Further on she saw the baker’s wife, Pelain, spreading seed for her chickens in the outer yard of the bakery, the birds clucking around her feet. Seeing Vorna she smiled and moved across to intercept her. ‘Welcome home,’ said Pelain. Vorna felt as if she were in a dream, and did not know how to respond. Pelain shook the last of the seeds from the fold in her dress and took Vorna’s arm. ‘Come inside and eat,’ she said. ‘Borga made cheese bread this morning. It melts in the mouth.’
Meekly Vorna allowed herself to be led into the house. Borga was sitting at the pine table, dipping bread into a bowl of rich stew. ‘We have a guest,’ said Pelain. Borga’s fat face eased into a warm smile.
‘You are welcome, lady,’ he said. ‘Sit yourself.’ Pelain took Vorna’s heavy, hooded cloak and hung it on a hook by the door. Vorna sat down at the table. Borga poured water into a goblet and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks, but could think of nothing to say. Pelain cut three thick slices from a warm loaf and smeared them with butter. Vorna ate quietly.
‘The boy is doing well now,’ said Borga. ‘Yesterday I saw him running over the hills. It was a fine thing that you did. Very fine.’ He rose and moved through to the back of the house, and into the bakery.
Pelain sat opposite Vorna. ‘The bread is good, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Tasty.’ Vorna was recovering some of her composure now, but she was unused to small talk and felt uncomfortable.
Pelain leaned in, her voice low. ‘He may be useless in bed, but he makes a loaf the gods would die for.’ The baker’s wife chatted on for a while, then noticed the silence from her guest. ‘I am sorry, Vorna,’ she said. ‘I do tend to talk too much.’
‘Why are you being … so nice to me?’ asked the former witch.
Pelain shrugged and gave a shy smile. ‘Because you are one of us now. You gave up your powers to save Connavar. Meria told me. She said you risked death to bring him back from the Shadowlands. Everyone feels the same, Vorna. You don’t mind, do you? I know you like to keep to yourself, but . . .’ her voice tailed away, and she rose from the table to cut herself some bread.
‘I do not mind,’ said Vorna. ‘And I thank you for the breakfast.’ Pelain turned and grinned at her.
‘Isn’t it nice to see the sun shine again?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Vorna. Moving from the table she took her cloak and draped it over her arm. As she reached the door Pelain called out:
‘You are welcome whenever you choose to call.’
‘I will remember that.’
Vorna stepped into the sunshine and walked out into the settlement. As she made her way towards Meria’s house people waved to her, or called out a greeting. By the time she reached Meria’s door she was trembling, and her eyes were filled with tears.
When Meria saw her distress she put her arms around Vorna and drew her close. The warmth of the contact was too much for the witch, and she buried her head in Meria’s shoulder and began to weep.
Like all the Keltoi race, the Rigante were a passionate and volatile people, and there were often fights among them. Sometimes these ended badly and tribesmen died of their wounds. But such tragedies were rare. Rarer still were the crimes of rape and murder.
So, on the spring morning when the first body was discovered, a feeling of disbelief and shock swept through the settlement of Three Streams.
The corpse of a middle-aged man had been found early that morning. A Rigante out with his bow and his hound, hunting rabbits, had stumbled across the body. It had been dragged away from the main trail and hastily hidden in a thicket. Within two hours a twenty-strong hunting party, led by Ruathain, had assembled some fifty paces from the murder site. Arbonacast, Ruathain and Banouin moved carefully away from the other riders, examining the tracks around the scene.
Arbon knelt by the side of the trail. ‘Four horses,’ he said. ‘All of them shod.’ He moved further down the trail, stepping lightly around the tracks. ‘The old man was pulling a hand cart when the riders came up.’ Leaping lightly across the trail towards the undergrowth he paused again. Then he swore softly.