‘I feel I must be dreaming this,’ said Gaise.
‘Come, we must travel a little further.’ Riamfada moved on, coming at last to a sheer cliff face. He kept walking and disappeared into the solid rock. Gaise waited. ‘Walk through, Stormrider,’ he heard Riamfada say. ‘It is only another illusion.’
Gaise stretched out his hand. No cold stone met his fingers. Taking a deep breath he stepped forward, and found himself standing in a narrow cave. Two ancient lanterns flickered into life and light. Riamfada was standing by the far wall. Leaning against it was an old-fashioned sword, the kind once carried by knights into battle. The long blade was slightly curved, and shone like the brightest silver. Keltoi runes were engraved along its length. The hilt was a mixture of gold, silver and ebony; the black quillons shaped like oak leaves, the golden fist guard embossed with the head of a bear. There was a round silver pommel, bearing a beautiful carving of a fawn trapped in brambles.
Gaise stepped closer, kneeling down to examine the weapon. It was stunningly beautiful. ‘This is the only sword I ever made,’ said Riamfada. ‘I am not fond of weapons of death. This is your gift, Stormrider.’
Gaise rose to his feet and backed away. ‘It would not be fitting. I am not Rigante. I am the son of a Varlish lord, a conqueror. This should go to someone like Kaelin Ring or Call Jace.’
‘It is the Sword in the Storm, Gaise Macon. Who else should carry it but the Stormrider?’
‘It is a Rigante treasure. I have no right to take it.’
‘You have Rigante blood, through your father. You are of the line of Connavar. And who has a greater right to offer this gift than the being who crafted it?’
‘I could not use it, Riamfada. It is huge and cumbersome, and not suited to modern cavalry warfare.’
‘Try it, Gaise.’
Reluctantly Gaise Macon reached for the hilt. It was far too large for his hand, yet, as his fingers curled around it the hilt seemed to shrink. He raised the blade. It was remarkably light. Gaise blinked. The black quillons narrowed, the golden fist guard swirled around his hand. The blade shivered in the light, becoming more slender. Within a few heartbeats Gaise found himself holding a cavalry sabre. The fist guard no longer showed the image of a bear. Now it showed a rearing horse, surrounded by golden clouds.
Riamfada gestured towards Gaise’s own sabre, which lifted from the scabbard and floated to the floor. ‘Sheathe your blade, Stormrider.’
Gaise did so. It fitted perfectly. ‘It will cut through all armour and never require sharpening. The blade will not dull or dent, and while you carry it no Redeemer spirit will be able to see you. You will still be discernible to human eyes, but you will be invisible to those who seek to spy on you with spirit eyes. The runes upon the blade are old and powerful. Ward spells they were once called. No demonic force can harm you while this blade is by your side. And now you should go. The Moidart has need of you, and there is much to do before Winter Kay brings his army north.’
‘Will you help us in this war?’
‘No. I will be taking a child to a distant place. I will be raising him there, and teaching him the wonders of a beautiful land. Then I too will depart this earth, and seek out the realms of spirit.’
‘You will die?’
Riamfada smiled. ‘I have already died, Gaise. My spirit was taken by the Seidh, who gave me new life. I am not immortal, though, and my time is now short. I have no regrets. I have seen wonders indescribable, and known people whose lives made my heart sing. Some, like Conn, were warriors, others have been mystics and poets, farmers and labourers. One was a schoolteacher. These people and their lives have inspired me. Perhaps when I leave this world I will see them again. Perhaps not. But you and I will not meet again in this world, Gaise Macon. I wish you well.’
The world shimmered and went dark. Gaise Macon staggered and almost fell. Reaching out, he grabbed at the trunk of a tree to steady himself. The grey gelding whinnied in surprise at the sudden movement. Gaise blinked. He was standing again at the edge of the Wishing Tree woods. There was no cave, no bramble thicket, and no mysterious stranger.