MIDNIGHT FALCON by David Gemmell

Bane was sitting up in bed, his face pale, but his eyes open. Oranus glanced at the stitched wounds, and the bruises around them. It was not possible the man could be alive. He stood for a moment, uncertain, then drew in a deep breath and ordered the stretcher bearers to wait downstairs. Then he walked to the bedside, drew up a chair and sat down.

‘You should be dead,’ he said. ‘Your lung was pierced.’

‘Your surgeon did well, then,’ said Bane, his voice weak. There was dried blood on his chin and neck.

‘It wasn’t my surgeon. An old Cenii witch woman tended you.’

‘Then she was very skilled. What happened to the man I was fighting? Did you catch him? He killed Appius and . . . his daughter.’

Oranus saw the pain in the man’s eyes.

‘I saw him,’ said Oranus. ‘He was a Knight of Stone. He carried orders to execute the general and his family. There was nothing I could do. He left last night on a ship for Goriasa.’

Bane closed his eyes and said nothing for a moment. ‘I’ll find him,’ he said.

‘Best you don’t, young man. Look what happened the first time.’ Oranus removed his helm. On a nearby table was a pitcher of water and three goblets. He filled one. ‘Drink this,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood.’

Bane opened his eyes and reached out for the goblet. He winced as the stitches pulled. Then he drank deeply. The effort seemed to exhaust him and he sank back to the pillow.

‘You need to regain your strength,’ said Oranus. ‘I’ll hire a nurse to tend you, and have some food delivered.’

‘Why would you do this?’

‘In honour of the general,’ replied Oranus instantly. ‘And because you fought so hard to save him.’

‘Who is Voltan?’ Bane asked.

Oranus sighed. ‘He is a former gladiator. He killed forty men in the arena, and won a hundred other duels which did not result in death. Who told you his name?’

‘I dreamt it,’ whispered Bane. He fell silent, and Oranus saw that he was sleeping.

Oranus quietly left the bedside, walked downstairs, paid the stretcher-bearers, and ordered one of them to go to the field hospital and have the surgeon Ralis and a nurse sent to the house. The second man he handed a silver piece and told him to run to the market and buy bread, cheese, milk and fruit. Then he walked out into the garden and stood beneath the awning, staring at the mass of blood on the ground. Bane had been stabbed three times by a master swordsman. One terrible strike had pierced his lung. Of that there was no doubt. The wound in his back should have speared a kidney. And yet Bane was alive, his wounds healing.

Oranus had heard of the skills of the Keltoi witch women, but had dismissed some of the wilder stories as fantasies. Now he knew differently.

Returning to the house he walked through to the kitchen. Milk was curdling in a jug, but in the larder there were several eggs. He was about to light the cookfire when he heard people moving around in the hallway. There were four women, all carrying mops and buckets. Oranus remembered ordering the house cleaned and wandered out to them. They were all Cenii women, and they stood staring silently at the blood on the walls, floor and rugs.

They curtsied as he entered. There is more blood on the upstairs landing,’ he said, ‘and in the far bedroom.’

The women stood together, gazing nervously around. ‘What is wrong?’ asked Oranus. ‘It is only blood. It will not harm you.’

‘Is the Old Woman still here, sir?’ one of them asked.

‘No, she has gone.’

‘Is she coming back?’

‘I don’t know. Who is she?’

The women remained silent, exchanging glances. The oldest of them, a woman of around fifty, stepped forward. ‘The soldiers said a crow was with her. It sat on the wall when she walked into the garden. Is this true, sir?’

‘Aye, there was a crow. Death always brings them.’ The women began speaking in Keltoi, a tongue Oranus had never been able to fully master. ‘What is the matter with you?’ snapped the officer. ‘She was a Cenii witch woman, and she saved the young man. Nothing more than that.’