Ironhand's Daughter (16 page)

“What's it like in an upside-down world?” he asked his reflection. “Are you happy or sad?” The face in the pool mouthed the same words back to him. Ballistar moved back and sat with his back to the trunk of a weeping willow.

Asmidir came riding down the slope and Ballistar stood. The black man was wearing clothes of brown and russet, with a deep green cloak. He sported no burnoose and upon his head he wore a helm of burnished iron that rose to a glistening silver point at the crown. Seeing Ballistar, he drew rein and stepped from the saddle. “Where is she?” he asked.

Ballistar pointed to the cave. “There is a wizard with her. Unpleasant little man.”

“How is she?”

“Beaten and abused. She will get better though. I know it.”

The black man nodded. “I know it also. What news of Fell?”

“I've heard nothing,” the dwarf told him. “I've been here for three nights. But I don't think they'll catch him. A canny man is Fell, and stronger than he believes.”

“You see much, Ballistar. You are no man's fool. I shall be taking Sigarni to my house. You are welcome to join us. I think she will feel better with you there.”

“She may not want either of us,” said the dwarf. “She just told Taliesen that no man will ever touch her again—she may hate us all for the sins of a few.”

Asmidir shook his head. “She is too intelligent for that, my friend. Will you come?”

“Of course I will come. She is my friend.”

“Mine also,” said Asmidir softly. “And I will defend her with my life. You believe me?”

Ballistar looked deeply into the man's dark eyes. “Aye, I believe you, black man. I don't like you, but I believe you.”

“There is much in me to dislike, Ballistar. I have been a harsh man, and at times a cruel one. Despite this I have never betrayed a friend, and treachery is utterly alien to me. I intend to help Sigarni, to teach her all that I know.”

“About what?” asked Ballistar.

“About war,” Asmidir answered.

There was little conversation as the five men moved through the forest, each locked in his own thoughts. Fat Tovi the Baker kept thinking of his eldest son, and how proud he was of the boy. When the soldiers had selected him as one of the four hostages he had stood tall, straight of back, and he had shown no fear. Like me, when I was younger, thought Tovi. Then he shook his head. No, he's better than me. There's a lot of his mother in him, and she comes from good stock.

Beside him walked Grame the Smith, his thoughts dark and brooding. Grame stood by while the soldiers selected the hostages, but he was holding the forge hammer in his hand, and using all his iron will to stop himself from running forward and braining the grinning officer. That I should live to see this, he thought, foreigners riding into our villages unopposed and stealing away our people. The smith felt the shame as if it were his alone.

Ahead of the two old men walked the three foresters, Fell at the center. Bakris Tooth-gone was to his left, Gwyn Dark-eye to the right. Gwyn's thoughts were all of Fell. He loved him better than he loved his own brothers, and was racking his brains for a fresh argument to use to stop Fell from surrendering to the Outlanders. But nothing would come. Four lives were at stake, Tovi's son, the Widow Maffrey, the cattle herder Clemet, and Nami, the fat daughter of the shepherd Maccus. Fell was a man of honor, and once he had heard about the hostages there was only one course of action left to him. It broke Gwyn's heart to make this journey.

Bakris was thinking about what would happen once the arrogant Fell had been hanged. Surely his own skills would be recognized and he would be elected Captain of Foresters?

Fell himself could think only of Sigarni, and all that might have been. Taliesen had ordered him to lead the hunters deep into the forest, and this he had done, wounding several of them. They had almost caught him twice, but his woodcraft saved him—that and his fleetness of foot. What will happen now, Sigarni? he wondered. Will you remember me kindly?

In his mind's eye he could see himself standing on the scaffold, the hemp rope at his throat. Will you die like a man, Fell, he asked himself, standing tall and proud? In that moment he knew that he would. No Outland audience would see a Highland man scream and beg for his life.

Fell glanced up at the branches above him, the sun dappling them with gold and sending shafts of brilliance to the undergrowth below. Through a break in the trees he saw High Druin, rising majestically above the other peaks. “Be with me, Father!” he whispered to the mountain.

