‘Yes.’
‘So the murder was done for greed? The rape was merely an afterthought?’
‘Yes. I am sorry. I am so sorry.’
Brother Solstice held up his hand. The rat appeared there, and the druid turned away from the prisoner.
The Long Laird stepped forward. ‘Tonight Brother Solstice will come to you. He will write your account of the deed. This account will be sent to your father, as will mine of how you met your death.’ Two guards moved in and took hold of the prisoner’s arms. Lexac began to weep piteously. The crowd, still stunned by the druid’s magic, was silent as the prisoner was led away.
Brother Solstice strode from the hall into the bright sunlight beyond. The rat in his hand began to shrink, until it was no more than it had always been, a piece of black fur, two inches square. The blood had come when Lexac in his panic had bitten his own lips. Only the Long Laird knew the secret, and even he could not quite comprehend at first why Brother Solstice used such magic.
‘We all know your skills, Brother,’ the Long Laird had said. ‘If you just tell us a man is guilty we will execute him.’
‘That is not safe, my friend. You are right. I always tell the truth in these matters. But evil can strike anywhere: in a peasant, in a laird, in a druid. In days to come – when I am long dead – another druid might come, a liar and a cheat. It would be dangerous to establish a precedent that says his word alone can bring about the death of an accused man. As it is, my little Truth-seeker ensures that the guilty man himself confesses his sin.’
In the bright sunshine outside the hall Brother Solstice drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and let the power pass from him. His heart was heavy, for the condemned man had not been wholly evil. Indeed there was much good in him. Now the good, as well as the evil, would be confined to the murky waters of the peat marsh.
Brother Solstice was not anticipating with any pleasure the evening he would spend with the prisoner.
Connavar left the hall and wandered towards the high palisade. Wooden walls, crafted from sharpened tree trunks, circled the hill fortress, creating the image of a crown high above Old Oaks. Climbing a set of wooden steps, Connavar reached the battlements and stared out over the settlement far below. Hundreds of small round houses stretched south for over a mile to the river, with larger homes decorating the eastern hills. The fortress of the Long Laird was an impressive structure, which, three times during the last fifty years, had withstood sieges from Sea Raiders. The hill upon which it was set was steep, and attackers, with no cover, were prey to a hail of missiles raining down upon them from the defenders.
Connavar strode along the battlements, gazing across to the woodlands far to the south. Thoughts of Arian filled his mind. How could she wed another? Especially after that night of passion by the stream. It had been the most perfect time of his young life, and he felt that their spirits had bonded together in a manner so wonderful as to be unique. No-one in the world, he believed, could ever have known such magic, such harmony. And yet she had betrayed him.
Now that passion, those anguished moans, were for Casta. He felt the anger building within him, and pictured his blade plunging into Casta’s belly, ripping free his soul. Guilt followed instantly. Casta was not to blame. He did not force her to wed him. She had done so willingly, as Conn lay close to death. It was all so confusing. She had said she loved him. And it had been a terrible lie. Why then had she said it? What was there to gain?
Hearing the rampart steps creak behind him Conn turned to see Brother Solstice climbing to the battlements. The man was powerfully built, looking every inch a fighter, which, to Conn, made a nonsense of the ankle-length white druid robe he wore. He had never seen anyone look less like a priest. As he came closer Conn saw a scar similar to his own showing beneath the druid’s black beard.