Conn gazed on a scene of utter devastation.
He felt flat now, and terribly tired. The fury of the night had spent itself. Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked through what had once been the main street of the settlement. Bodies lay everywhere, some burnt, some untouched by flame. As he walked Conn saw that he had been utterly undiscriminating. Women lay dead alongside their men, and at the far end of the street two children had been cut down. Judging by the blood trail, one of them had crawled a little way before dying.
As he stood there, surveying the grim evidence of his rage, he knew that only part of the fury had been inspired by the greed of the Fisher Laird.
All his life he had tried to be a hero, to live down the perceived legacy of Varaconn. He gazed upon the ruins, and watched flakes of grey ash floating in the breeze. All was ashes now. He had found love – a great love – and he had surrendered it to die. In the process he had become not only an adulterer, but a killer of women and children.
Tears spilled on his smoke-blackened face, and he fell to his knees, calling out Tae’s name again and again.
In the hills the survivors of the massacre gathered, listening to the sounds. The anguished cries were barely human, and carried the weight of both grief and madness. The survivors huddled closer together, and prayed the demon would now leave them be.
For two weeks there was no sign of Connavar. Although he was seen riding towards Three Streams he had never arrived in the settlement. Ruathain asked Arbonacast to track him, but he lost the trail. Then it was left to the wily Parax to find him. The old hunter asked questions about Conn’s favourite places as a child, the whereabouts of local caves. Then he rode the high lands, constantly scouting for tracks. He had followed Conn once before, and felt he knew his habits. The young man did not want to be found, and had hidden his trail. But he had to eat and stay warm.
Parax was a patient man, whose careful eye missed nothing. On the fifteenth day since Conn’s disappearance he found a simple rabbit trap, and the faintest of trails moving away from it. He knew at once that he had found Connavar, and followed the trail all the way to the cave that had once been the home of Vorna the witch. Connavar was chopping wood with an old hatchet. He glanced up as the hunter dismounted, but did not speak. Taking an armful of wood he walked back into the cave. Parax also said nothing, but gathered wood and followed his master inside.
The cave was deep, and Parax cast his gaze around the gloomy place. Running water fell to a shallow pool at the back, and there was a rough hearth and an old cot bed. Someone had put up shelves against the western wall, but these were empty and covered in cobwebs. It was an inhospitable place, he thought. In silence the two men brought in the wood, then Connavar sat down by the fire. He was thinner, hollow eyed, his face gaunt. Parax walked to his pony and brought in a small food sack, from which he took some bread and cheese, which he offered to Conn. The warrior shook his head, and threw several sticks on the fire. Parax laid the food on the hearth then walked to the bed and lay down. He had been tracking Conn for days and was tired. Parax slept for an hour. When he awoke the cave was empty. The hunter yawned and stretched and made his way back to the fire. The food – thankfully – was gone.
Leaving the cave he mounted his pony and rode back to Three Streams, to make his report to Ruathain.
The following day Ruathain travelled to the cave. The big man waited for several hours, but there was no sign of Conn. He guessed that his son knew he was there, but did not want to talk. This saddened him, but, like Parax before him, he also left food, and returned to the settlement.