'Don't touch me!' yelled Braefar, lashing out, the dagger in his hand almost forgotten. In that fraction of a heartbeat, with his anguish and anger paramount, Braefar tilted his fist. The blade slid between Connavar's ribs. The king grunted and fell back, blood streaming from the wound.

'No! I didn't mean . . .'

Bane drew his sword and advanced on the slender figure. 'Leave him! Don't kill him!' said the king, and then he slumped to the ground. Bane stood for a moment, his cold eyes locked to Braefar's tortured face.

'Get away from here, you snake!' he hissed. 'If I ever see you again I'll kill you where you stand.'

For a moment Braefar didn't move. Bane's sword came up. Braefar turned and sprinted for the woods.

He ran and ran, legs pumping, heart racing.

Bane was stunned. He thought Riamfada's prophecy had been proved wrong. He and Connavar had killed the rebels, and the king had but a few minor scratches and bruises. But now, as he looked down at the grey-faced man sitting quietly, his back to a column of stone, Bane knew he was dying. The dagger had plunged deep.

As the light faded Connavar began to shiver. Bane removed his own cloak and draped it around Connavar's upper body. 'Are you in pain?' asked the younger man.

Connavar coughed and blood dribbled into his beard. 'A little,' he confessed. 'Where is Wing?'

'He ran into the woods. Why did you want him spared?'

Connavar leaned his head back against the stone. He smiled. 'He's my little brother,' he said. 'I've looked after him all my life.'

'He's a treacherous dog – and he's killed you.'

'I came . . . here to die,' said Connavar. 'That was the price the Morrigu wanted. I don't know why. She always made it clear that the defeat of Stone was . . . important. Without me . . .' He fell silent for a moment. 'What are you doing here, Bane?'

'A friend of yours asked me to come. Riamfada.'

'The little fish,' said Connavar.

'Fish?' queried Bane.

'When he was . . . human . . . his legs were useless. Govannan and I used to carry him to the Riguan Falls. We . . . taught him to swim.'

Bane looked into the pale face of the dying man. 'He was the boy you were carrying when the bear attacked?'

'The same. The Seidh gave his spirit a home.' Connavar groaned, his face contorting. 'Damn, but this little wound is troublesome.' He looked up into Bane's face. 'I am glad you're here, Bane. It would have hurt my soul to die without . . .' He winced again, his body spasming.

'Don't talk,' said Bane. 'Just rest easy.'