'We cannot refuse the invitation,' Connavar had told him. 'It would be seen as both weak and hostile. Obviously Jasaray needs something from us. Find out what it is, and report it back.'

'What about Wing?' Bran had asked, referring to their brother Braefar by his soul-name, Wing over Water. 'He is skilled with words, and might enjoy a trip to Stone. He has no wife, no sons. And he constantly talks of being bored.'

'You are more suited to this task, Bran. Take Fiallach with you.'

This had surprised Bran. Fiallach was known for his seething hatred of all things Stone. 'Would that not cause offence, brother? After Cogden, Fiallach cut the heads from thirty Stone officers, and had them set on spears at the border. According to Brother Solstice only two Rigante names are well known to the people of Stone – yours and Fiallach's.'

'Precisely why he should go,' said Connavar. 'Although you are wrong about two names. There is a third. Many of the merchants who seek our favours are talking about a Rigante warrior who fights in the arenas of Stone.'

Bran had heard the stories, but had never spoken about them with Connavar. 'You want me to meet with him?' he asked.

'No. He has made his life, barren though it is.'

'I liked him,' said Bran.

Connavar's eyes had narrowed briefly, and he had scanned Bran's face for signs of criticism. Then he had sighed, and for a brief moment lost the haunted look Bran had come to know so well in the years since the death of Tae.

'I might have liked him too,' he said at last. 'He is one of many regrets I carry. If I could turn back the years, and live my life again, I would live it differently. I would have taken Tae to the lake. There would have been no war with the Pannone.'

'You know, Conn, this is something I have never understood. You are my brother, and I love you. But how long will you allow yourself to carry this burden? Take a wife, sire sons. You owe it to yourself – and to the people. You must have an heir, Conn.'

Connavar smiled. 'You are my heir, Bran. And your sons will follow you.' Connavar had walked to the window, and stared out over the countryside. Light clouds were casting dappled shadows over the flanks of the mountains.

'You could invite Bane back home,' said Bran.

Connavar swung round, his face once more set, his expression hard. 'We will talk of it no more.'

'As you wish, my king,' said Bran.

Connavar was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, brother. I had thought the hurt would lessen as the years passed. But it sits like a canker on the soul.'

'Ah, dammit! I am sorry too, Conn. I'll not mention it again. So, what is it you think Jasaray wants from us?'