Then they swept forward.
In that moment a bright light burst upon the scene, and, as the man hacked and cut with his blade, he felt a presence beside him, guarding his back. From the edge of his vision he saw a sword of bright light slashing through the gloom. Once more the beasts fell back. The man’s saviour strode after them, then plunged his sword into the grey earth, cutting a long curving line into the dust. Bright fire leapt up along the line, rearing high in the air, a golden half circle of flame, through which the beasts could not pass. Then the shining warrior turned back towards him. He saw that the warrior was completely human, a big man, wide-shouldered and yellow-haired, with friendly blue eyes.
‘You should not be here, young Falcon,’ he said. ‘This is no place for the living.’ Gently he laid his hand on the flames scorching the man’s chest. The fires died down instantly, the pain vanishing, the skin instantly healed.
Weariness swept over the young man and he sank to the ground, laying aside his sword, and sitting with his back to the rearing cliff of black glass. ‘I don’t know how I came to be here,’ he said. ‘Where is this place? Why do you call me Falcon?’
‘I call you Falcon because this is your soul-name,’ said the other, sitting beside him. ‘As to this evil land, it is the Vale of the Lost, a place of the damned. Your enemies were once men. Now they wander here, cursed and forlorn.’
‘Why did they attack me?’
‘You drew them to you, boy. You are alive. Your spirit burns them, reminding them of all they have lost. They must destroy you to end their pain.’
He looked into the face of the big man. ‘And what of you? Why are you in this place?’
The yellow-haired warrior smiled. ‘You drew me here, Bane. It was I who gave you your soul-name, and when your soul was in peril I sensed it. Do you know who you are?’
‘You called me Falcon – and now Bane. The names are familiar, but I cannot get a grasp on where I have heard them before.’
‘That happens here sometimes,’ said the man. ‘Sit quietly for a while. Let your mind relax. Think of a mountain, with green flanks, a cloak of woods, and peaks of white snow, like an old man’s hair. Can you picture it?’
‘Aye, I can.’
‘Give it a name.’
‘Caer Druagh,’ said Bane. It was as if sunlight had suddenly pierced the darkest corners of his memory. ‘I am Bane of the Rigante,’ he said. ‘I was with Banouin and we were travelling. Then . . . then . . .’ He gave a groan. The big man placed his hand on Bane’s shoulder.
‘Aye, then you tried to save them.’
‘I could not defeat him.’
‘But you tried, boy. You almost gave your life for it. I’m proud of you.’
‘Proud of failure?’ Bane gave a harsh laugh.
‘Aye, proud,’ said the man again. ‘An heroic action should never be judged on the basis of its success or failure, but on the heart, passion and courage that inspired it.’
‘You are the Big Man,’ said Bane.
‘I am Ruathain.’
‘I know of you,’ Bane told him. ‘You treated my mother with kindness.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I always wanted to know you, Big Man.’
Ruathain clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I would like nothing better than to sit and talk with you, Grandson, but the sword-flame will not last much longer, and you must make a choice. You can stay, and I will lead your soul to the Haven, or you can try to return to the world of the living.’
‘Then I am not dead?’
‘Not yet.’
‘How do I return?’
Ruathain gestured up at the glass cliff. ‘You must climb it, Bane, to the very top. It will be mercilessly hard. Agonizing. The sharp glass will cut away at you, tearing your flesh. Most men would fail. But you will not fail. Your courage and your fighting spirit will carry you on, through all the agony. Do you believe me?’