'Why did you not show yourself?'
Riamfada grinned. 'I thought I had, when I left you my sword. Did you like it? It will never rust, nor need sharpening. It will be bright and keen for as long as you live, Conn.'
'Aye, it is a fine weapon. But why did you not speak with me?'
'I am with the Seidh now, my friend. There are strict rules concerning contact with . . . mortals. We break them very rarely. But I asked if I could speak with you one last time.'
'I'm glad you did.'
'As am I. I wish I could tell you everything I know, Conn. It would gladden your heart, and spare you much pain. But I cannot. All I am allowed to say is this: keep all your promises, no matter how small. Sometimes, like the pebble that brings the avalanche, something tiny can prove to be of immense power.'
'I always keep my promises, little fish.'
'Remember, Conn, no matter how small.'
Conn laughed. 'I will remember.'
'So what are your plans now?'
'I have blacksmiths all over the Rigante lands making mailshirts.
These I will give to warriors who will become part of a small, elite fighting force. I brought back stallions - big warhorses, and I am breeding a new herd, of stronger mounts. Did you know I am the Long Laird's heir?'
'Aye. And I have seen the horses. They are beautiful.'
'Beautiful?' snorted Conn. 'They are magnificent. Used well they will help us against the Stone army.'
'You will need more than big horses, Conn.'
'Aye, I will need a disciplined army, well supplied.'
'You will not defeat them with the Rigante alone. You will need the Norvii, the Pannones, and all the other, smaller tribes.'
Conn nodded. 'This has been troubling me. All the lairds are singularly independent.'
'They will need to be won over,' said Riamfada, 'some by flattery, some by profit, and some by war.'
'I am not sure they will all follow me.'
Riamfada sighed. 'They will not follow you, Conn. But they will follow the king.'
'King? You know we have no kings upon this island. The last king was overthrown hundreds of years ago.'
'Call yourself War Chief then, or whatever title you feel will unite the tribes. But ultimately you will be a king. Believe me, it is written in starlight on silver.'
Conn sat back and put his arm around Riamfada's slender shoulder. 'Is this what you wanted to tell me?'
'Keep your promises Conn,' whispered his friend. Riamfada rose smoothly, and spread his arms. 'Goodbye, my friend.' The last words came like a remembered echo, and Conn was alone. He looked around and saw the Thagda standing at the edge of the clearing.
'It is time for you to return to the world of men, Connavar,' he said.
Vorna awoke and shivered. It was cold in the bedroom. She felt strange, light headed almost, and wondered if she was coming down with a chill. She sat up and pushed back the covers. The window was closed, but threads of brightness showed at the cracks in the shutters. Baby Banouin was sleeping still, and she could hear his breathing. Rising from the bed she moved to the fireplace and stirred the coals, seeking a few glowing cinders to which she could add a little kindling. But the fire was dead. She should have banked it last night, she thought.
Vorna had not spent long at the feast. For the last few days she had been working hard, making herbal potions for families whose children had developed fevers. One babe had died, but she had managed to help at least five others. Wrapping a heavy shawl around her shoulders she knelt before the dead fire, laid a small mound of tinder upon the ash, and with flint and file struck sparks at it. Her cold fingers were clumsy and she struggled to light the tinder. A moment of anger touched her. There was a time when she would merely have whispered a word of power for a blaze to begin.
The tinder flared, startling her. A spark must have gone deep within it. Adding small pieces of kindling she sat down and waited for it to catch, before placing larger logs upon it. Banouin stirred and gave a little cry. Vorna moved to the crib and stroked his brow. It was hot and sticky with sweat. Without thinking she closed her eyes and sought out the infection. She knew instantly it had begun in the nasal membranes, and she followed its path down to his tiny lungs. There it was breeding furiously. His heart was beating fast, his lymphatic system struggling to cope with this awesome enemy. Vorna concentrated, boosting his system with her power, feeling the infection die away.
When she opened her eyes his fever had gone. She lifted him from the crib and cuddled him close. 'All is well now, little man,' she said. 'Your mam is here. All is well.'
Then the shock hit her. She had healed him.
The power had returned. Holding Banouin close she moved to a chair by the fire and sat down. She whispered the Word. The fire died instantly. She spoke it again and the flames roared back.
