The Ironhand's Daughter

CHAPTER VI

DESPITE THE EXCRUCIATING pain flaring from the empty eye-socket, the Baron Ranulph Gottasson enjoyed the awestruck and fearful expressions of the men before him. Idly the fingers of his left hand stroked the carved dragon claws on the arm of the ornate chair. Sharp they were, as they gripped the globe of ebony. The men waited silently below the dais. He knew their thoughts and, more importantly, their growing anxiety. They had failed - the woman who had robbed him of his eye was still at large. The Baron leaned back on the high carved chair and stared balefully down at the twenty men before him, his single eye blood-shot but its gaze piercing.

'So,' he said softly, his voice sibilant and chilling, 'tell me that you have captured the woman and the renegade.'

The officer before him, a tall man sporting a square-cut beard but no moustache, cleared his throat. His chain-mail leggings were mud-smeared, and his right arm was clumsily bandaged. 'We have not caught them yet, my lord. I brought the men back for fresh supplies.'

'You did not catch them,' repeated the Baron, rising from his chair. 'One woman and a forester, riding double on a stolen stallion. But you did not catch them.' Slowly he descended the three steps from the dais and halted before the officer. The man dropped his head and mumbled something.

'Speak up, Chard. Let us all hear you!'

The officer reddened, but he raised his head and his voice boomed out. 'They fooled us. They turned the stallion loose and cut out across the valleys. Then the storm came and it was impossible to read sign. But we followed as best we could, thinking the woman would return to her people. The renegade forester, Fell, shot at us from ambush, wounding two of my men. We gave chase, my lord, but heavily armed riders are useless in the thickets. We left our horses and tried to follow on foot. It was like trying to catch a ghost. I had no archers with me.

Three more men were struck by his arrows. Happily their armour saved them from serious injury, though the mercenary, Lava, still has an arrowhead lodged in his shoulder.' Chard fell silent.

The Baron nodded solemnly. 'So, what you are saying is that thirty Outland warriors are no match for a woman and a clansman.'

'No, my lord. I am saying ..."

'Be silent, fool! Did you think, at any time during the four days you have been gone, to send back to Citadel for trackers? Did you not consider hiring the services of the Finder, Kollarin? Did you set the renegade's own people to hunt him?'

'His own people ..."

The Baron half turned away, then swung back his fist, smashing the officer's lips against his teeth. The skin split and blood sprayed out as Chard was hurled backwards. He fell heavily, cracking his skull against the base of a statue. Chard gave out one grunting moan, then slid into unconsciousness. 'You have all failed me,' said the Baron, 'but his was the greatest sin. He will suffer for it. Now you!' he said, pointing to a burly soldier with close-cropped fair hair. 'You are Obrin the Southlander, yes?'

'Yes, my lord.' The man bowed.

'You have fought barbarians before, I understand. In Kushir, Palol, Umbria and Cleatia?'

'Yes, my lord. And served also in Pesht under your command. I was there when you stormed the wall, sir, though I was but a common soldier then.'

'And now you are a sergeant-at-arms. Answer me well and you shall assume command of the hunt, and become a captain. Tell us all now what errors were made by the idiot lying at your feet.'

Obrin drew a deep breath and was silent for a moment. The Baron smiled. He knew what was going through the man's mind. No enlisted soldier wished to be made an officer: the pay would not cover the mess bills, and from its meagre supply he would have to purchase his own horse and armour and hire a manservant. Obrin's round face paled; then he spoke. 'The trail was cold from the moment the storm broke, my lord. We should have headed for Cilfallen and taken hostages. Then the foresters themselves could have hunted down their comrade. I would also have posted a reward for their capture, just in case. There's not much coin in the Highlands. And there's always some bastard who'd sell his mother for a copper or two, if you take my meaning, my lord.' Obrin paused and rubbed his broad chin. 'You have already mentioned the Finder, Kollarin, but - I'll be honest with you, my lord - I would not have thought of him, sir. and, if it please you, I don't want captain Chard's command. I'm no nobleman. And I wouldn't fit in. I don't have the brains for it.

But I am a good sergeant, sir.'

The Baron ignored the soldier and climbed to the dais to return to his seat. His eye-socket was throbbing and tongues of fire were lancing up into his skull. Yet he kept his expression even and showed no trace of the pain he was feeling. 'Find Kollarin and take him with you when you have your supplies. Take fifty men. Split them into two sections. One will ride to Cilfallen and post a reward of one hundred guineas; this group will also take four hostages and return them to Citadel.

The second group, led by you, Obrin, will include Kollarin. You will start your search at the woman's cabin. And before you leave you will take the former Captain Chard to the whipping post, where you will apply fifty lashes to his naked back. With every lash I want you to consider this: Fail, and one of your men will be lashing you.'

'Yes, sir,' said Obrin miserably.

The Baron waved his hand, dismissing the men. 'Not you, Leofric,' he said, as the slender blond-haired cleric was about to leave. 'Shut the door and come to me in my study.' Leaving the dais the Baron strode across the hall and through a small side door, leading to a flight of steps that took him up to the parapet study. A goblet had been placed on the desk, filled with dark, noxious liquid. The Baron hated medicines of any kind, and pain-masking opiates in particular. But the injury was now interfering with his thought processes and he drained the foul brew and sat with his back to the open window.

