Connavar gave out a groan and fell to his knees. Parax stood silently by, knowing the cause of the king's grief. He had promised to ride with Tae to a distant lake, but on his way home had met with a woman he had once loved. Arian had held to him, and he had bedded her. Hours later, upon his return to Old Oaks, he discovered that Tae had ridden out with Ruathain and had been killed during a surprise attack by men who had a blood feud with his stepfather. Connavar remained on his knees, head bowed. The giant figure of Ruathain loomed over him. 'Family is everything, Conn. I thought I taught you that.'

'You did, Big Man. I never forgot it. I have looked after Wing and Bran and Mam.'

'And Bane?'

Connavar's face grew angry. 'I regret that. But I could not bear to see Arian again. My lust for her killed Tae – and destroyed my life!'

'You made a mistake, Conn. All men do. But Bane was blameless, and he has grown to manhood without a father. He watched his mother, grief-stricken and broken, fade away and die lonely. He deserved better from you, Conn. You should have acknowledged him. It is not as if there was any doubt. He looks like you – even down to the eyes of green and gold. And because you shunned him all men shunned him.'

The dream was terribly real and Parax wanted to reach out and comfort the king, who seemed stricken by grief and ashamed. Then the vision faded, replaced by a stand of trees, branches gently swaying in the wind. Then – for the merest heartbeat – the old hunter saw a veiled woman standing close by. She was leaning on a staff. A huge black crow flew down from the trees and perched upon her shoulder. Parax was instantly terrified. For this, he knew, was the dreaded Morrigu, the Seidh goddess of mischief and death.

He awoke with a start, and cried out. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He gazed around at the tree line, but there was no veiled woman, no black crow. The smell of sizzling bacon came to him and he thought he must still be dreaming. Turning his head he saw a man squatting by a fire, holding a long-handled pan over the flames. The man glanced across at him and grinned.