Midnight Falcon (12 page)

'Aye, then you tried to save them.'

'I could not defeat him.'

'But you tried, boy. You almost gave your life for it. I'm proud of you.'

'Proud of failure?' Bane gave a harsh laugh.

'Aye, proud,' said the man again. 'An heroic action should never be judged on the basis of its success or failure, but on the heart, passion and courage that inspired it.'

'You are the Big Man,' said Bane.

'I am Ruathain.'

'I know of you,' Bane told him. 'You treated my mother with kindness.' He smiled suddenly. 'I always wanted to know you, Big Man.'

Ruathain clapped him on the shoulder. 'I would like nothing better than to sit and talk with you, Grandson, but the sword-flame will not last much longer, and you must make a choice. You can stay, and I will lead your soul to the Haven, or you can try to return to the world of the living.'

'Then I am not dead?'

'Not yet.'

'How do I return?'

Ruathain gestured up at the glass cliff. 'You must climb it, Bane, to the very top. It will be mercilessly hard. Agonizing. The sharp glass will cut away at you, tearing your flesh. Most men would fail. But you will not fail. Your courage and your fighting spirit will carry you on, through all the agony. Do you believe me?'

'I believe you, Big Man.'

'Then go now, my boy,' said Ruathain, drawing Bane to his feet. The spirit warrior embraced Bane, hugging him close and patting his back. Then he released him. Bane felt a wave of warm emotion threatening to engulf him. No-one, save his mother, had ever embraced him. He looked into Ruathain's eyes.

'I am glad that we met,' he said.

'And I. Now climb – back to the sunlight and the life beyond.'

Leaving his sword upon the ground Bane reached up for a handhold, then began to climb. At first it was easy, but then his foot slipped, and sharp glass cut through his boot, slicing the skin of his foot. The pain almost made him lose his grip. Gritting his teeth he pulled himself up. At first he suffered only small cuts and scratches, and each one stung like salt upon a wound. After a while his shirt and breeches were in tatters, his boots sliced away. Deep cuts had been gouged into his chest and belly, and he was smearing a trail of blood upon the cliff face. He glanced down. Ruathain was no longer there, and the sword-flame had disappeared. A huge throng of creatures had gathered at the foot of the cliff, but none attempted to climb after him.

The pain was intense now, clouding his thoughts, filling his mind. He looked up, but could not see the top. He struggled on. The flesh of his arms had been stripped away, and he could see sinews and muscles, and the whiteness of bone. Each hand- or foot-hold now brought increasing agony, and his mind screamed at him to let go, to fall away from this torturous climb. He closed his eyes, and felt his spirit failing.

'Courage, Grandson,' came the voice of Ruathain.

Bane climbed on.

There was no flesh now upon his fingers, only white bone and ligament. Strips of skin were hanging from his arms, belly and thighs, and his body burned as if on fire. Once more he stopped, all strength seeping from him. If he climbed much further he would be torn to shreds. There would be nothing left of him.

Again the voice of Ruathain whispered into his ear. 'The man who brought death to the house of Appius still lives, Bane. His name is Voltan. Men say he is the greatest swordsman in all the world. I saw him laugh as he stabbed you!'

Anger flooded through Bane, washing over the pain. He fought his way ever higher, dragging himself inch by agonizing inch.

At last he pulled his mutilated body over the lip of the cliff. He felt a cool breeze upon his face, and looked around. He was standing on a flat section of glass no more than twenty feet square.

'Proud of you, boy,' came the voice of Ruathain.

And Bane woke.

Oranus waited for the death wagon to arrive then climbed up alongside the driver. Two stretcher-bearers were sitting on an empty wooden coffin in the back. The sun was bright in a clear sky as the driver flicked his reins across the back of the two ponies and the wagon moved on through the streets.

'It is a beautiful day,' said Oranus. The Cenii driver looked at him quizzically, then nodded agreement. As the wagon trundled on Oranus saw the old Cenii witch woman moving from a doorway. He called out to her, but she did not hear him and walked into the shadows of an alleyway. A crow cawed loudly, then launched itself from a rooftop and flew away to the north.

'What is her name?' Oranus asked the driver.

'Whose name?' replied the man.

'The old woman we just saw.'

'I saw no woman, sir.'

The wagon lurched as it left the only paved area of road in Accia and headed up the rutted slope to the house of Barus. Leaving the wagon and the driver at the side gate Oranus led the stretcher-bearers through the house, stepping over the pools of dried blood on the floor, and climbing the stairs. The captain paused at the bedroom door, preparing himself for the sight of the dead Rigante. Then he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He stopped suddenly, and a stretcher-bearer walked into him, mumbling an apology.

