‘I have much enjoyed our visit, Majesty,’ said Bran, ‘and it was a great privilege to meet you. I thank the gods that you survived the assassination attempt, and am honoured that it was a Rigante warrior who aided you on that fateful night. I shall report faithfully to my king everything you have said, and it is my hope that the days of enmity between our peoples are at an end.’
Jasaray took his arm and walked with him down the steps. ‘Wars are sometimes necessary, and often inevitable,’ said the emperor. ‘But Stone has enemies far closer to home than Connavar of the Rigante. Tell him this. And assure him of my good wishes.’
Bran bowed, then stepped into the saddle. Fiallach also bowed. Jasaray looked into the warrior’s eyes. ‘I think you will be glad to be heading home,’ he said. ‘I fear that city life does not suit you.’
‘I have a longing for the mountains,’ admitted Fiallach.
‘Caer Druagh is said to be very beautiful,’ said Jasaray.
‘If you visit us, as a friend, I will take you riding in the countryside, the high woods and the valleys,’ promised Fiallach.
‘That would be most pleasant,’ said Jasaray.
Bran touched heels to his mount and they rode slowly from the palace, the silver-clad Honour Guard marching behind them. An hour later they cleared the gates, and took the horses into a light run across the western hills. Drawing rein at the top Bendegit Bran gazed back at the city of Stone.
‘You look troubled, my friend,’ said Fiallach.
‘Indeed I am. War is coming, Fiallach.’
‘But Jasaray said—’
‘It doesn’t matter what he said. He acts like a scholar and a man longing for peace. But he lives for war and conquest. I knew it when we saw the tiger in his gardens. Can you imagine at what cost they caught the beast and transported it thousands of miles? And for what? So that Jasaray could send it into the arena to be killed for sport, so that the mob of Stone could glimpse more blood. Is this the act of a scholar? No, he has won in the east and destroyed his enemies at home. Now he will seek to win the mob’s approval with a war against the only enemy ever to have defeated a Stone army.’
‘But what about his talk of King Shard, and his growing army? Surely Shard is a greater danger to Stone. He wouldn’t have to cross the sea to fight Jasaray. His armies could march into Stone territory within days.’
‘Indeed they could,’ agreed Bran. ‘But it is my belief that Jasaray and Shard have made an alliance. Come the spring, Shard will invade in the north, Jasaray in the south. We will have a war on two fronts.’
Swinging his horse, Bran headed west.
Fiallach rode after him. He respected Bran more than any other man, save perhaps Connavar. Bran was more than a general, and even the king deferred to him on matters of strategy and tactics. His mind was sharper than daggers, his skills in battle almost mystical. Connavar often said that Bran could read a battle the way other men read simple script.
‘It is a shame that the Bastard saved him,’ said Fiallach, as they angled their mounts down the slope and onto the wide western road.
Bran glanced at the giant warrior. ‘Bane’s act was heroic. I can’t fault him for that.’
‘I can,’ said Fiallach, with feeling. ‘He is no good, Bran. Born of treachery, he carries it in his blood.’
‘I have heard this argued of bastards before,’ said Bran, ‘and I do not believe it. Bane carries the blood of Connavar in his veins. By Taranis, he even looks like him! He has courage and strength, and he deserved better than the treatment my brother gave him. It saddens me that you hate him so.’
‘I do not wish to hear you criticize Connavar,’ said Fiallach, anger creeping into his voice.
‘Kings are not beyond criticism, my friend. In truth, I also blame myself. I should have gone to Conn a long time ago and argued Bane’s case. I did not. And it shames me. My father raised me to believe that love of family was the first duty of a Rigante. I have lived by that with my own children. Bane is my nephew, and I should have embraced him as such.’