed before King Connavar rode up. Shard saw him and called out: "At last a foe worthy of my blade."

'The king drew his sword and stepped out to meet him. The battle was brief, ladies, but wondrous. When Shard fell the king knelt by him. I was one of those close by and I moved in to hear what passed between them. Shard spoke, but the words were whispered, and I did not catch them. Then Shard reached up and took the king's hand. I heard Connavar say, "And on that day there will be no hatred between us." Then Shard died.'

'What were our losses?' asked Meria.

'More than two thousand slain, my lady. And at least five thousand wounded. As I said, these Vars are tough men. The king ordered a day of rest, but after that the army will be heading south to face Jasaray. Our scouts tell us that the army of Stone numbers thirty thousand, and three thousand cavalry.'