Banouin nuzzled at her. Opening her nightshirt she held him at her breast. His contentment and his hunger washed over her. When he had fed she carried him out to the kitchen, where she changed his soiled nappy and cleaned him. Tired from the infection he fell asleep again and she returned him to his crib.
What had happened to her?
Moving out into the main room Vorna snapped her fingers at the dead ash in the hearth. Fire sprang up instantly. In the kitchen she poured dried oats into a pan, added salt and milk and brought it back into the main room, hanging the pot over the fire. All the while she was thinking, focusing upon this curious return to witchhood. The power felt natural within her, as if it had never been away. And yet it had changed subtly. She could not identify the change. Perhaps it is not the power that has altered, but the woman I have become, she thought.
She sensed a presence close by and was not surprised when she heard the tapping at the door. 'Come in,' she called.
The Morrigu materialized in the chair by the fire, holding out her wrinkled hands to the blaze. 'A cold morning,' said the Seidh. 'And how are you today?'
'I am well. Would you care for some oats and honey?'
The Morrigu shook her ancient head. Thank you, no. But it is good to find you in a welcoming mood.'
Vorna smiled and moved to the hearth, where she stood stirring the hot oats and milk with a long wooden spoon. 'I have not had the chance to thank you for delivering my babe,' she called out. That was a kind act.'
The Morrigu pushed her finger into the boiling porridge. Lifting it clear, she sucked it. 'Not enough salt,' she said. Vorna added another pinch and continued to stir.
'Why did you save me?'
'Why should I not?' countered the old woman. 'I can do as I wish. I can save, I can kill, I can curse or I can bless. Perhaps it was a whim.'
'Was it a whim also that made you return my powers?'
'It was a favour. I have changed my mind. I will join you for breakfast. It is a long time since I ate. Before you were born, in fact.'
Vorna laughed. Then you must be hungry.'
The Morrigu held out her hand. A pottery jar full of fresh honey appeared there. 'I have a sweet tooth,' she said.
They ate their breakfast in silence by the fire, and when they were finished the Morrigu waved her hand, and the dishes and utensils disappeared. Vorna looked at the old woman. Her face was grey, the skin dry, her eyes cloudy. 'Are you well?' she asked, suddenly.
'Well enough,' snapped the Morrigu.
'You mentioned a favour.'
The Morrigu leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. 'Connavar asked the Thagda to return your powers. The Thagda agreed. The child certainly remembers his promises. Unusual in men, I find.'
'What is it you want of him?' asked Vorna.
'Why should I want anything?'
'Come now,' said Vorna, 'even without powers I was not stupid. The Seidh avoid humankind. But not Connavar. You gave him his first knife, you healed him in the lands of the Perdii. You warned him of the danger to his lady. You took his friend's spirit to live among you, rather than let it roam the dark. Why is he special to you?'
'I also sent a bear to rip his flesh,' the Morrigu reminded her.
'Aye, you did, and I have spent a great deal of time thinking on that. In those first days in my cave I did everything to keep him alive. Even so he should not have lived. You held his soul in place. I know this now. Just as I know you goaded me to give up my power in order to save him. You did not want him dead. You need him. Why?'
'Such a clever girl, Vorna. It is why I have always liked you. Connavar is important to us. Not just for what he is, but for what he represents. More than that I will not say. I will offer this advice to you, though. If you value your new-found friends do not let them know your powers have returned. Continue to treat them with herbs and such. Let your powers be invisible to them. Mortals are so fickle with their favours.'
'You do not like us much, do you?' said Vorna.
'I like some of you, my dear. Truly I do.'
With that she disappeared.
The morning was bright and cold and Fiallach had risen early, his eyes bleary from the night's excesses. He recalled the feast, and the dark-haired Gwydia, whose company he had enjoyed. She was almost eighteen and he remembered asking her why she had not yet wed. She told him the right man had not asked her. He shivered at the memory. Then he thought of Tae, and how beautiful she had looked. Fiallach sighed, walked from the hut and drew a bucket of cold water from the well outside. The sky was bright with the promise of the dawn. Fiallach splashed his face then rubbed wet fingers through his long yellow hair. He stared for a moment at the Druagh mountains, tall and proud against the lightening sky. This was good land, he thought.
