'You look troubled, my friend,' said Fiallach.
'Indeed I am. War is coming, Fiallach.'
'But Jasaray said—'
'It doesn't matter what he said. He acts like a scholar and a man longing for peace. But he lives for war and conquest. I knew it when we saw the tiger in his gardens. Can you imagine at what cost they caught the beast and transported it thousands of miles? And for what? So that Jasaray could send it into the arena to be killed for sport, so that the mob of Stone could glimpse more blood. Is this the act of a scholar? No, he has won in the east and destroyed his enemies at home. Now he will seek to win the mob's approval with a war against the only enemy ever to have defeated a Stone army.'
'But what about his talk of King Shard, and his growing army? Surely Shard is a greater danger to Stone. He wouldn't have to cross the sea to fight Jasaray. His armies could march into Stone territory within days.'
'Indeed they could,' agreed Bran. 'But it is my belief that Jasaray and Shard have made an alliance. Come the spring, Shard will invade in the north, Jasaray in the south. We will have a war on two fronts.'
Swinging his horse, Bran headed west.
Fiallach rode after him. He respected Bran more than any other man, save perhaps Connavar. Bran was more than a general, and even the king deferred to him on matters of strategy and tactics. His mind was sharper than daggers, his skills in battle almost mystical. Connavar often said that Bran could read a battle the way other men read simple script.
'It is a shame that the Bastard saved him,' said Fiallach, as they angled their mounts down the slope and onto the wide western road.
Bran glanced at the giant warrior. 'Bane's act was heroic. I can't fault him for that.'
'I can,' said Fiallach, with feeling. 'He is no good, Bran. Born of treachery, he carries it in his blood.'
'I have heard this argued of bastards before,' said Bran, 'and I do not believe it. Bane carries the blood of Connavar in his veins. By Taranis, he even looks like him! He has courage and strength, and he deserved better than the treatment my brother gave him. It saddens me that you hate him so.'
'I do not wish to hear you criticize Connavar,' said Fiallach, anger creeping into his voice.
'Kings are not beyond criticism, my friend. In truth, I also blame myself. I should have gone to Conn a long time ago and argued Bane's case. I did not. And it shames me. My father raised me to believe that love of family was the first duty of a Rigante. I have lived by that with my own children. Bane is my nephew, and I should have embraced him as such.'
'He would have spurned you,' said Fiallach sadly, 'as he spurned me. When he was a youngster - around thirteen, I think -I sent him an invitation to come to Seven Willows and spend the summer with us. He wrote me an insulting reply. That insult alone shows his nature. He'll get no second chance from me.'
'That is curious,' said Bran, 'for Brother Solstice told me that Bane never could master reading and writing. It seems odd that he should have written to you.'
'Well, he didn't actually write it,' said Fiallach. 'Braefar wrote telling me what Bane had said. But it is the same. He said he had no wish to spend any time in my company, and did not regard me as family. Had he been a man then, and not some callow boy, I would have killed him for his impertinence.'
Bran shook his head. 'It never ceases to surprise me how often Braefar's name figures in misunderstandings, disagreements and quarrels.'
'You think he lied to me? That is ridiculous! What would be the point?'
'I cannot answer that,' said Bran. 'I have never understood it. There is a deep well of bitterness in him, and I think he takes pleasure in creating the same bitterness in others. It is like a game to him. I'll tell you truly, Fiallach, I do not know what Bane might have said, and it could be that Braefar reported it truthfully. It is just that I have come to view my brother and his motives with great suspicion.'
'I think you do him an injustice,' said Fiallach. 'He has always been most courteous to me. His only complaint has been that Connavar does not offer him work more suited to his talents. Braefar is a clever man, but he commands no regiments, and is restricted to running Three Streams and the border lands with the Norvii.'
'I am glad that you like him,' said Bran. 'Let us leave it at that.'
* * *
Bane's mood was sombre as he sat in the Sword Room beneath Circus Palantes. Telors was close by, gently honing the edge of the Rigante's gladius. A towering figure moved into the doorway. For a moment Bane thought it was Rage, for the light of a powerful lantern was behind him. The man stepped inside and Bane saw it was Brakus, Gladiator One. He glanced up at the golden-haired man. Brakus moved past him to a locked cabinet on the far wall, took a key from the pocket of his leather jerkin and inserted it into the lock. Bane saw him remove two leather-covered flasks and a small scroll wrapped in ribbon. He was a big man, larger than Rage, but he moved with the same cat-like grace.