“What's that, Fell?” asked Gwyn.

“Talking to myself, man. Ah, but it's a fine day for a walk, to be sure.”

“That it is, my friend, but I'd be happier if we were heading north.”

“I cannot do that. I'll let no Highlander die for my crimes.”

“Crimes? What crimes?” snorted Grame, moving alongside them. “They raped her, for God's sake, and they hunted her down like an animal. Who do they think they are, these Outlanders? First the Baron tries to steal her hawk, then they rob her of her virtue . . .”

“What virtue?” sneered Bakris. “Hell's teeth, man, that was gone long ago. She's had more pricks than an archery target.”

“That's enough,” hissed Fell as he swung on Grame. “Who do they think they are? They are the conquerors, and they make the laws. You, me, the whole of the Highlands, are ruled at their whim.”

“There's supposed to be a leader coming,” said Tovi. “I wish to God he would appear soon.”

“
She
already has,” said Fell. The other men looked at one another, then back at Fell. “Aye, you'll think it nonsense,” he said. “But an old sorcerer came to me, and told me to be at the Citadel town at dawn on a certain day. There I would see the Red worn again, and a sword held over the town. Well, my lads, I was there. And I saw Sigarni don the Red, and watched her kill an Outlander. She's the leader prophesied. I won't live to see it, but you will.”

“Have you gone mad, lad?” asked Grame. “What does she know of war and battles? She's a child. Who'd follow her?”

“I would,” said Fell.

“If he would, so would I,” put in Gwyn.

Bakris gave a sneering laugh. “I'd follow her into the bedroom. Anytime.”

“You will all see it come true,” said Fell. “Now let's be moving on. I have a wish to be in Citadel town before dusk.”

Tovi put his broad hand on Fell's shoulder. “I'm not stopping you, boy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I'd do anything to bring my son home. Yet, even now, if you choose to take a different path I'll think none the worse of you. You understand?”

Fell nodded. “I understand, Hunt Lord. But I killed an Outlander, and they want blood. If they don't get mine they will seek it elsewhere. It is their way. I would ask you this, though—look to Sigarni, and help her all you can. Both you and Grame are battle-hardened warriors. You have lived what the rest of us only hear stories of. You know how the heart feels before a battle, and how a man's courage can turn to water. You know what it takes to stand against a foe. That knowledge will be vital in the days ahead. My death may give you breathing space to plan. But it will be no more than that.”

“It may not even give us that,” said Gwyn. “They want Sigarni too. They may just take you, and keep the hostages.”

“I've thought of that,” said Fell. “Let us hope there is a spark of honor in the Baron.”

“You're doing the right thing, Fell,” said Bakris. “I'd do the same in your place.”

“Then let's move on,” said Fell. “One more hill, lads, and we'll be home.”

The five men trudged up the hill, cresting it just as the sun was turning to blood over the western mountain peaks. In the distance they could see the line of the wall around Citadel town, and the tall ramparts of the keep beyond.

By the north gate, in cages outside the wall, hung four bodies, and crows were thick around them. At this distance it was impossible to recognize faces, but all knew the worn-out black dress worn by the Widow Maffrey. “God's heart!” whispered Grame. “They've killed them already! But it has only been two days! They promised a week.”

“A spark of honor, you said, Fell,” muttered Gwyn. “Now we all see what Outland honor is worth.”

“They'll pay for this a thousandfold,” said Fell. “I swear it!”

Sigarni, her red cloak wrapped around her shoulders, sat on the mock ramparts of Asmidir's castle home and stared out over the rolling hills and woodlands to the south. Asmidir stood alongside her, leaning on the crenellated grey stone parapet. “You understand your purpose?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, her voice cold. “I am to kill Outlanders.”

Angrily he swung on her. “No! That is the first lesson you must learn. War is not just a game of killing. Any commander who thinks in this way will be destroyed, if not by the enemy then by his—or her—own troops.”