Few people were stirring at this early hour. Pulling on his boots, Fiallach strolled through the settlement, back down to the feast area. The remains of the food had been gathered, and not a scrap remained. This was good practice, for had it been left to lie it would have encouraged wolves or bears to move down into the settlement.
'Good morning,' said Gwydia, walking from behind the smithy. Fiallach turned. Her dark hair was bound now, and she was wearing a dress of sky blue, and a woollen shawl the colour of cream. Like him she could only have enjoyed around two hours of sleep, and yet she looked fresh, her eyes bright.
'You are abroad early,' he said.
'I always rise early. I like this time of day, watching the sun clear the mountains.'
'So do I,' he said. 'Will you walk with me a while?'
She smiled and, unselfconsciously, took his arm. Together they crossed a bridge and strolled out of the settlement and up into the high meadow. In the distance Fiallach could see two eagles soaring high against the backdrop of the mountains. 'It would be nice to be an eagle,' she said, 'don't you think?'
'I have never considered it,' he admitted. But the thought was a fine one: spreading wings and flying high above the earth. They continued to walk, then paused to watch the sunrise light the land.
Fiallach stood silently, feeling Gwydia's small hand in his own. He felt strange, then realized, with sudden shock, that he was at peace.
'What are you thinking?' she asked him, suddenly.
'That I am an angry man,' he replied, without thinking. The words surprised him.
'What are you angry about?'
He smiled. 'At this moment I do not know, for the anger is gone.'
'It is hard to be angry when one has seen the sun rise,' she said.
'It seems to be true,' he admitted. 'I wonder why?'
'Because it makes us feel so small and insignificant. It has been rising for ever, and will rise for ever, no matter what we do or do not do. All our problems are as nothing to the sun.'
'Yes,' he said. 'I see that. I never saw it before.'
She laughed. 'You never watched a sunrise?'
'I have never watched one with you.'
She blushed. Taking her hand he raised it to his lips and kissed her fingers. For a moment they stood very still, then she took his arm. 'Come down to my home,' she said, softly. 'Mother will be preparing breakfast.'
'Could I be the right man for you?' he asked her.
Her dark eyes looked into his own of bright blue. 'You had best speak to my father,' she told him.
'I shall. But I need to hear it from you.'
'You are the right man,' she said. 'I knew it last night.'
'You know that I am almost thirty-one. You do not think me too old?'
'Foolish man,' she said, with a smile. 'Come and see my father.'
Nanncumal the smith was a dour man, but he smiled widely when Fiallach told him of his desire to wed his daughter. With Gwydia in the house, helping her mother set the table, Nanncumal and Fiallach had walked to the smithy. Nanncumal stirred the ashes to life in the forge and added fresh fuel. 'She is a fine girl,' said the smith. 'Strong, loyal - a little too quick with her wit, though.'
'You seem unsurprised, sir,' said Fiallach.
'She told us last night. I was only worried that she might be disappointed.'
'Last night?'
'The ways of women, young man, are completely beyond a man's understanding. She came home more excited than I have ever seen her. Said she had met the most wonderful man. I got up in the night and saw her sitting by the window. I asked her what she was doing. She said she was watching for you. I have never known her like this. To be honest, it is good to see. She has turned down several fine young men. Said she was waiting for the right one. You treat her well, now.'
'You have my word on that,' said Fiallach.
'Then we will speak no more of it.' With the forge fire blazing Nanncumal moved to a shelf at the rear of the building and retrieved a thin-necked copper jug. Passing it to Fiallach he said: 'It is early in the day, but I feel a toast is in order.'
Fiallach hefted the jug and took a deep drink of uisge. 'Man, that is good,' he said, handing the jug to Nanncumal.
'Twenty years old. I have been saving it for just such an occasion. Here's to you and Gwydia.' The smith drank deeply, then stoppered the jug and returned it to the shelf. 'While you are here,' he said, 'there is something I must check.' He grinned, and taking a length of twine he ran it around Fiallach's enormous shoulders.
'What are you doing?' asked the big man.
'You'll know soon enough,' said Nanncumal, marking the twine with his thumb. 'Yes, that should be about right. It has been worrying me,' he said.
'Is this some Three Streams marriage ritual?'
'No. Have a little patience, young man. You will find out when we see Connavar later this morning. For now let us go and eat.'
