‘At Pelain’s new tavern.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I am not hungry, Conn. I just thought I would stop by and see you. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. Truth to tell I was planning to visit you.’
Eriatha rose from her chair. She was wearing a simple gown of sky blue. Stepping towards him, she flipped it from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. Conn led her to the first bedroom.
An hour later Eriatha lay awake, as Conn slept beside her. The lovemaking had been almost fierce, and yet containing moments of tenderness. He had fallen asleep swiftly, and was now breathing deeply. Meria was right. He had changed, she thought. She heard Parax enter the house quietly, move to his own bedroom and shut the door.
The night deepened, and just as Eriatha was about to climb from the bed, Conn began to tremble. His arm, which was outside the covers, tensed, his fingers curling into a fist. He groaned then, a sound full of despair. His body shook, and he cried out. Eriatha moved in close to him, stroking his long blond-streaked red hair. ‘Be calm,’ she whispered, ‘it is but a dream.’
Conn awoke, and the trembling ceased. Rolling onto his back he wiped the sweat from his face. ‘It is no dream,’ he said. ‘I was there. I saw it.’
Tell me.’
He shook his head. ‘You’d not want to share it, believe me.’
‘Speak it,’ she insisted, her voice low. ‘Let it go.’
For a while she thought he was ignoring her. He lay quietly, eyes closed. Then he spoke. ‘After the fall of Alin, and the final destruction of the Perdii army, Stone soldiers gathered up thousands of tribesmen to be sold as slaves. Thousands to be marched in chains to the lands of Stone. Others were . . . murdered, their arms nailed to the trunks of trees. There were hundreds of these.’ He fell silent. Eriatha lay beside him, saying nothing. Waiting. The worst, she knew, was still to come.
‘I found Parax among the prisoners. I knew him. I asked for his release. Jasaray granted it. On the last day, as Parax and I prepared for the journey home, we saw . . . we saw . . .’ He sat up and covered his face with his hands. ‘I cannot,’ he whispered.
‘Tell it, Connavar. You need to tell it.’
He took a deep breath and sighed. ‘We rode out of Alin and saw perhaps five hundred young children sitting on a hillside, being guarded by soldiers. We went past them, and up the hill. Soon we could hear the sounds of screaming. We rode on. In a clearing, a half-mile from the settlement, Stone soldiers were killing children. There were hundreds of bodies – babes, infants, toddlers. A huge grave had been dug. I saw a man swing a babe by its feet against a tree . . .’ His voice tailed away. ‘I wanted to draw my sword and race down into the soldiers, killing as many as I could. I should have done that. I will regret not doing so for as long as I live.’
‘Had you done it they would have killed you, then carried on slaying the babes.’
‘I know that. As I know that I was filled with the need to return to Caer Druagh and do all in my power to prevent such horror from touching my own people. But I cannot forget that I turned my back on those children and rode away. No hero would have done that. And there is something else … I killed a man back in Alin, just before the war. He had betrayed Banouin. As I was preparing to kill him a group of children ran by outside. They were laughing. I told him that the days of laughter for his people were coming to an end, that I would do all in my power to wipe them from the face of the earth. And I did.’
‘You fought as a warrior, Conn. You killed no children. And you could not have saved them.’
‘At the very least I could have died for them.’