Bane shrugged. 'He is a cold man, and I should have expected no less. I'll return to Caer Druagh. I need to see the mountains, and to feel the grass under my feet. Why not come with me, show me how to run a farm?'

'Perhaps I'll visit, but Cara is to be married in four months, and I'd like to see that. I'd also like to watch a great-grandchild grow. I hope it is a boy. Girls art wonderful, but I think I need a little variety.' He rose from his seat, and drew Bane into a hug. 'You know maybe you should find your father, and make your peace with him.'

For the first time Bane kissed Rage's cheek. Then he drew away. 'I have no father. If I could choose one it would be you.'

'That is good to hear, and I thank you for saying it. Now, before we become mawkish let's go down to the others and eat. I am famished.'

'One last thing,' said Bane. 'Will you be getting drunk tonight?'

Rage chuckled. 'Probably. I don't like to kill – even evil men like Voltan.'

'Then let's drink together. We can talk about the stars and the spirits, and ramble on about the meaning of life.'

'Sounds hideous. We'll do it,' said Rage.

Snow was swirling across the plain as the young druid crouched at the foot of a standing stone, watching the wind scattering hot cinders from his tiny fire, leeching the heat away from his frozen body. Hunched against the cold stone Banouin felt the weight of failure dragging him down. Four times now in the last six months he had tried to free the ghosts of Cogden Field. But on each occasion they had ignored him and continued their senselessly ferocious battle.

The last time he had tried reasoning with the shade of Valanus, pointing out to him that Cogden was fought in bright sunlight, whereas now only the moon shone down upon the battlefield. Valanus had laughed, and gestured towards the sky. 'There is the blazing sun,' he cried. 'And the sky is blue. I have no more time for this, demon. Come, lads, one more charge and the day is ours.'

The wind died down and the shivering Banouin added dry sticks to the fading blaze. Flames licked out and he held out his hands to the fleeting warmth.

The king had allowed him this one last attempt – three weeks' leave of absence. And he had failed. Tomorrow he would have to return to Old Oaks as he had promised.

'I care for these souls,' said Connavar, 'but, in truth, I care for the living far more. The information you supply on Jasaray's troops is vital to us. No-one else has your talent, Banouin. You are the Eyes of the Rigante.'