‘You have been sick, little one, but Vorna healed you. This is Vorna. Say thank you.’
‘Thank you, Vorna,’ he said obediently.
‘It was my pleasure, young man.’
Orrin’s eyes closed and he fell asleep. Gwen brushed the hair back from his brow and kissed him tenderly. ‘I don’t have the words to express my gratitude,’ she said. ‘What can I do to thank you?’
‘Leave here tomorrow with those heading west,’ said Vorna. ‘For death is coming to Three Streams, and my powers can do nothing to prevent it.’
It was more than four hours after Bane had seen the vision before the first of the outlaws walked from the forest. In that time Bane ordered a steer slaughtered and a fire pit dug, and as the men made their way towards the farmhouse the smell of roasting beef filled the air.
The first to arrive was the slender, round-shouldered Wik, and with him were some forty men, mostly armed with longbows and daggers. Bane greeted them, and Iswain began to cut meat for them. There were not enough plates, but Iswain had gathered sections of broken black slate, which she had stacked on a long trestle table. ‘How many still to come?’ asked Bane.
Wik shrugged. ‘Valian is scouring the other small camps. Maybe another sixty. Maybe less. What is this about?’
‘Let’s talk inside,’ said Bane.
The two men wandered into the farmhouse. Bane did not know Wik well, but his impression was not a good one. Wik was a man who lacked the appetite for work of any kind. Lazy and untrustworthy, he would sooner live in squalor and semi-starvation for months in the hope of one good robbery than labour for his daily food. What he possessed, in Bane’s opinion, was an animal cunning, and an ability to gather to him like-minded souls. The man was not unintelligent, but nor was he as bright as he believed. Bane watched as Wik’s dirty fingers tore at the rich meat. ‘Well?’ asked the outlaw leader, juices flowing to his wispy brown beard.
‘I want to hire you and your men,’ said Bane. ‘For five days.’
Wik belched. ‘You have anything to drink here?’ he asked.
‘Ale or uisge?’
‘Uisge would be good.’
Bane took a jug from the cupboard and poured a generous measure into a clay cup. Wik downed it in one. ‘Hire them for what?’ he asked.
‘To fight. Why else?’
‘Who are we to fight?’
‘Sea Wolves. They are heading for Three Streams.’
Wik finished his meal, and licked his fingers. ‘How many Sea Wolves?’
‘Two . . . maybe three hundred.’
Wik laughed and shook his head. ‘Are you insane, man? We will have maybe a hundred men. Lazy turds most of them. Aye, and cowards among them.’
‘But you are no coward,’ said Bane.
‘I am not an idiot either. Where are Connavar’s soldiers? Where are these famed Iron Wolves?’
‘There are twenty of them at Three Streams, the rest are near Seven Willows ready to take on the Vars king and his army.’
Wik thought for a moment. ‘Then we should be sacking Three Streams first. Twenty soldiers my men can take.’
‘I plan to offer every one of your men two gold pieces for five days’ work.’
Wik’s eyes widened. ‘Man, that’s a fortune! You have that much gold here?’
‘Of course I do not,’ said Bane. ‘But it is close by, buried and waiting. You I will offer ten gold pieces.’
‘You are richer than I thought, Bane. What, in the name of Taranis, are you doing living in this place? You could have a palace!’
‘I am where I wish to be. What you must consider is where you wish to be.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It is very simple. Among the people at Three Streams are relatives of the king. His mother is there, as is the wife of Bendegit Bran and her children. The man who saves them from the Sea Wolves – and that is you, Wik – will be offered great rewards. Your crimes will be pardoned, and it is likely you will have more gold than you can spend. No more sitting in the mud of a forest camp. You will have the palace you desire.’