Midnight Falcon

'Check the house,' Oranus ordered his men. 'And find something to staunch these wounds.' Removing his cloak he rolled it and placed it under Bane's head. Then he cut away the wounded man's blood-drenched shirt. He had been stabbed three times, once above the hip, once in the chest, and once in the lower back. The chest wound was by far the most serious, and from the bubbling of the blood Oranus knew his lung had been pierced. One of the soldiers returned with some cloths. Oranus made a compress and pressed it down against the chest wound.

'He'll not live, sir,' said the soldier.

Oranus said nothing. The light faded and he ordered lanterns lit. The bald and stooping surgeon, Ralis, arrived, examined the wounds, then turned to Oranus. 'There's little I can do,' he said. 'His lung is pierced, and the wound to his lower back has probably sliced through any number of vital organs.'

'Do what you can,' said the captain.

'Let's get him inside.'

A crow flew over them, cawing and screeching. Oranus shivered. 'How do they know when death is close?' he whispered.

'They can see the spirits pass over,' said a voice. Oranus looked round, and saw an old woman, her face veiled, a heavy fishnet shawl over her bony shoulders.

'What do you want here, woman?' he asked her.

'I have some skill with wounds, soldier. Best you leave him in my care.'

'Our own surgeon is here, but my thanks to you for your offer.'

Her laughter was cold, and Oranus shivered suddenly. 'Your surgeon wishes to be gone to his home, for he knows the boy has perhaps an hour to live. Is that not so, Ralis?'

'It is so,' admitted Ralis.

'Then carry him to a bedroom and I shall tend him until he dies.'

'You are a witch woman of the Cenii?' asked Oranus.

'I am a person with some… shall we say… talent in these matters, Oranus.'

'Then it shall be as you say.'

Soldiers carried Bane to a bedroom on the first floor, and laid him down on a bed. Then they left him and the old woman. Oranus stood in the doorway. 'I shall return tomorrow for the body, lady,' he said. 'We must be careful to prevent disease spreading.'

Her veiled face turned towards him. 'You did well to protect him from the Cold Killer. It was an act of courage. Perhaps it will bring you peace now.'

'Peace would be pleasant,' he said.

'Is that what you wish for?'

Oranus sighed. 'I would wish for him to live,' he said.

Closing the door behind him he walked down the stairs and out into the night. The bodies were being carried out to two waiting wagons. Appius and his daughter were laid side by side in the first, the two elderly Cenii servants and the dead Knights in the other. The surgeon, Ralis, climbed into the first wagon and sat beside Appius and Lia. Oranus ordered the Honour Guard to walk beside the first wagon, and he followed it to the Death House.

Once there the bodies were carried inside. Ralis stayed with them. 'He was my general,' said the surgeon, 'and a great man. I shall prepare the bodies for burial.'

'Do not place your name upon the Grieving List,' warned Oranus. 'They were murdered on the orders of Nalademus.'

'I know.'

Then Oranus returned to his home. He felt a sense of sorrow at the murder of Appius. The old man had served Stone well, and Oranus could not imagine what crime he had committed to be so summarily butchered. Towards midnight, weary and spent, Oranus took to his bed, and prepared himself for yet another night of nightmare and terror. But he slept without dreams for the first time in years, and awoke to see a blue sky, and bright sunlight shining into the room. He rose and walked to the window, staring out over the green hills and the distant forest.

'A new day,' he said aloud, and, even as he said it, felt the awesome fears of the past lose their power and drift away like woodsmoke in a breeze. He felt free, and alive, and the future that had yesterday seemed bleak and shadow-haunted now shone brightly in this new sunlight. How could this be? he wondered. Then he remembered the old woman, and the words she had spoken to him. 'Perhaps it will bring you peace now.' Amid the drama and horror of the events in the house of Appius he had not fully registered what she had said. How did she know of his fears and his endless torment?

Perhaps she is a seer, he thought.

Banouin waited until the death wagons had been drawn away, then walked slowly into the house. He avoided looking at the bloodstained rugs, and climbed the stairs to the upper bedroom. As he opened the door he heard the voice of the Morrigu. 'You were not worthy of your Talent,' she said.

Banouin did not reply, but gazed down on the deathly pale face of his friend. 'He is dead, isn't he?'

'No, he is not dead,' said the Morrigu, 'though his soul has fled this damaged shell. He should be dead, however. His lung was pierced through, and his liver.'

Banouin moved to the bedside. Bane was lying naked on the bed. There were stitches to the wounds in his chest and hip, and a little blood was seeping through them.

'Why did you save him?'

'A soldier of Stone wished it, and it is my destiny to grant wishes. I might ask you a similar question: why did you not save him? He is your friend.'

'What could I do? I am no fighter.'

'No,' said the Morrigu. 'You are not – not in any sense of the word. Why did you come back? Now you have missed your ship, and your journey to the towering greatness of Stone.'

Banouin felt the contempt in the words. 'I don't know why I came back.' He sat down by the bedside and took hold of Bane's hand. 'Why do you say I could have saved him?'

'Why did you not warn Appius of the impending attack? He could have fled the house with his daughter. They would still have been alive. Then Bane would not have attempted his valiant rescue.'

'It was a vision. It was the truth. I could not have changed it.'

'The words of a man with the heart of a weasel,' she hissed. 'Best you go from here, Banouin. Run away to Stone. Hide yourself from all confrontation and danger. Live out your miserable life lost in the words and the works of better men.'

Banouin backed away towards the door. 'You are just like all the rest,' he said, tears in his eyes. 'You value the killers like Bane, the bringers of death. You cannot tolerate those who find violence appalling and seek a better way.'

The Morrigu turned towards him. Banouin tried to run, but found himself frozen in place. 'It is the nature of weak men', she said softly, 'to see their weaknesses as strengths, and other men's strengths as weaknesses or stupidities. Bane risked his life a few days ago to save a horse trapped in a swollen river. A horse, Banouin! And why? Because he has a heart. He has feelings for others. He does not live his life whining about unfairness. He lives his life. On your travels you envied his popularity, the way men and women warmed to him in a way they could never warm to you. You felt they were somehow foolish and were taken in by his easy smile. Not so. They sensed that Bane was a man who cared, a man to be relied on. You, they knew, cared only for yourself, and could not be relied upon.

'I am a spirit, born of spirit and fed by spirit. This land is also fed by spirit. No tree can grow, no flower bloom without it. And where does it come from, this life-giving energy? It comes from men like Connavar and Ruathain, from women like Vorna and Eriatha and Meria. People who know love and warmth, people who will risk their lives for all they believe in.' The Morrigu stepped in close to the terrified Banouin and lifted her dark veil. Her face was dead, the skin grey and peeling back from white bone. 'Look upon the Morrigu, child. Gaze upon her beauty. You feel sick, do you not? Can you smell the corruption? Aye, I guess that you can.