'There is no herb for blindness, Bane,' she said.

'But can you heal him?'

'What makes you think that I can?' she had asked, warily.

'I can keep secrets,' he countered. 'And you can trust me.'

She looked into the child's odd eyes and smiled. 'I think that I can,' she said. Then she had knelt by the badger and gently placed her hands on its head, allowing her spirit to flow into the beast's bloodstream, and on through its body. The badger cub fell into a deep sleep. It was badly malnourished, and infested with fleas and worms. But the worst of the problems lay in the brain. A cancerous growth was pressing against its skull, causing the blindness. Opening her eyes she turned to the boy. 'There is a shoulder of cold ham in the larder. Put it in a bowl and fetch it here. And try not to wake Banouin!'

Bane ran off and returned with the meat. Placing one hand on the ham, the other on the badger's head she closed her eyes once more. Now she flowed within the cancer, feeling the pulse of its life, its need to grow. With infinite care she honed her concentration, and began to draw the rogue cells into her own body, sucking them through her bloodstream, breaking them down, reconstituting them, transmuting them from flesh to energy. The cold ham began to writhe under her hand, maggots crawling over her fingers. Sweat beaded her brow, and ran in rivulets down her cheeks. Still she held the focus. At last, satisfied that she had removed all trace of the cancer from the cub, she sat back and opened her eyes. Bane was staring in horror at the putrid, writhing mass that the ham had become.

'Those maggots were in the badger?' he asked.

'In a way. Take it and bury it. Then we will wake the little beast and feed it.'

'I will tell no-one, Vorna. Your secret is safe with me. I promise you that.'

'How long have you known?'

'I saw you light a fire last year with a flick of your fingers. I was outside the window. I have told no-one.'

'Why did you keep the secret?'

'Because it was your secret,' he said. 'And I thought you would not want people to share it.'

'You were right. Now bury that meat.'

Vorna smiled at the scene in the circle, then flicked her fingers. The circle vanished and she rose to her feet. As she did so she saw a rider angling a dappled grey down from the eastern woods. 'Reckless boy,' she whispered. But she felt her spirits lift a little as the young fugitive crossed the bridge and cantered across the meadow. He drew up in front of the house and leapt down, a wide smile on his face, sunlight glinting on his golden hair.

'I hope you have food ready,' he said. 'I was tempted to stop and eat the horse.'

'Foolish child!' she admonished him. 'Of all the places to come. Do you want the hunters to find you?'

'Ah, you worry too much. Anyway, they are miles away and will not be back until well after dark.' He grinned at her, then led the grey gelding into the barn. Vorna sighed, shook her head and walked into the house. Cutting a large slice of meat pie she scooped it onto a plate and laid it on the dining table. Bane stepped into the room, pushed closed the door and sat down. Vorna poured him a mug of water, then sat by the hearth, waiting until he had finished his meal.

It was cool in the room and Vorna whispered a Word of Power. Flames sprang up in the fireplace, licking around the dry wood.

'I never tire of seeing you do that,' said Bane, rising from the table and seating himself in the old horsehide chair opposite Vorna.

She smiled as she looked at him. He had his father's eyes and his mother's beauty. 'What are your plans?' she asked him.

Bane shrugged. 'I have none. But I do have a bag of gold. A present from my loving father. Ah, but his kindness touches the heart.'

'He was always kind to me,' she said, 'but let us not argue the point. I am far too fond of you to wish to see you angry.'

'I couldn't be angry with you, Vorna,' he said. 'Next to my mother you have been my greatest friend. I see Banouin has already left. You think he'll come back?'

'That will depend on whether he finds what he's looking for,' she said, her voice heavy with sadness. She looked into Bane's strange eyes. 'It will also depend on whether he survives to find it.'

'You think he is in danger? Have you had a vision?'

'I have many visions, but none concerning my son. Or you. I think my love for you both blocks my power. What I do know is that he is riding south, through a wartorn land full of violence and destruction. And he is not a warrior, Bane. You know that.'

'Aye, I do. He is not… strong,' he finished lamely.

'You are a good friend to him,' she said, with a smile. 'You always were.'

He blushed. 'I know I always got him into trouble, and you were constantly scolding me.'

She shook her head. 'You never were very comfortable with compliments. Even as a child.'

Bane chuckled. 'Never received enough to become accustomed to them.' He walked to the window and pushed open the shutters. Then he scanned the hills. The sound of hammering was still coming from Nanncumal's forge. 'Poor grandfather,' he said softly. 'First his wife, then his daughter. He has suffered much.'

'You have forgiven him?' asked Vorna.

'Aye, I have. It was hard for him to have a disgraced daughter back in his house. In some ways I think he blamed me. But he was never harsh to me. He was even kindly in his own way. When I saw him weep at my mother's death all the anger just flowed away from me.' Turning back towards her he gave a rueful smile. 'Difficult to hate a man who loved someone that you loved.'

'That is a good lesson to learn,' she said.

'I'm not awfully good at learning lessons,' he admitted. 'I can write my name and the word for horse.' Returning to the fire he sat back, resting his blond head on the back of the chair. 'I have always liked this room,' he said. 'It is so calm here. I feel at peace.'

'I know what you mean,' Vorna told him. 'It is a good house. Many happy memories are stored in these walls.'

He sat up. 'I spent three nights in your old cave. Threw the hunters off the scent. How long did you live there?'

'Twenty-five years.'

'I was going out of my mind by the fourth morning. How could you dwell in such a desolate place?'

'I was a different person then. Younger, more bitter.'

'That's where you saved Connavar's life,' he said. 'I thought of that often as I hid there.'

'Had I not done so you would never have been born,' she pointed out. 'And I would not have wed Banouin's father. Hence no Banouin. And what would the world have been without you two?'

'Duller,' he said. His smile faded. 'Tell me about Connavar and the bear.'

'What is it you wish to know? Everyone knows the story.'

'Aye, they do. But is it all true, Vorna? Did he really stand against the beast to save his crippled friend? Or was there another reason?'

'No other reason. He tried to carry Riamfada away from danger, but the bear was coming fast. So he put his friend down and turned to face it, armed with just a dagger. He was two years younger than you are now.' Vorna sighed. 'Do not look so disappointed, Bane. Would you want your father to be a coward?'

'Probably. I don't know, Vorna. Everywhere I go men talk of his legend. His battle against the Sea Wolves, the ride of the Iron Wolves to smash the Stone Panthers at Cogden Field, the siege of Barrow Hill. The great Connavar! The hero! How could such a hero desert my mother? How could he let his son grow without even a gesture of parental affection?'

Vorna took a deep breath. 'Perhaps you should ask him.'

'Maybe I will one day.'

She saw a touch of sadness cross his face. You are so young, she thought. Little more than a boy. But then another fear touched her. 'What are you planning to do?' she asked him.