DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

The youngster stood silently for a moment, then turned and ran back to his boat upon the water.

The Fisher Laird moved to Ruathain. ‘Send the cattle to me, but do not come yourself, Ruathain the Killer. You are not welcome in Pannone lands.’

Ruathain nodded, but did not reply. Leaving the twelve ponies, he mounted his own steed and swung it towards the south. The crowd parted as he walked his pony back through the settlement. Arbon rode alongside and handed him his sword, which Ruathain belted to his waist.

‘Is it over?’ he asked his master.

‘Not while that boy lives,’ answered Ruathain. ‘One day he will come for me and I will kill him. Then it will begin again.’

‘A waste of ponies then,’ muttered Arbon.

‘No,’ said Ruathain, sadly. ‘It was a fair blood price. I began this when I killed the raiders. I allowed my anger to burn away my self-control. I sowed the seeds, my friend, and now I must reap the harvest.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

in THE BEDROOM OF BANOUIN’S HOUSE ONE OF THE THREE LANTERNS

guttered and died. Vorna had been in labour for fourteen hours. She had lost consciousness twice in the last hour. Meria and Eriatha were desperately concerned. Meria had attended four childbirths, but none as difficult as this one. She had sent for Eriatha, whose knowledge of herbs and medicines was almost as great as Vorna’s. The earth maiden knelt by the unconscious Vorna and examined her.

‘Lavender and jasmine will not help her,’ said Eriatha. ‘The babe is not lying in the right position. It cannot enter the world.’

‘What can we do?’ asked Meria.

‘I do not have the skill to deliver it,’ said Eriatha. ‘I have heard of witches who could cut open the belly and deliver babes. But mostly the mothers die.’

‘There must be something,’ insisted Meria.

Eriatha shook her head. ‘We need a witch, a druid or a midwife. Even then . . .’ Her voice tailed away.

Meria rose from the bedside and moved to the window, looking out over the moonlit landscape. ‘Brother Solstice was here only three days ago,’ she said, softly, ‘but I don’t know where he has gone. This is so unfair. First she finds love, then loses it. Now Banouin’s babe is killing her.’ Vorna groaned, then cried out in pain. Meria took her hand as Eriatha applied a damp cloth to Vorna’s brow.

‘The child is … breeched,’ said Vorna. She took a deep breath. ‘Cut my belly open. Save the babe!’ She cried out again, and her back arched. Then she collapsed and passed out.

‘She is dying,’ whispered Eriatha.

At that moment they heard a thudding at the front door. Meria ran back through the house. Outside stood an old woman Meria had never seen before. She was dressed in a faded full-length dress of pale grey, and a black fishnet shawl was draped around her shoulders.

‘What do you want?’ Meria asked her.

‘I am told there is a woman in childbirth here. That there is a problem.’

‘You are a midwife?’

‘Among other things,’ said the old woman, moving past Meria and into the house. As she passed, Meria caught the scent of the forest on the woman’s clothes, musky and damp, the smell of rotting leaves and wet bark. She shuddered and followed the woman into the bedroom.

‘You will both leave,’ said the old woman. ‘Wait by the fire. I will call you if I need you.’

‘The babe is breeched,’ said Eriatha.

‘Thank you,’ said the old woman, sourly. ‘Perhaps later you can teach me how to suck eggs.’

A huge crow landed on the open window, spreading its wings and cawing loudly. Meria and Eriatha both jumped back, startled, but the old woman ignored it and sat beside the stricken Vorna. ‘Out, I said,’ she hissed, waving a thin arm in the direction of the two women.

Reluctantly they obeyed her. Meria pulled the door closed and she and Eriatha walked to the hearth. The fire was burning low and she added several chunks of wood. ‘Do you know her?’ Meria asked.

‘No.’

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have left her.’

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