He followed Banouin through the ranks of marching men, cracking jokes with a few who mocked his donkey. By the time the two druids reached the front of the line the Iron Wolves had already picketed their horses, and the king's tent had been erected. Inside Connavar was seated upon a rug at the centre of the tent, his senior generals around him. Govannan, his hair prematurely silver, sat to his right, and beside him was Ostaran, the Gath warrior who had joined Connavar twenty years ago, following the fall of his homeland across the water. Bendegit Bran sat to the king's left. Only Fiallach was missing. He and his men were ranging far to the south, attacking the enemy supply lines.

Banouin made his report about the size and disposition of Jasaray's forces. Connavar listened, then questioned the young druid for several minutes. Bendegit Bran said nothing. Brother Solstice watched him. He was not concentrating, and his blue eyes had a faraway look. Connavar seemed not to notice his brother's malaise. Osta and Govannan cast nervous glances at him, but offered no comment.

'Anything else you can think of which might be useful?' Connavar asked Banouin, as the druid finished his report. Before he could answer Brother Solstice spoke, his voice low.

'The regiment of flying dragons may prove difficult to overcome. What do you think, Lord Bran?'

Bran blinked, his shoulders straightening. 'Yes,' he said. 'We must consider that.'

An uneasy silence followed. 'How many men are facing us, Lord Bran?' asked Brother Solstice. 'Where is their army now?'

Bran's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you to question me?' he said.

'Who am I, you insolent puppy!' thundered Solstice, his voice booming. 'We are discussing the future of all we hold dear. Twenty miles away is an enemy who will destroy our way of life, take thousands of our women into slavery, and butcher the children who are too young to be sold for profit. Who am I? I am the man who sees a general so obsessed with his own personal grief that he will bring about the destruction of his people!'

'How dare you!' stormed Bran, surging to his feet.

'You want to sit in a corner and weep?' said the druid. 'Go home. Shed your tears. Cuddle your wife. Get her to dry your eyes. And leave the fighting and the planning for those who have the stomach for it!'

Bran rushed at him. Brother Solstice made no attempt to defend himself. Bran's fist crashed against his bearded chin. The druid staggered, then placed his huge arms behind his back. Blood flowed from his split lip, staining his black and silver beard. He looked into Bran's eyes. 'Now that you have woken up,' he said, 'perhaps our leading strategist can tell us where the enemy lies, and what strength he brings to the field.'