‘I asked for glory. There is no price I would not pay for it.’
Anger showed briefly in Vorna’s thin face. ‘Can you be so stupid, Connavar? Of what worth is glory? Does it feed a family? Does it bring peace of mind? Fame is fleeting. It is a harlot who moves from one young man to the next. Tell me of Calavanus.’
‘He was a great hero in my grandfather’s day,’ said Conn. ‘A mighty swordsman. He led the Rigante against the Sea Wolves. He killed their king in single combat. He had a sword that blazed like fire. He knew glory.’
‘Yes, he did,’ she snapped. ‘Then he got old and frail. He sold his sword to a merchant in order to buy food. His wife left him, his sons deserted him. When last I saw him he was weeping in his cabin, and still talking of the days of glory.’
Conn shook his head. ‘I will not be like him. Nor like Varaconn.
My enemies will not see my back, and men will not spit upon my name. Banouin has promised me a sword of iron. I will carry it into battle. It is my destiny.’
‘I know something of your destiny, Connavar. Only a little, but enough to warn you. You must seek a higher purpose than mere glory. If not you will merely be another swordsman like Calavanus.’
‘Perhaps that will be enough for me,’ he said, stubbornly.
‘It will not be enough for your people.’
‘My people?’ he asked, confused now.
She fell silent for a while, rising from her chair and moving to a stone hearth. The light from the windows was fading and she laid a fire, but did not light it. ‘Last year,’ she said, ‘a starving pack of wolves attacked a lioness with five cubs. She fought them with great ferocity, leading them away from her young. She was willing to die to save her cubs. But she did not die, though she was sorely wounded. She killed seven of the wolves. But four others had moved around behind her. When she limped back to her cave her cubs were dead and devoured. It could be argued that she earned great glory. But what was it worth? Her injuries meant there would be no more cubs. She was the last of her line – a line that stretched back to the first dawn. You think she cared that she had killed seven wolves, that her courage shone like a beacon?’
Vorna gestured with her right hand. The fire burst into life, causing dancing shadows to flicker across the far wall. With a sigh she pushed herself to her feet and walked to the western wall. Taking a small box from the first shelf she opened it, and lifted clear a slender chain of gold, from which hung a small red opal. ‘Come close to me,’ she ordered him. Conn did so. He could smell wood smoke in her faded clothing, mixed with the sweet scents of lavender and lemon mint. In that moment his fear of her drifted away. And he felt, with sudden certainty, that Vorna was not merely the witch everyone feared. She was also a lonely, ageing woman, unfulfilled and far from happy.
He looked into her bright blue eyes. ‘I thank you for helping me,’ he said. She nodded and stared into his face.
‘I do not need your pity, child,’ she said, softly, ‘but I welcome the kindness from which it sprang.’ She fastened the golden chain around his neck. ‘This talisman will protect you from her. But nothing I can do will prevent her manipulation of those around you. Show me the knife, Connavar.’
He winced inwardly. She had not said your knife, but the knife. Did she know?
Slowly he drew the silver blade from the sheath he had made. She took it in her thin ringers. ‘You were born with luck,’ she said. ‘Had you not rescued that fawn you would have died in those woods, your blood drawn from your veins. Did you guess that the creature was a Seidh?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ she echoed. ‘They would have known. Your thoughts would have been loud to them, like the music of the pipes. They are a fey people. They kill without mercy, sometimes with terrible tortures. Yet they can allow a stupid child to live because he saves a fawn. And even reward him.’ With a sigh she returned his knife. ‘Go home, Connavar, and think on what I have said.’