Bane was sitting up in bed, his face pale, but his eyes open. Oranus glanced at the stitched wounds, and the bruises around them. It was not possible the man could be alive. He stood for a moment, uncertain, then drew in a deep breath and ordered the stretcher-bearers to wait downstairs. Then he walked to the bedside, drew up a chair and sat down.

'You should be dead,' he said. 'Your lung was pierced.'

'Your surgeon did well, then,' said Bane, his voice weak. There was dried blood on his chin and neck.

'It wasn't my surgeon. An old Cenii witch woman tended you.'

'Then she was very skilled. What happened to the man I was fighting? Did you catch him? He killed Appius and . . . his daughter.'

Oranus saw the pain in the man's eyes.

'I saw him,' said Oranus. 'He was a Knight of Stone. He carried orders to execute the general and his family. There was nothing I could do. He left last night on a ship for Goriasa.'

Bane closed his eyes and said nothing for a moment. 'I'll find him,' he said.

'Best you don't, young man. Look what happened the first time.' Oranus removed his helm. On a nearby table was a pitcher of water and three goblets. He filled one. 'Drink this,' he said. 'You've lost a lot of blood.'

Bane opened his eyes and reached out for the goblet. He winced as the stitches pulled. Then he drank deeply. The effort seemed to exhaust him and he sank back to the pillow.

'You need to regain your strength,' said Oranus. 'I'll hire a nurse to tend you, and have some food delivered.'

'Why would you do this?'

'In honour of the general,' replied Oranus instantly. 'And because you fought so hard to save him.'

'Who is Voltan?' Bane asked.

Oranus sighed. 'He is a former gladiator. He killed forty men in the arena, and won a hundred other duels which did not result in death. Who told you his name?'

'I dreamt it,' whispered Bane. He fell silent, and Oranus saw that he was sleeping.

Oranus quietly left the bedside, walked downstairs, paid the stretcher-bearers, and ordered one of them to go to the field hospital and have the surgeon Ralis and a nurse sent to the house. The second man he handed a silver piece and told him to run to the market and buy bread, cheese, milk and fruit. Then he walked out into the garden and stood beneath the awning, staring at the mass of blood on the ground. Bane had been stabbed three times by a master swordsman. One terrible strike had pierced his lung. Of that there was no doubt. The wound in his back should have speared a kidney. And yet Bane was alive, his wounds healing.

Oranus had heard of the skills of the Keltoi witch women, but had dismissed some of the wilder stories as fantasies. Now he knew differently.

Returning to the house he walked through to the kitchen. Milk was curdling in a jug, but in the larder there were several eggs. He was about to light the cookfire when he heard people moving around in the hallway. There were four women, all carrying mops and buckets. Oranus remembered ordering the house cleaned and wandered out to them. They were all Cenii women, and they stood staring silently at the blood on the walls, floor and rugs.

They curtsied as he entered. 'There is more blood on the upstairs landing,' he said, 'and in the far bedroom.'

The women stood together, gazing nervously around. 'What is wrong?' asked Oranus. 'It is only blood. It will not harm you.'

'Is the Old Woman still here, sir?' one of them asked.

'No, she has gone.'

'Is she coming back?'

'I don't know. Who is she?'

The women remained silent, exchanging glances. The oldest of them, a woman of around fifty, stepped forward. 'The soldiers said a crow was with her. It sat on the wall when she walked into the garden. Is this true, sir?'

'Aye, there was a crow. Death always brings them.' The women began speaking in Keltoi, a tongue Oranus had never been able to fully master. 'What is the matter with you?' snapped the officer. 'She was a Cenii witch woman, and she saved the young man. Nothing more than that.'

'Yes, sir,' said the older woman. 'We'll work now.'

Oranus left them to it and returned to the garden, where he sat awaiting Ralis and the nurse. After a little while he heard a wagon draw up. A young army doctor and a slender, dark-haired young woman entered the gate.

Oranus stood. 'Where is Ralis?' he asked.

'He had urgent matters to attend,' said the young man, saluting. 'He has remained at his home today. Where is the dying man?'

'He's not dying,' said Oranus. 'A witch woman healed him.'

The young man laughed scornfully. 'Then his wounds could not have been as severe as was thought.'

'I saw him,' said Oranus, an edge of anger in his voice. 'He was choking on his blood.' He pointed to the blood-soaked paving. 'That is where he lay.'