Two hours later Fiallach, Nanncumal and his son Govannan strolled across to the house of Connavar. Tae was not present. She was visiting with Connavar's mother, Meria. As Fiallach entered the house he saw Conn, his stepfather, Ruathain, and the druid, Brother Solstice. Fiallach's eyes rested on Ruathain, and he felt his pulse quicken. The man was big and powerful, and Fiallach's fighting spirit flared. Ruathain looked at him and grinned. He too felt it. It was as if they were two proud bulls with a herd at stake.
They shook hands, measuring each other. Fiallach knew of Ruathain's reputation as a warrior. He had been First Swordsman for almost two decades. He wondered what the man would be like with fists. Their eyes met. 'My son speaks highly of you,' said Ruathain. Then he walked back to stand beside Conn.
In the silence that followed Connavar rose from his seat and moved to a chest at the rear of the room. Opening it he pulled clear a shirt of shining mail. Fiallach gazed at it with open envy. It was beautiful, the rings small, but perfectly formed. It handled like heavy cloth. Connavar handed the mailshirt to Ruathain, produced another and passed it to Govannan. Then he lifted a third and walked across the room, giving it to Fiallach.
'Put them on,' said Connavar.
'Now you see why I was worried about the size of your shoulders,' said Nanncumal. 'Conn told me you were roughly the same size as his father. In fact you are a little bigger, but I think you will find it comfortable.'
Fiallach lifted the mailshirt over his head. It wa
s heavy. Sliding his arms into it, he settled it into place. The armoured mail reached to his knees. It had been split at the front and back to allow ease of movement for a rider. The sleeves were short, finishing a little above the elbow, and there was a hood, which Fiallach pulled into place. He had never worn such a magnificent piece. His thick fingers ran over the mail rings. They would stop any arrow, and protect a warrior from thrusting knives or slashing swords. It would take an axe to cleave through them. He looked around the room. Ruathain and Govannan were similarly garbed now.
'It is my intention,' said Conn, 'to create a fighting force for the protection of our lands. Each man will swear a blood oath to follow my orders without question. Eventually there will be five hundred of us, each with a warhorse. When that day comes you three will be my captains. That is, if you agree to the oath.'
'Who are we to fight?' asked Fiallach. 'We are at peace with all our neighbours.'
'The enemy is coming,' said Conn. 'You may trust me on this. The Stone army will cross the water, and then you will see slaughter like never before. We must be prepared. Or we will fall, like all the tribes across the sea. I have seen them, Fiallach. They are deadly, their army near invincible. When they stand and fight they lock shields, creating a wall of bronze. I have watched Keltoi tribesmen hurl themselves against this wall and be cut down in their thousands by short, stabbing swords.' He fell silent for a moment, and his eyes took on a haunted look. 'And when they have destroyed the armies they move across the land, taking thousands into slavery. Except the children. These are slaughtered. When the land is cleared they bring in settlers from their own lands, and build towns of stone. In order to defeat them we must find a new way to fight.'
Govannan spoke. He had changed in the last year, his face losing the roundness of youth. His dark eyes were deep set, his face almost gaunt and he sported no beard. 'If they are coming, as you say, Conn, then how will five hundred riders succeed where armies of thousands have failed?'
'We will not succeed alone. There will also be armies - footmen, cavalry, archers. The Stone soldiers are grouped into six units which, together, create a Panther. The head is the elite fighting force, the advance unit. Then there are the claws. Finally there is the Belly. This last group is responsible for protecting supply lines. The Stone army, being in hostile territory, must be constantly supplied with food: grain, salt, meat, dried fruits.' Conn smiled grimly. 'That is where my riders will be best used. Disrupting their supplies, attacking their convoys. They call themselves Panthers. We will be the Iron Wolves, hunting them as a pack. We will also harry and terrorize those who supply them. For make no mistake, they will be supplied by Keltoi chieftains. That is their method. When they fought the Perdii, they were supplied by the Gath and the Ostro. It will be the same here. They will land in the far south, and probably attack the Norvii. If they follow the same pattern as before they will first seek to befriend the Cenii and other smaller tribes. These tribes, who have long held grievances against the Norvii, will sell grain to the Stone army. Once they have a base they will set up their own supply routes.' He looked around the room, scanning their faces. 'Now,' he said, 'do I have your Blood Oaths?'
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