He made to leave, but Telors spoke up. 'Ignoring old friends, are we now, Brak?'
The gladiator paused, then grinned. 'By heavens, Telors, when did you grow that disgusting foliage? I remember when you were young and handsome.'
Telors chuckled and the two men shook hands. 'I heard you and Vanni were training the Occian fighters. You've done a good job.'
'It's good to be back,' said Telors. 'I thought you'd be retired by now. You must have a mountain of gold already.'
Brakus shrugged. 'I keep promising myself that each fight will be the last. But then some arrogant young fighter steps out of the shadows, telling me I'm old and how he's going to kill me. Pride takes over then.' He looked across at Bane. 'You want to tell me how old and tired I look, boy?' he asked.
'You look strong and fit to me,' said Bane.
Brakus nodded. 'Indeed I am. Tell me, what made you want to take this bout? You're famous enough without it, and Voltan will prove no easy meat.'
'It is personal,' put in Telors. 'Voltan killed a friend of his - a woman.'
'Oh, I see. Well, good luck to you, Bane. Perhaps we'll meet again.'
'I doubt it,' said Bane. This is my last fight. Tomorrow I'm heading for home.'
Brakus smiled. 'Then all my notes on you will be wasted.' He walked to the doorway, then turned. 'You have a habit of clenching your left fist before an attack. Voltan will spot that quickly.'
'Thank you. It is a habit Rage has warned me of. I can't seem to lose it.'
'Voltan is very fast on the riposte. Lose that habit today, or you won't be going home.' He swung to Telors. 'Good to see you, my friend. I'm having a small gathering to celebrate my birthday in three days. Come up to the house. Bring Vanni with you.'
'I'll do that,' said Telors. Brakus left and Telors went back to honing the blade.
'I thought Rage would come,' said Bane.
'Aye, well, you know what he thinks.'
'I know. He thinks I'm going to die. He's wrong.'
'He's been wrong before. We all have.' Telors glanced at the marked candle on the shelf, and gauged the time. 'Less than an hour before the fight. How do you feel?'
'I'm fine.' Bane sat and gazed around the room. It was a far cry from the Sword Room at Circus Orises. Brightly painted frescoes adorned the walls, and there were niches inset, carrying busts of the greatest heroes of Palantes. Bane scanned them. 'Where is Rage?' he asked.
'Palantes removed the bust when Rage was disgraced.'
Bane settled back. Before a fight he had never had difficulty emptying his mind of all other worries, but today was different. Memories and thoughts crowded him, each vying for attention.
Suppose he were to die today, who would care? His friend Banouin had deserted him, his father had never acknowledged him, and now Rage had not even turned up to watch him face his toughest test. He glanced at Telors. He liked the man, but they were not close. If Bane's body was dragged from the arena, Telors would shrug and go back to the villa, have a few drinks, say nice things about him, and get on with his life.
Suddenl
y Bane felt alone, and in that moment fear began to grow inside him. What have I done with my life? he wondered. What have I achieved? He shook his head. These were not good thoughts before a death duel and he rose and moved to the table, lifting a leather-covered flask and breaking the wax seal to pull forth the cork. All the gladiators prepared their own drinks, sealing them with wax so that no competitor could drug them before a bout. Lifting it to his lips he drank deeply. The crushed-fruit drink slipped down his throat like silk. 'Not too much,' said Telors. 'You won't want to be bloated.'
Bane sat back down. He had dreamt last night that the Morrigu came to him. He had awoken to the rustling of the wind through leaves, and the whispering of branches. Sitting up he saw that his bed was now in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by oaks. The Morrigu was sitting upon a tree stump.
'Satin sheets,' she said. 'How rich you have become.' A black crow swooped over the bed and settled on a branch close to the Morrigu.
'What do you want of me?' he had asked.
'Considering the foolishness you are engaged upon I think it more apt to ask what you might require of me.'