“Troops? Are you insane?” she stormed. “There are no soldiers, there is no army. There is only Sigarni. And all I live for now is to kill as many as I can.” Pushing herself to her feet she faced him, her own pale eyes locked to his dark orbs. “You can have no understanding of what they did to me, or what they took from me. You are a man. This whole world has been created for your pleasures, while women are here merely for sport—either that or to carry your brats for nine months, ready to feed more souls to your games of slaughter in years to come. Well, Asmidir, Sigarni will carry no brats, but she
will
play your game.”

He smiled ruefully. “You cannot play until you know what you are playing for. You must have an objective, Sigarni. How else can you plan?”

“An objective?” she mocked. “I am alone, Asmidir. What would you have me do? Where is my army? You want an objective? To free the Highlands of Outland rule, to drive the enemy back into their own lands and beyond. To lead a hundred thousand men deep into their territory and sack their capital. Is that enough of an objective?”

“It is,” he said. “Now examine how you will plan for this objective.”

Sigarni rose and faced him. “I have no time for worthless games. There is no army.”

“Then build one,” he said sternly.

Spinning on her heel, Sigarni strode along the rampart, climbing down the stone stairway to the courtyard. A servant bowed as she passed him. Moving on, she entered the house where Ballistar was standing before the stuffed bear, staring up at it. “It's so lifelike,” said the dwarf. “Don't you think?”

Ignoring him, she walked into the hall and seated herself in a wide leather armchair set before the log fire. Asmidir followed her, with Ballistar just behind.

“Why are they bowing to me?” demanded Sigarni. “All of them. They don't speak . . . but they bow.”

“I ordered them to,” said Asmidir. “You must become familiar with such treatment. From now to the end of your life you will be separated from the common man. You will become a queen, Sigarni.”

“The Whore Queen, is that it? Is that how you see me, Asmidir? Or was it some other black bastard who named me a harlot?”

Asmidir pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. “Your anger is justified,” he said. “I did not know then that
you
were the leader the prophecy spoke of. I ask your forgiveness for that. But I also ask that you focus your rage, and do not allow it to swamp your reason. If the prophecy is true—and I believe it to be so—then you must be ready to act. A wise general knows that men can be replaced, weapons can be replenished. But lost time cannot be regained.”

“And who will follow me, Asmidir?” she asked. “Who will follow the whore Sigarni?”

Ballistar moved between them and gave a low bow. “I will follow you, Sigarni,” he said. “Will you let me be the first?” Dropping to one knee he gazed up at her.

Sigarni felt her anger drain away. “You are my friend,” she said wearily. “Is that not enough?”

“No. I believe what he says. The wizard said the same. I know I am not built to be a warrior, or to lead men into battle. I can serve you, though. I can cook, and I can think. I am not a fool, Sigarni, though nature has gifted me the appearance of one. Other men will kneel before you, and you will gather an army from among the clans. And if we are all to die, let it be while fighting a vile enemy. For from now until then, at least we will live with pride.”

Sigarni stood and took his arms, helping him to his feet. “You shall be the first, Ballistar,” she said. Seizing her hand he kissed it, then stepped back, blushing.

“I'll leave you now,” he said. “I'll prepare breakfast. Planning should never be attempted on an empty stomach.”

As the dwarf departed Asmidir leaned forward. “His words had great wisdom, Sigarni.”

She said nothing, but sat silently for a while staring into the flames, seeing again the sword that crushed the life from Abby, and then the terrible ordeal in the dungeon.

“What kind of army can we raise?” she asked.

Asmidir smiled. “That is more like it! The Loda number less than two thousand people, of which no more than six hundred could fight, and only then for a short space of time, for the fields would have to be tilled and planted, crops gathered and so on. Realistically we could raise three hundred fighting men. The Pallides number more than six thousand, with approximately two thousand men between the ages of fifteen and sixty. I have no detailed information as yet about the Farlain, but judging by the areas they inhabit, there should be at least four thousand of them. The Wingoras are the smallest clan, but even they could put two hundred fighting men on the field of battle. All in all, perhaps four thousand in total.”