‘No,’ said the king. ‘I never blamed Arian. I loved her from the moment I first saw her. The fault was entirely mine. But I had to pay for my evil, for the slaughter of innocents and the death of Tae.’ The king lapsed into silence, and Bane thought he had died. The night grew colder.
A movement came from behind. Bane rose and whirled, sword in hand. A straw-haired boy in a faded tunic stood there. He looked startled as Bane swung on him. Bane put away his sword. ‘What are you doing here, boy?’ he asked.
‘I saw it,’ said the lad. ‘Wolves chased me and I climbed a tree. I saw the fight, and that man stab the king. Is he going to be all right?’
‘Gather some wood for a fire,’ said Bane, then returned to Connavar’s side. Reaching out he touched the king’s throat. A pulse was beating weakly there. Connavar’s eyes opened, and he reached up, taking Bane’s hand.
‘I had a vision,’ he said. ‘I saw myself dying here, but I also saw myself leading a charge against the enemy. I didn’t understand how both could be true. I see it now. . . I see it!’ Once more he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The boy gathered wood and laid a fire close by. Then he found several pieces of flint, and Bane sat quietly, listening to the rhythmic strikes of the fire stone. At last a flame caught in the tinder and the wood began to crackle. The boy nursed it to life, then eased himself round to sit on the other side of the king. ‘He’s not going to die, is he?’ he asked.
‘What is your name, boy?’
‘Axis. The king came here once and gave my da a bull, for ours had died.’
‘You keep the fire going, Axis,’ said Bane gently. ‘We’ll keep him warm.’
‘He is going to die then?’ said the boy, tears spilling to his cheeks.
‘Yes, Axis, he is going to die. Tend to the fire.’
Bane glanced down. The king’s hand was still holding to his own. Bane felt the warmth in the fingers, and saw the battle scars on the king’s arm. Blood had ceased to flow from the wound in his side, but Bane knew that internal bleeding continued. He had seen wounds like this before in the arena. It might take hours yet, but death was certain.
The moon rose above the stone circle. Bane looked round at the boy by the fire. ‘Go and check the horses the killers rode,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they had food. You look hungry.’
‘I am hungry,’ said Axis. ‘Shall I bring the horses into the circle? The wolves may still be close by.’
‘Yes, do that,’ said Bane.
The boy ran off and came back moments later leading three horses, which he tethered inside the circle. ‘The rest ran off,’ he said. Axis moved past the fire, gathering the reins of the king’s white gelding, bringing that also close to the fire. Then he searched the saddlebags of the other mounts, coming up with several thick slices of ham, wrapped in muslin. He offered some to Bane, and the two sat in silence as they ate. Time passed slowly. The boy Axis fell asleep by the fire and Bane found himself thinking of the past, of his hatred for Connavar, of his yearning to be accepted and acknowledged. He had lived so long dreaming of the day he would kill this man whose hand he now held.
The king groaned again. Bane looked at his face, and saw his eyes were open. But they were not focused on him. ‘Ah, Wing,’ he said, ‘don’t look so sad. Everything will be all right.’
‘Connavar!’ said Bane, squeezing the king’s fingers. Connavar blinked then looked at Bane.
‘He came back,’ he said. ‘He is waiting for me.’
Bane said nothing, for there was nothing to say.
‘Put . . . my sword . . . in my hands,’ said Connavar, his voice fading. The blade was leaning against the stone behind the king. Bane lifted it, placing the hilt within reach. Connavar did not move. Carefully Bane opened his fingers, pressing them closed round the fabled hilt. The dying man gave a last sigh, then his head sagged, his body sliding into Bane’s arms. For a little while Bane sat holding the king, feeling the weight of Connavar’s head against his shoulder. Then he laid the body down.