If Connavar had not been so selfish, so hungry for power and praise, he thought, none of this would have happened.

Braefar stared down at the large golden ring adorning the third finger of his right hand. It had been a gift from Connavar upon his coronation. A princely gift. Of course Bendegit Bran had been given a golden torque, Govannan a beautiful cloak brooch with a ruby centre, and Fiallach a sword, the hilt entwined with gold wire, the pommel stone a beautifully cut emerald. Braefar had examined the gifts closely. His own golden ring had cost less than all the others. It was a studied insult.

Braefar had been swallowing such insults all his life. Ever since the day of that accursed bear!

He could see it now, huge and black, its jaws dripping with the blood of the boys already slain back in the woods. It was charging at Connavar. The sight of the beast was awesome, and it froze Braefar's blood. Conn had leapt at it, stabbing it with his dagger. Then Govannan had run in to help. It was all over so fast. One moment Conn was alive and strong, the next torn apart, blood sprayed all over the grass. The hunters had come then, plunging their lances into the beast. Only then did Braefar discover the power to move. They had all looked at him, thinking him a coward. They didn't say it out loud. But they felt it. And Braefar's life had been cursed from that moment.

Conn had never forgiven him. He said he had, but it was a lie. He had spent the next twenty years punishing him, causing him to fail and look stupid in front of his fellows. Oh, how Conn must have laughed on each occasion. Braefar didn't doubt the king had discussed his 'failures' with Bran, Govannan, Osta, Fiallach and the others. They thought he didn't notice them laughing behind his back. But he noticed. Braefar did not have to see them to know. It was all so obvious. As were the grotesque plots to make him seem incompetent.

Conn had put him in charge of the northern gold mines, with a brief to improve the production and swell the treasury. Braefar had invented several tools for the men at the face. They were a huge success. Then had come the cave-in. Braefar was accused of pushing ahead too fast, with insufficient timber supports. Forty men died, and the mine was closed for four months. As if that was his fault! Get more gold, the king had said. Braefar had got more gold, doubling production.

Every role Conn ever offered him was tipped with poison. And all because of that bear!