‘Yes. We are his blood line. The Rigante are fashioned from his life blood.’
‘So by killing us he will regain his own life?’ asked Rayster.
‘I do not understand the process of his resurrection,’ said the Wyrd. ‘Perhaps Rigante blood will strengthen him, perhaps there is a secret place here in the north where he can draw upon the magic. All we can do is to defeat the armies that defend him. Then perhaps we can find a way to destroy the skull.’
‘If he is impervious to weapons how was it that he was beheaded in the first place?’ asked Rayster.
‘Weapons of base metal cannot harm him. His son, Rigantis, was said to have used a golden sword to kill him. Rigantis was half Seidh, and therefore found a way to breach his father’s magical defences. I have tried to walk the ancient paths and see the truth behind the fables. It is too far for me. I asked my friend Riamfada to make the journey, but even he – he who is spirit – could not pierce the mists of time. All we can know for certain is that Cernunnos must be prevented from resurrection.’
‘And to do this we must fight alongside the Moidart,’ said Rayster. ‘It does not sit well with me. Can the man be trusted?’
‘No,’ said the Wyrd. ‘He would switch sides in a moment if he thought there was profit in it. You can, however, trust the son. There is a darkness growing in him, but he will not betray you. Of that I am sure.’
‘I have a question about him,’ said Kaelin.
‘I know what it is – and do not ask it at this time,’ said the Wyrd. ‘Do your best to keep him alive, Ravenheart. The Stormrider is vital. He must survive.’
‘Why?’
‘I wish I knew. The many paths of the future are closed to me. Cernunnos and the Stormrider are linked in some way that I cannot yet fathom. I may know more tomorrow when I meet him.’
Maev Ring was kneading dough in the kitchen when Draig Cochland tapped at the door and entered. She glanced up, irritation in her eyes. Maev was not happy that this thief had been offered a role at Ironlatch by Chara.
‘There is a man coming,’ he said. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’
This made Maev smile. A man that Draig Cochland didn’t like the look of? This was something to see. Wiping her hands on a cloth she followed the big highlander out through the main room and into the yard beyond. Riding towards the gate of the farm was Huntsekker the Harvester. His massive form looked out of place on a horse.
‘Do you know him?’ asked Draig Cochland.
‘He is the Harvester.’
Cochland swore softly and Maev could hear the fear in his voice. ‘He’ll not harm you,’ he said. ‘I have my sword.’
She glanced at him. ‘You will protect me, Cochland?’
‘Aye. As best I can.’ He made to step forward, but Maev took hold of his arm.
‘It is all right, Draig. The man is a friend.’
His shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Thank the Source for that,’ he said. ‘I thought I was dead for sure.’
Huntsekker dismounted, and opened the gate. ‘Good afternoon to you, Maev Ring,’ he said.
Maev told Draig to take Huntsekker’s horse, then led the Harvester into the house. He sat down at the pine table.
‘I hate riding,’ he said. ‘Never mastered the rhythms of it.’
‘You look tired,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch you some food and drink.’
For a little while she busied herself in the kitchen, washing the flour from her hands and arms, then cutting Huntsekker some fresh baked bread and a hunk of cheese. She carried this out to him, then poured him a goblet of red wine. He sipped it appreciatively.
Maev sat down opposite him. She felt ill at ease in his presence. In a curious way he reminded her of Jaim Grymauch. He radiated the same feeling of awesome strength. Yet there the resemblance ended. Where Jaim was like an amiable bear Huntsekker was far more cold and deadly. Even so his presence made her aware of her own femininity.