Banouin sat under the willow and found himself thinking of Caer Druagh. He glanced around to see if anyone was close by, then, satisfied he was alone, lay back and closed his eyes. His spirit drifted clear of his body, floating up through the willow. It was one of the reasons Banouin loved this spot. Here – and only here – could he release his spirit from the cage of flesh. When he had first developed this talent it had filled him with fear, but he had learned swiftly that he had merely to wish himself back in his body and it would be so. Gradually during the first year he had ventured further abroad, finally soaring back to Caer Druagh and hovering over the settlement of Three Streams. The sheer joy at seeing the cluster of wooden homes had surprised him.

This time he saw there was a new building, huge and conical, to the north of the settlement. Banouin floated inside. It was a meeting hall, and several hundred Rigante were there, enjoying a feast. Connavar's half brother, Braefar, was sitting at the head of the table, a slim yellow-haired man, with quick darting eyes. He was laughing at some jest and drinking from a golden goblet.

Banouin drew back and flew on to his mother's house. Vorna was dozing before the fire, her head resting on a cushion. She looked tired, thought Banouin.

Vorna's dark eyes flared open and she looked directly at him. She yawned, stretched and sat up. 'Are you well, my son?' she asked him.

'I am,' he told her. 'But you look weary.'

'I returned from Old Oaks last night. There is plague there. Forty dead. I think I have cleansed the settlement. Have you heard from Bane?'

'No. He is becoming famous now. Six kills and fifteen other victories in less than two years. He has become a Name.'

'You should make your peace with him. He was a good friend to you.'

'He is a killer of men, and we have nothing in common.'

'You think not? You are both Rigante, born in the shadow of Caer Druagh.'

'I am a citizen of Stone, Mother,' he reminded her.

'Aye, you are. But that was through choice. You are Rigante by blood, and your soul-name was heard in the mountains and the Wishing Tree woods.'

'We have had this conversation before,' he said, with a smile. 'I did not accept it then, nor do I accept it now. I am content, Mother. I am who I am.'

'You do not yet know who you are,' she told him. 'And contentment is not enough.'

'It is good to see you well,' he said.