Bane rose from the bed and took a deep breath. He could smell the cool air flowing from the mountains. 'I would have wished only one thing from you, Old Woman. I would have wished to save Lia's life. Now there is nothing. I will win tomorrow or I will die.'
'Yes, yes,' she said, 'you could not save your love. Life can be like that, Bane. But what of your own life? If you ask me I will grant you the strength and speed you need to defeat Voltan.'
'I already have that.'
'No, you don't. Vanni told you that. Voltan is bigger, stronger and faster. He is more deadly. Ask me!'
'No!'
'Is it pride that stops you?'
He had thought about the question. 'Perhaps it is, but I won't use magic against him. I want no help. I will face him as a man on equal terms.'
'How noble,' she said. 'Do you believe for a moment that Voltan would do the same?'
'I am not responsible for what Voltan does - or does not - do. I want him to pay for Lia's death, and to know that is what he is dying for.'
'And what will this achieve, Bane? Do you think he will care? Do you think that it will create in him the merest speck of remorse?'
Bane shook his head. 'It is not about him. It is about me. When I have killed him I will know peace.'
'Ah, I see. It is all about Bane. Not about Lia, or the evil of Voltan.
Just Bane.'
'Yes it is about Bane,' he said angrily. 'And why should that not be so? Who has ever fought for me? I have always been alone. I loved my mother, and I think she loved me when I was a child. But, as I grew, every time she looked at me she saw Connavar. And she withdrew from me.' He laughed, the sound hollow, causing the crow to flap its wings. 'Where are my friends and loved ones? The one friend I thought I had deserted me when he thought me dying. Yes, it is indeed about Bane. If I die tomorrow, who will mourn for me?'
'Who indeed?' she answered. 'Well, if I am not needed I shall not remain. Return to your bed, Rigante. Sleep.'
It had been a curious dream, born no doubt of his fears, but it haunted him still.
'Time to loosen those muscles,' said Telors.
Two soldiers in silver armour moved into the Sword Room. 'The emperor commands your presence,' the first told Bane.
'He needs preparation time,' said Telors.
'Come with us,' said the second man, ignoring Telors.
Bane pulled on a shirt of black silk and followed the guards through the underground corridors and up a flight of steps to the second level. Out in the open he glanced around and saw that the stadium was full, rank upon rank of citizens waiting for the afternoon's entertainment. Circus Palantes could seat almost thirty thousand people, but hundreds more were standing in the aisles.
'Big crowd,' said the first guard.
'Don't get too swell-headed,' said the second, 'they've mostly come to see the Veiled Lady burn. They're wondering if she'll work a miracle and fly away into the sky.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'Some hope.'
'I thought all the Cultists had been freed,' said Bane.
'Not her. She'll be burning alongside Nalademus. Good joke, eh? Wonder what they'll have to say to one another as they're raised up above the pyres?'
The guards moved on, climbing to the third level and the guarded entrance to the Royal Enclosure. As Bane was ushered inside he saw Jasaray sitting alone. The emperor was wearing a white robe and a long purple cloak. Upon his head was a wide-brimmed hat of woven straw, shielding his face from the sun. 'Come in and sit, my boy,' said Jasaray.
'I thank you, Majesty,' said Bane, 'but I must prepare for my fight.'
'All in good time,' he said.
At the edge of the arena a trumpeter sent out a long, single note. The crowd settled down. From the western end of the arena a swordsman stepped from the gate, advancing across the sand.
The crowd booed and jeered. Bane looked down, and could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
The swordsman was Voltan.
'I must go, Majesty!' he said.
'Wait!' commanded Jasaray.
'But I am to fight him. You promised!'
'Indeed I did, young man. And I keep my promises. However, I did not promise that you could fight him first.'
The gate at the eastern end of the stadium opened, and another swordsman made his way across the sand. Stripped to the waist and wearing a leather kilt he drew a red silk scarf from his belt and tied it over his bald head.
It was Rage.
At first Bane could not believe what he was seeing. 'Why?' he whispered.
'I wondered that myself when Rage first asked me,' said Jasaray. 'It was the night of the tiger. I had told you both you could ask of me anything. Rage stayed behind and said that he wanted to be the first to fight Voltan. Then, the following day, you came to me. That is when I had my answer. I think you know it too.'
