‘Good. You have done well, Master Powdermill.’
‘It’ll be weeks now before any other armies come north.’
‘Yes. Was there something else you wanted?’
Powdermill shifted uneasily. His eyes flicked towards the golden-hilted sabre. ‘I just wanted to … touch the sword again, my lord.’
‘Feel free,’ Gaise told him. Powdermill moved across the tent to where the scabbarded sabre lay. He crouched down and gently placed his hand upon the hilt.
‘It is a wondrous piece. Wondrous,’ he whispered. Gaise saw there were tears in his eyes.
‘What do you feel when you touch it?’ he asked.
Powdermill sighed, then straightened. He turned towards Gaise. ‘It is not what I feel, my lord, but what I see. Connavar was not as big as legends say. He was the same height as Kaelin Ring and yourself. He was not godlike. He was a man. He made mistakes. He had fears and doubts. He carried a great burden for most of his life. He loved two women. One died because he broke a promise. He was warned by the Seidh never to break his word or terrible harm would befall someone he loved. Connavar bragged that he had never broken his word and never would. But he did.’
‘What promise did he break?’
‘He told his wife he would be home to take her riding. Instead he spent time with his first love. His wife rode off without him -and was murdered.’
‘I have never heard that tale.’
‘Connavar was filled with remorse and a terrible fury. He rode alone into the village from which the murderers came, and he killed everyone, every man, woman and child. Then he burned the village to the ground.’
‘And all this you know from touching the sword?’
‘Yes, my lord, and so much more.’
‘I feel nothing when I hold it, save that it is light and yet perfectly balanced.’
‘You are not a seer, my lord. Sometimes it is a blessing, sometimes a curse. The sword is a blessing. It was made by a man with great love in his heart.’
‘Riamfada.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Did you see Connavar fight and kill the bear?’
‘I saw him fight it, my lord. He did not kill it. Ruathain his stepfather killed it. Connavar could never kill the bear. It was with him always.’
‘The bear was with him?’ asked Gaise, mystified.
‘In a way, my lord. The bear represented Connavar’s darkest side. He could never quite overcome it, though he battled it hard for most of his life. He never forgave himself for the death of his wife, but his greatest regret was murdering the villagers. The bear was on him then.’
‘I understand the bear,’ said Gaise Macon. ‘Sometimes it is necessary.’
‘If you say so, my lord.’
‘Any time you want to touch the sword you may come to me, Master Powdermill. I would like to learn more of Connavar.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Powdermill bowed and left the tent.
For several hours Gaise busied himself with the needs of his force, meeting with Ganley Konin and Ordis Mantilan. The wounded were to be taken back to Eldacre in the morning, but Gaise and his force would head north-west into the lands of the former Finance, there to link with Hew Galliott and his men and discuss the defences.
It would also be an opportunity to survey the possible battle sites in that area, and see how the new power structure sat with the communities there. The Finance, like the Moidart, was not well loved by his people, but even so they would need to be reassured concerning their safety. It was important that they did not view themselves as a conquered people.
When Konin and Mantilan departed Gaise tried to sleep, but his mind was filled with the problems and potential problems of this coming war. In the dark of the night he rose from his blankets and relit the lantern. Then he sat for a while reading the small book of verse he had found among Sperring Dale’s possessions. The wind rippled the canvas walls of his tent, and the lantern flickered, making his eyes tired. Gaise put down the book and yawned.