‘Perhaps I’ll visit, but Cara is to be married in four months, and I’d like to see that. I’d also like to watch a great-grandchild grow. I hope it is a boy. Girls are wonderful, but I think I need a little variety.’ He rose from his seat, and drew Bane into a hug. ‘You know, maybe you should find your father, and make your peace with him.’
For the first time Bane kissed Rage’s cheek. Then he drew away. ‘I have no father. If I could choose one it would be you.’
‘That is good to hear, and I thank you for saying it. Now, before we become mawkish let’s go down to the others and eat. I am famished.’
‘One last thing,’ said Bane. ‘Will you be getting drunk tonight?’
Rage chuckled. ‘Probably. I don’t like to kill – even evil men like Voltan.’
Then let’s drink together. We can talk about the stars and the spirits, and ramble on about the meaning of life.’
‘Sounds hideous. We’ll do it,’ said Rage.
Snow was swirling across the plain as the young druid crouched at the foot of a standing stone, watching the wind scattering hot cinders from his tiny fire, leeching the heat away from his frozen body. Hunched against the cold stone Banouin felt the weight of failure dragging him down. Four times now in the last six months he had tried to free the ghosts of Cogden Field. But on each occasion they had ignored him and continued their senselessly ferocious battle.
The last time he had tried reasoning with the shade of Valanus, pointing out to him that Cogden was fought in bright sunlight, whereas now only the moon shone down upon the battlefield. Valanus had laughed, and gestured towards the sky. ‘There is the blazing sun,’ he cried. ‘And the sky is blue. I have no more time for this, demon. Come, lads, one more charge and the day is ours.’
The wind died down and the shivering Banouin added dry sticks to the fading blaze. Flames licked out and he held out his hands to the fleeting warmth.
The king had allowed him this one last attempt – three weeks’ leave of absence. And he had failed. Tomorrow he would have to return to Old Oaks as he had promised.
‘I care for these souls,’ said Connavar, ‘but, in truth, I care for the living far more. The information you supply on Jasaray’s troops is vital to us. No-one else has your talent, Banouin. You are the Eyes of the Rigante.’
All this was true, but the ghosts of Cogden Field were like a dagger in Banouin’s soul. The land cried out to be freed of this nightly slaughter. Grass no longer grew upon the plain. Not a single weed could be seen on the dead brown earth. Banouin glanced out from behind the stone. The ghosts were still fighting, on a field of snow. Despair flowed over him.
The armies of Stone were gathering across the water, and already four Panthers – twelve thousand men – had crossed the narrow strip of sea and were camped in the lands of the Cenii. Many among the Cenii had joined the army as scouts for the campaign all knew would come in the spring – the push north into the lands of the Norvii, and then the Rigante. More battles would be fought, and more souls would continue their eternal fighting, draining the spirit from the land.
‘I must find a way,’ said Banouin. Brother Solstice always said that the truth had a power all its own, yet he had tried the truth on these martial spirits and they ignored it. What more can I do? he wondered.
‘Morrigu!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you?’
There was no answer, though the wind picked up and scattered his fire. Banouin sat miserably, his sheepskin cloak tugged around him, the hood low over his face. He recalled the first time he had come to this circle of stones, with Bane. It seemed so long ago now, another time in another world. He had been heading towards his dream, and his heart had been light and full of hope.