Bane felt sick. Leaning forward he gripped the rail above the enclosure balcony. Yes, he knew. Rage was doing this for him. And the older man's words flowed back into his mind in letters of fire.
'You never had a father, and I never had a son. I think, in some small way, we have filled a gap in each other's lives. Like any father I do not want to see my son die needlessly.'
Shame swept over the younger man. His selfish desire for personal vengeance had put at risk the only man who had truly befriended him. His mind swam with the enormity of the moment, and all the bitterness and self-pity of his youth began to melt away, the rejections and the loneliness, the hurts and the disappointments. All became as nothing compared to the sacrifice this man was making for him. Rage knew Bane could not beat Voltan, and knew also that, old as he was, he could wear the man down, tiring him, perhaps wounding him, before his duel with Bane, giving the younger man a greater chance of survival.
'I didn't want this,' said Bane.
'I expect not,' agreed Jasaray, 'but it is a magnificent gesture.'
There was pride in his voice, pride and a note of astonishment, as if, though sensing the greatness, he could not quite understand the motive.
The emperor rose, removed his straw hat, and waved it in the air. A trumpet sounded and the two fighters touched swords in salute. Then they circled. Voltan attacked first with terrifying speed, but Rage blocked and parried, sending a riposte that forced Voltan to leap back. The crowd fell silent as the two men fought on. Few among the thirty thousand could appreciate fully the level of skill they were observing, but all knew they were watching two extraordinary fighters. They sensed that this epic duel would go down in history, and that in years to come they would tell their children and grandchildren of the day they saw Voltan and Rage duel to the death in the arena of Circus Palantes.
Bane watched the fight, caught between amazement and horror. Rage had been right. He could not have beaten this man. For all his size Voltan moved with awesome speed. His footwork was perfect, keeping him always in balance,
whether leaping to attack or defending desperately. The pace of the fight was almost inhuman, the two men locked in a combat that was almost a dance. Bane watched unblinking, his breathing shallow and fast. His mouth was dry, his knuckles white as he clenched the rail. Whatever happened today, he knew he would be changed for ever by Rage's sacrifice. Never again would he complain about life and its unfairness. On this one hot afternoon he had been given a gift worth more than all the hurts he had ever suffered.
Voltan's sword sliced across Rage's chest, sending a spray of blood into the air. Bane groaned, the sound swamped by a great cry from the crowd. Voltan leapt in for the kill. The old gladiator swayed to the right. His blade lashed out. Voltan threw himself back, but not before Rage's sword had ripped open a wound above his right hip. The two men circled more warily now. Rage had been cut across the top of his chest, underneath the right collar bone, the blood streaming down over his belly. Voltan's wound was also bleeding heavily, staining his kilt and flowing to his thigh. The two men came together again, blades clanging and clashing. As they closed Voltan suddenly threw a punch that caught Rage on the temple, knocking him back a step. Rage rolled with the blow, and managed to parry a disembowelling thrust. They circled again.
The fight was less furious now, more measured as each man sought out a weakness in the other. It was no less tense, and the crowd was unnaturally silent. For Bane it was as if time had slowed. He stared at Voltan, trying to see a weakness, a tell, anything that would indicate an opening for Rage. But there was nothing. Voltan was the most complete fighter he had ever seen.
And Rage was tiring. Despite his fitness, and the endless hours of exercise that created it, age was beginning to tell now. Voltan could see it too, and slowly the fight became more cat and mouse. Voltan blocked a sudden lunge, and his riposte cut Rage's shoulder. Another attack saw Rage almost stumble. Voltan's sword snaked out, the blade glancing from Rage's temple as he threw himself aside. Blood was on the older man's face now.
Voltan tried a feint, followed by a lunge to the heart. Rage parried it, and sent a return cut that struck Voltan's left bicep, slicing open the skin. Suddenly the pace picked up again, both men hacking and slashing, blocking and moving. Bane knew Voltan was seeking to exhaust his tiring opponent. And he was succeeding. Rage's sword arm did not have the same speed as before, and Voltan's blade found a way through, stabbing the older man in the left shoulder. Rage backed away. Bane could see his great chest heaving as he sucked in air. Voltan, though bleeding profusely, did not seem to be suffering.