The two men waded towards the shore. Just as they were about to emerge from the water, something sharp bit into Conn’s calf. With an angry cry he looked down and saw an otter attacking him. His hand lunged into the water, grabbed the creature and hauled it clear. Then he flung it with terrible force. The otter struck a tree and flopped to the ground, its neck broken. There was blood in the water. Conn climbed to the bank and examined the wound. It was not deep.
‘Damn, but these water dogs can be a nuisance,’ said Govannan, kneeling by the king.
Conn sat very still, all colour fading from his face.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Govannan, concerned.
‘I am fine,’ said Conn. ‘Is the creature dead?’
Govannan moved to the tree and nudged the otter with his foot. It did not move. He picked it up. ‘Aye, it is dead.’
Conn rose from the ground and walked back to his tent.
Otters had many names among the tribes; water dogs was the most common, but in the old High Tongue they were called Hounds of the River Bank.
All his life Conn had been fearful of his birth geasa. Vorna had told his mother he would die on the day he killed the hound that bit him. It was this prophecy that had led Meria to urge Ruathain to stand beside him in the first battle against Shard, for Conn had killed a dog that fastened his teeth to his wrist guard. Having survived the battle Conn had believed the geasa to be broken. Now he knew differently. All his life he had avoided close contact with dogs and hounds.
Back in his tent he bound the wound in his calf. ‘If today is the day, so be it,’ he said aloud.
Then he donned his armour.
Banouin had also spent a fitful night, and his spirits were low as the dawn came. Brother Solstice, with whom he shared a small tent, saw the strain in his eyes. ‘Do you fear the coming battle?’ he asked the younger man.
Banouin shook his head. ‘No, it is not fear but sadness. I have been thinking of the thousands of young men who will lose their lives – men on both sides. And for what, Solstice? What, ultimately, will be achieved by this coming violence? Surely man, with all his intellect, can find some other way to settle disagreements, without more seeds of hatred being sown, more souls to haunt a battlefield.’
‘It would be pleasant to think so,’ said Brother Solstice. ‘Yet harmony is often achieved by violence. Forest fires are terrible, but without them the forest itself would not survive. The deer rely on the wolf to cull the herds, eliminating the weak, ensuring that the food supply will be adequate for their survival. If the Source had decided upon a world without violence he would surely not have created the hawk and the lion.’
Banouin thought about this for a moment. ‘Is it your argument then that the Source in some way desires this coming conflict, and the slaughter which accompanies it?’
‘I am not arrogant enough to even guess at the answer to that, my friend. My heart is heavy with the thought of the dead to come. But, I tell myself, evil must always be countered. We did not ask the soldiers of Stone to invade our lands. We did not request them to enslave our women and butcher our children. So what are we to do? Allow them to achieve their aims? When a man sits by and allows another to kill and rape and plunder, then he is as guilty as the offender.’
‘According to that argument,’ said Banouin, ‘you should be carrying a sword and shield tomorrow.’
Brother Solstice smiled. ‘Believe me, my boy, were I standing close to a mother and her child, and a soldier of Stone was advancing upon them, I would take up sword and shield. I am not as holy a man as I would wish to be.’
‘Then you accept that holy men should avoid violence, no matter what lives are threatened?’
‘I do accept that we are pledged to uphold the sanctity of life,’ said the druid. ‘And I revere those men who can live by such a code. I am not – yet – one of them.’