Banouin made his report about the size and disposition of Jasaray’s forces. Connavar listened, then questioned the young druid for several minutes. Bendegit Bran said nothing. Brother Solstice watched him. He was not concentrating, and his blue eyes had a faraway look. Connavar seemed not to notice his brother’s malaise. Osta and Govannan cast nervous glances at him, but offered no comment.
‘Anything else you can think of which might be useful?’ Connavar asked Banouin, as the druid finished his report. Before he could answer Brother Solstice spoke, his voice low.
‘The regiment of flying dragons may prove difficult to overcome. What do you think, Lord Bran?’
Bran blinked, his shoulders straightening. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We must consider that.’
An uneasy silence followed. ‘How many men are facing us, Lord Bran?’ asked Brother Solstice. ‘Where is their army now?’
Bran’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you to question me?’ he said.
‘Who am I, you insolent puppy!’ thundered Solstice, his voice booming. ‘We are discussing the future of all we hold dear. Twenty miles away is an enemy who will destroy our way of life, take thousands of our women into slavery, and butcher the children who are too young to be sold for profit. Who am I? I am the man who sees a general so obsessed with his own personal grief that he will bring about the destruction of his people!’
‘How dare you!’ stormed Bran, surging to his feet.
‘You want to sit in a corner and weep?’ said the druid. ‘Go home. Shed your tears. Cuddle your wife. Get her to dry your eyes. And leave the fighting and the planning for those who have the stomach for it!’
Bran rushed at him. Brother Solstice made no attempt to defend himself. Bran’s fist crashed against his bearded chin. The druid staggered, then placed his huge arms behind his back. Blood flowed from his split lip, staining his black and silver beard. He looked into Bran’s eyes. ‘Now that you have woken up,’ he said, ‘perhaps our leading strategist can tell us where the enemy lies, and what strength he brings to the field.’
‘Get out of here, you fat bastard,’ shouted Bran. ‘Or I’ll kill you where you stand!’
‘That’s enough,’ said Connavar wearily. ‘No-one is going to be killed here. Sit down, Bran.’
‘You heard what he said to me . . .’
‘I heard. And you should take note of it.’ He turned to Osta and Govannan. ‘Leave us for a while, my friends. Come back in an hour and we will continue our plans. You too, Banouin.’
Brother Solstice turned to leave with the others, but Connavar called him back. ‘Sit,’ he said, passing a cloth to the druid. Brother Solstice held it to his lip, and dabbed the blood from his beard.
Connavar waited until the generals and Banouin had left the tent, then turned to the still angry Bran. ‘Brother Solstice spoke the truth,’ he said. ‘The Rigante are relying on you to develop a strategy to defeat the armies of Stone. And here you sit having daydreamed through the most vital of reports. You have lost one son – and I grieve with you. But I am the king, and all the Rigante are the king’s children. I will not see my children destroyed because one of their generals could not put aside personal grief at a crucial time.’
‘I can’t do this,’ said Bran. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Ru. I’ll head for home tomorrow.’
‘We need you, Bran,’ said Connavar.
Bran shook his head. ‘You taught me everything I know,’ he told his brother. ‘And with you at the head the Stone army will be beaten. I am sure of that.’
‘I may not be here,’ said Conn, keeping his voice low.
‘What?’
Brother Solstice saw the shock register on Bran’s face. The younger man crouched down beside his brother. ‘What madness is this? Of course you will be here!’
‘I hope that is true, my brother,’ Conn told him. ‘I have seen two futures. In one I am betrayed and die before the battle. In the other I lead a charge against the enemy. These were no dreams, Bran. The images came to my mind when I touched the Morrigu. Both are true – though I know not how this can be. What I do know is that if you leave the Rigante die. Everything I have lived for, struggled for, suffered for will be dust. You want focus? Think on that. If that is not enough do not picture dead Ruathain in your mind. Picture instead the man who sent the ring that killed him. Picture Jasaray.’