'If you are to be the king of all Keltoi on this side of the water,' she said, 'you cannot ride around the countryside in the colours of the Rigante. You must wear something that signifies you are above tribal divisions.' He had, at first, laughed at the garment, for it had seemed then truly ugly, clashing colours and symbols, crafted from cloaks from five tribes. Now he viewed it differently. Meria had been right. The cloak had become a talisman, drawing the tribes together.

Conn poured himself some water. The memory of the dreams was strong upon him. He had seen his stepfather Ruathain. He had been standing by the shore of a lake, his arm round the shoulder of the dead grandson who bore his name. Conn had called out to him, but Ruathain did not seem to hear him.

Sitting alone in his tent Connavar the King thought back over his life, seeing again the great days, of victory and freedom, the bleak times following the deaths of Banouin, Tae and finally Ruathain. He had loved Tae, though never with the all-consuming intensity of his feelings for Arian. Even after all these years guilt for that lack lay heavy on him. She deserved better from him, he knew, but love was not a matter of choice. A man did not – could not – say: This woman is worthy of love and therefore I will love her with all my heart. A man loved passionately or he did not. It was that simple.

Conn's eyes felt gritty and tired. Bran, Govannan and Osta had been in the tent well into the night, discussing strategies to use against Jasaray's forces. Bran had worked out a battle plan. It was a good one, but fraught with danger. The Rigante centre would be manned by fifteen thousand untrained tribesmen, ten thousand heavy infantry to be placed on the left and right wings. Both flanks would be protected by the Iron Wolves and the Horse Archers.

'We will draw Jasaray in towards the weak centre,' said Bran, 'and engage him there.'

'We'll not be able to hold him,' pointed out Govannan.

'Exactly. I will set the centre in a bow formation, the wings behind the front ranks. The Stone front lines will push us back. The heavy infantry, under you, Govannan, will hold their positions. As the Panthers drive us back our lines will become crescent-shaped. Then I will signal the heavy infantry to close in from left and right. The Iron Wolves, having despatched or driven away Jasaray's cavalry, will turn on the rear of the Panthers.'