Vorna saw the torment in his eyes. 'I know this is hard for you, Finnigal. This is your first command, and it calls for great strength. You have that strength. I know this.'
He smiled at the compliment, but his face was pale and strained. Time, I think, to call the village elders together.'
Within the hour the thirty elected elders were seated in the great Roundhouse built by Braefar. They listened in stunned silence when Finnigal told them word had reached him of a Vars force to the east. But the silence ended when he suggested an evacuation. The first to voice a protest was Nanncumal the Smith. 'If they are sixty miles away, what makes you think they are coming here?' he asked.
Finnigal glanced to where Vorna was seated at the back. 'It is my belief, he said at last, 'that we are in great danger. I believe they plan to sack the settlement.'
'You believe?' put in the black-bearded forester Adlin. 'No disrespect to you, Finnigal, but you are young and inexperienced. Why should we risk the lives of our people because you believe they may be coming? There are at least five other settlements closer to the coast.'
'Yes there are,' agreed Finnigal, 'but this is the richest, and the Vars will know there are few troops left to guard the area. Added to which, Three Streams is the birthplace of the king, and as such is a place dear to his heart. Yes, there are risks in leaving. I know this and it grieves me. The risks if we stay are far greater.'
'You say that,' put in Neruman the Tanner, a skinny, round-shouldered man, 'but what of Lorca and his outlaws? Lorca is a vile creature who lives for rape and pillage. You are suggesting we walk blithely into his domain.'
Others of the elders began to shout questions. Lady Meria stepped into the centre of the circle, raising her hands for silence. 'I would like to know', she said, 'how this word reached you, Captain Finnigal. What was the source, and how reliable the information?'
Vorna could see the young man was taken aback by the question. He had not mentioned Vorna's vision, and she was grateful for his effort to maintain her secret. But now Vorna rose from her seat. 'I told him,' she said. Heads turned towards her.
'Ah,' said Meria, 'and how, pray, did you come by the news?'
'In a vision,' said the former witch.
'I see,' said Meria, with a sneer. 'You have a bad dream and the whole of the settlement must rush out to die in the snow, or be slain by outlaws? Your powers were lost years ago.'
'Aye, they were,' said Vorna, her anger rising. 'Lost to save your son, you ungrateful bitch!' She strode through the seated elders until she stood no more than a few feet from Meria and Finnigal. 'You all know me,' she continued. 'I have healed your wives, your husbands and your children. I have delivered your babes. I am Vorna and I do not lie. Nor do I have bad dreams. I tell you that the Sea Wolves are coming. I urge you to evacuate this settlement.'
'And I say', stormed Meria, 'that she is deluded. And I, for one, have no intention of quitting my home on a madwoman's fancy.'
'Nor I,' said Nanncumal. Others joined in, and the arguments began again. Voices were raised, and the meeting descended into a shouting match. Vorna looked at Meria, and saw the glint of dark triumph in her eyes.
'How did you become such a vile and spiteful creature?' said Vorna. Then she strode from the Roundhouse, the sounds of discord ringing in her ears.
By evening the meeting was over, the situation unresolved.
Gwen was glad when Meria left for the meeting, for she found the older woman's company unsettling. She radiated disharmony. Gwen did not like to think ill of anyone, and had tried hard to like her husband's mother. It was terribly difficult. Meria had only one passion in her life, the love of her eldest son, Connavar. Her utter focus on this one object led her to largely ignore her other two sons. Braefar had suffered the most. Gwen felt sorry for the man. Now in his late thirties he had never married and she saw, as no-one else had, how desperately he needed his mother's affection. And he was the most like her. Even down to the bitterness that endlessly corroded his finer qualities.
Gwen held baby Badraig to her breast, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. The boy was suckling hard and she winced at the sudden sharpness of pain in her nipple. 'Gently, gently,' she whispered, stroking the crown of his head. Her thoughts turned to Bran. No bitterness there, no jealousy at his brother's rise to fame and the crown. She pictured his broad face, and felt a fresh outpouring of sadness. He would be distraught to learn of Ruathain's death – even though they had both known it was coming. Gwen's eyes welled with tears and she blinked them away. Badraig had finished feeding now, and his head flopped against her as he slept. Gwen rose from the rocking chair and took him to his cot, laying him gently down and covering him with a soft woollen blanket. Transferring her gaze to the bed she saw Orrin still sleeping. The boy had complained of feeling unwell, and Gwen had guessed it to be from the grief and tension of the funeral. Better for him to sleep than to sit by remembering the day.
Returning to the main room she glanced around the well-crafted walls, the shelves and the cabinets. There was a feeling of peace here and contentment that must have come from Meria's first husband, Ruathain. It certainly had never emanated from Meria herself. Gwen's own house at Golden Rocks was like this, built with care and filled with objects that spoke of love and devotion. On the far wall of the main room at home there was a piece of polished oak, carved into a heart, bearing her name. It was the first gift Bran had given her, eighteen and a half years ago. They had met at the Samain Feast. Gwen, being shy, had sat herself away from the crowd, and Bran had seen her and wandered over. Watching the golden-haired young man heading for her Gwen had felt fearful. She wished for no company, and turned her head away, hoping he would pass by. But he had not.
He had halted before her and asked, politely, if he could sit. Her shyness had, at first, made speech impossible, so she merely nodded. The dancing had begun by the fire, the music of the pipes blaring out. 'Do you dance?' he asked her. She shook her head. 'I like to dance sometimes,' he said, his voice soft, almost musical. 'Last week I was riding in the high hills above the loch, and the setting sunlight kissed the waters, turning them to gold. I felt like leaping from my pony and dancing with joy.'
'And did you?' she found herself asking.
'Aye, I did. A proper fool I must have looked, cavorting over the grass. My horse stood watching me, and I could see in his eyes that he thought me mad. But then he is an old horse, and he views the world with great cynicism.'
'How does one tell if a horse is cynical?' she enquired. He was sitting beside her, looking back towards the fire. This made Gwen feel a little more at ease, for she did not like to be stared at. His profile was very fine, and she saw in his face a gentleness often missing from Rigante men.
'Well,' he said at last, 'my horse and I have many conversations. I tell him of my hopes and dreams as I ride, and he listens. Occasionally, when I speak of my more romantic beliefs, he will toss his head and snort. That is his way of telling me that the world is not as I would wish it to be.'
'He sounds very wise, your horse.'
'Indeed he is.'
They sat in silence for a while, and Gwen was surprised to find that his company was not at all intrusive. He applied no pressure, was not inquisitive. He merely sat, completely at ease, watching the fire dancers as they leapt and twirled. She wanted to ask his name, but that would have meant initiating a conversation, so she too watched the dancers.
After a while he spoke again. 'Do you know the land to the east of Golden Rocks, where the woods back onto cliffs of sandstone and the river widens?'