The fire was warm and comforting, making me sleepy, so I moved away from it to sit below the edge of the broken roof, the dripping water splashing my boots. The forest beyond was cold and uninviting, gleaming with dark light. Somewhere out there, beneath the wind-whipped trees, a man was fighting for his life … a man alone.
I shivered and pulled my cloak tight around my shoulders. Astiana moved alongside me. ‘Can you not sleep?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.
‘No. Who is this man you are trying to aid?’His name is Gareth.’ I told her then of the skulls and of my dream, and I spoke of Cataplas and his yearning for knowledge. She listened intently.
‘I have not heard this legend of the skulls, but the oldest of the stories says that, upon his death, Golgoleth pledged to return. The bodies of the Vampyre Kings were burnt, but the skulls remained untouched by the flames. They were said to have been hurled into the sea, from a ship that sailed to the edge of the world.’There are many stories of Rabain,’ I said, ‘but the heart of them remains constant. He fought the evil of the Kings, destroying them -he and Horga.’I wonder what happened to her?’ said Astiana.
I shrugged. ‘She married a fanner and raised strong sons. She became an abbess, a sister of mercy. She walked into the forest and became an oak, tall and commanding. She transformed herself into a dove and flew across the Grey Sea. Perhaps she did all of these and more. But I expect she just got old and died like everyone else.’Astiana took my hand, lifting it to peer at the moonstone ring. ‘Why did you agree to wear it?’ she asked softly.
‘I cannot say. But it was right that I did.’You are not a warrior, Owen. How can you fight men like Kaygan?’I will do the best I can, sister. I was not the greatest of my father’s sons, and my skill with weapons is poor. But still the blood of Aubertain is in my veins. And he is a man who would never step aside for evil. Nor will Owen Odell.’You are very brave, Owen,’ she said, releasing my hand.
Direct compliments always make me feel uncomfortable and I changed the subject. ‘Why are you still with us, lady? You have no love for MaCe, and you do not like violence.’You are wrong, Owen… on both counts. I knew it when I left you all in Willow.’Sweet Heaven!’ I whispered. ‘You can’t be in love with Mace!’I did not say I was in love,’ she snapped. ‘Why is it that men always reduce things to the carnal?’ But her face was flushed and I believed then, and believe now, that my arrow was close to the mark. For some reason the knowledge depressed me. Why was it, I wondered, that so many women fell for the charm of rogues, offering their love to men who would drink it like wine and then cast them aside like empty bottles?
‘He is a powerful man,’ she said at last, her voice low.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and the world is filled with men of such power. They cheat, they wound, they lust and they kill. We are sitting in this desolate place because of men of power, and we are being hunted by men of power.’My voice was harsh, the bitterness spilling like acid. Astiana said no more and backed away from me, returning to the fire.
The rain began to ease and the moon shone bright through broken clouds. I sat alone through the night, lost in memories, walking the gardens of vanished dreams.
As a child I had so wanted to be like my father – another man of power, tall and strong, a fearless knight. It was not in me, for I never learned to like causing pain, and gained no pleasure from success in competition. When I was thirteen – just before my fourteenth birthday, in fact – I remember Aubertain responding to a challenge at a tournament. In full armour, with sword and mace, he fought his opponent, hacking and hammering until the man’s helm had burst its rivets. Then the bloody mace had crashed