'Yes, sir,' replied the doctor, but Oranus could see the man retained his scepticism.

'He is upstairs. Examine his wounds.' Turning to the nurse he told her to prepare some food for the injured man.

'You wish me to stay with him, sir?' she asked stiffly. Her pretty face held a look of cold disdain.

'Yes I do.'

'He is a tribesman, is he not?'

'He is.'

'I am a citizen of Stone, and should not be required to tend savages. I will stay with him today, but I expect a Cenii woman to be recruited from tomorrow.'

Oranus knew the young woman. She had been expelled from Stone for illegal prostitution and extortion. Since arriving in Accia, however, she had been a model citizen, attending Temple and working voluntarily in the field hospital. 'It will be as you say,' he told her. 'I am grateful for your assistance. He is a brave young man, who fought to save two citizens of Stone.'

'Two traitors,' she pointed out.

'Yes, but he didn't know that. There are some eggs in the kitchen, and some bread. I would be grateful if you could prepare a breakfast for me also.'

'Of course, Captain,' she said, and walked away.

The young doctor returned some minutes later. 'As you say, Captain, he is not dying, though he has lost a great deal of blood.' The man chuckled suddenly. 'I heard the cleaning women talking. They believe a Seidh goddess healed him. The Morrigu, they called her. That's obviously the answer, then.' He laughed again. 'I must be getting back.'

'Thank you for your time, Doctor.'

'See that he drinks plenty of water, and eats red meat. He should start regaining his strength in a week or so.'

'I shall.'

The young man returned to the waiting wagon and Oranus walked back into the house and through to the kitchen. The nurse, Axa, had scrambled some eggs. She served them onto two wooden plates, handed one to Oranus, and took the other upstairs. Oranus sat quietly in the kitchen eating his breakfast. The eggs were good, and he cut two slices of bread, smearing them thickly with butter.

He felt different today. He had half expected the good feeling he had experienced upon waking to drift away like a dream once the day began, but it was quite the reverse. I feel strong again, he thought. Casting his mind back to the horrors of Cogden Field he found he could view the memories without terror.

Axa returned with an empty plate, and sat at the table opposite him. 'I am sorry, Captain,' she said. 'I feel I was a little harsh earlier. I will do my duty and remain with Bane until he is well.' He glanced at her, saw that her face was flushed.

'That is good of you,' he said.

The cleaning women had completed their task as he returned to the bedroom. Bane was asleep again, but he woke as Oranus entered.

'I feel weak as a newborn foal,' said the Rigante.

'Your strength will grow day by day,' said Oranus.

Bane smiled. 'I thank you for your kindness. Do you know what happened to my friend?'

'Friend?'

'I was staying here with Banouin. He's another Rigante. We were travelling to Stone together.'

'No, I have not seen him. I will make enquiries.'

'Tell me, what is a gladiator?'

'A man who fights to entertain the crowds at stadiums. Some are former soldiers, some are criminals. They train daily to hone their skills. They can become very wealthy – if they survive. Most don't.'

'And it was this training that made Voltan so deadly?'

'I think he was probably deadly before it. But, yes, the training would have sharpened his skills.'

'How does one become a gladiator?' asked Bane.

A cold wind blew across the arena floor, causing snow to flurry over the sand. Persis Albitane heaved his ample frame from his seat high in the Owner's Enclosure and watched the meagre crowd snaking towards the exits. Less than four hundred people had paid the entrance fee, which meant that, with only two event-days to come, Circus Orises would make a loss for the second year in a row.

Persis was not in a good mood. Debts were mounting, and his own shrinking capital would barely be able to meet them. As the last of the crowd left, the fat man strolled up the main aisle to the small office, unlocked the door, took one look at the huge pile of debt papers on the desk, pulled shut the door, and walked along the corridor to a second, larger room, boasting four couches, six deep hide-filled chairs, and an oak cabinet. A badly painted fresco adorned the walls, showing scenes of racing horses, wrestling bouts and gladiatorial duels. Persis hated the fresco. The artist must have been drunk, he thought. The horses looked like pigs on stilts. He sighed. The fire was not lit, and a west-facing window was banging in the wind, allowing snow to drift across the sill. Persis moved to the window. Down in the harbour of Goriasa he saw three fishing boats heading out into the iron grey of the sea. Better them than me, he thought. In the far distance he could see the white cliffs of the land across the water. Two of his uncles had died there, officers serving Valanus. Another uncle had survived, but he had never been the same man again. His eyes had a haunted, frightened look.