He heard movement and stared out into the night. A horse was plodding slowly through the snow, the rider hunched in the saddle, his head hooded. The rider eased his horse into the circle of stones and flicked back his hood.

'You still don't know how to place a fire, idiot,' said Bane.

The warrior stepped down from the saddle, tethered his mount, took a large bundle of dry wood, tied with thongs, from the back of his saddle, then walked to the far side of the circle, where one of the giant stones had cracked and fallen. Swiftly he prepared a fire against the stone. Taking a burning branch from Banouin's small blaze he lit his own, which crackled into life. Shielded from the worst of the wind the fire burned hot and bright, warmth reflecting from the stone. Bane sat down, gesturing Banouin to join him.

'I would have built it here,' said Banouin, squatting down. 'But I can see the battle from this spot, and it grieves me.'

'Are they fighting now?' asked Bane.

'Yes.'

'Let me know when it is over.'

'Why?'

'I will help you release their souls.'

'You are not a mystic. How can you help me?'

'You never did know how to talk to fighting men,' said Bane. 'I do.'

'The Morrigu sent you, didn't she?'

'No. Your mother came to my farm. Asked me to help you.' He looked directly into Banouin's eyes. 'Vorna has always been a friend to me. I help my friends where I can.'

Banouin looked away. 'I am sorry about what happened in Accia,' he said.

'Pah, it is in the past. Forgotten.'

'Is that true?' asked Banouin, hope flaring.

'Of course it is not true,' snapped Bane. 'I was trying to be polite. Now tell me about this battle of souls.'

'What is there to tell? They fight eternally the battle of Cogden Field, not knowing that it is over and gone. Their spirits are trapped here, caught in a web of hatred and violence. I have tried talking to Valanus. He hears me, but does not believe what I tell him.'

'And why is it important to you that he does believe?' asked Bane.

'It is the land, Bane. It suffers as they suffer. All life is being drained from this place, like a stain that grows and grows. There must be an end to it. The dead must know peace.'

'Why should they be any different from the living?' asked Bane. 'When do we ever know peace?'

'You still sound bitter.'