Leofric knocked twice, then entered the study. 'I am sorry, cousin, for your pain and your disappointment,' he said uneasily.

'The pain is nothing, but I am not disappointed, boy,' the Baron told him, motioning the younger man to a seat opposite him. 'Far from it. The Highlands need to be purged, and the excuse has now fluttered in on the wings of a dead hawk. A woman rebel was arrested after attacking the King's Emissary. Highlanders raided the dungeons to release her. Then they attacked the King's soldiers.

When word reaches the south the King will send another five thousand men to serve under me, and we will march from Citadel to the sea and wipe out the clans once and for all.'

'I don't understand,' said Leofric. 'How are the clans a danger to the empire? They have no military organization, indeed no army, and there is no insurrection.'

The Baron smiled. 'Then we cannot lose, can we, Leofric? And at the end I will have an army as large as Jastey's. The King grows old and soft. You think Jastey has no plans to seize the crown for himself? Of course he has. And I can do nothing to stop him while I am stuck away here in this God-forsaken wilderness. However, a war against the clans, well that has great merit. In the south they still fear these northerners, and old men recall with dread how the shrieking savages erupted from the mountains bringing fire and death to the Lowlands. You will see, Leofric. As soon as news reaches the south of this latest outrage, the price of land south of the border will plummet. The weak-hearted will sell up and move and panic will sweep through the immediate Lowland towns.'

'That I do understand,' said Leofric, 'but what if the Highlanders do hunt down this. .. Fell... and the woman? What if they surrender them to us to save the hostages?'

The Baron shook his head. 'It won't happen. I know these barbarians; they're all too proud. I'll hang the hostages as soon as they reach Citadel, and leave their bodies on the north wall for all to see. And if that doesn't force at least a show of resistance, I'll burn Cilfallen and a few of their towns.'

'And what task would you have me perform, my lord?' asked Leofric.

'There will be no major invasion of the Highlands until spring. We want time for the fear to grow back home. I intend to attack with six thousand fighting men and five hundred engineers. You must put your mind to the question of how we feed and supply this army all the way to the sea. Also, I want you to study the maps and locate three sites for our fixed camps and fortifications. You know what is required: the forts should be situated close to the lands of the Pallides and the Farlain.

Choose open ground, yet close enough to the woods for the men to be able to gather timber for the walls. Questions?'

'Yes, my lord, the fortifications. I am well aware of the standard design used for the construction of temporary fortifications during punitive raids into hostile territory. But these are rough constructions, not intended for more than a few nights. Will they suffice?'

The Baron considered the question. The Highland winters were notoriously savage, and the forts would need to be manned throughout the long, bitter months until the invasion. More important than this, however, was the likelihood of Highlanders attacking the outposts. There would be no way to reinforce them once the snow blocked the passes.

'You misunderstood my use of the word standard,' said the Baron smoothly. 'This is not a punitive raid, but should be considered as a full invasion. The forts therefore will have regulation defences, earth barriers at least ten feet high, topped with timber walls to another fifteen feet.

Weighted portcullis gates will also be constructed. You are familiar with the design?'

'Of course, my lord. It was devised by Driada during the Cleatian Wars in the last century, but was possibly based on an earlier ...'

'I did not ask for a history lesson, Leofric. You will take two hundred engineers and three hundred infantrymen into the Highlands. Then you will oversee the building of these forts and within them storehouses for supplies. Make sure the storehouses are watertight. I want no rotting meat, nor mildewed cereal when I arrive with the army.'

Leofric stood and bowed. 'I thank you for your trust in me, cousin. I will not fail you.'

*

Sigarni opened he.r eyes and saw the flickering flame shadows on the cave ceiling. She watched them for a moment, then felt the onrush of pain from her wounded body. A voice spoke from her left. 'She is awake. Pour some broth for her.' Sigarni rolled her head towards the sound, focusing her eyes upon a wizened old man with deep-set pale eyes.

'Taliesen?' she whispered

'Aye, lass, Taliesen. How are you feeling?'

'Hurt. What happened to me?'

'You don't remember the attack in Citadel dungeons?'

She closed her eyes. 'Of course I do - but that was years ago. I meant why am I injured now?

Taliesen leaned forward and helped her to sit up. Pain lanced through Sigarni's right side and she groaned.

'One of your ribs is cracked. It will heal soon,' said Taliesen. Another figure moved into sight, child-small, yet bearded. Sitting at her right, Ballistar handed her a wooden bowl and spoon. The broth was thick and salty and Sigarni became acutely aware of her hunger. She ate in silence. When she had finished Ballistar took back the bowl. Sigarni felt her strength returning, but still she was confused.

'Why did you mention the ... attack on me?' she asked Taliesen.

'Because it happened three days ago,' he said slowly. 'You have been spirit-wandering in a place where there is no time.'

'I remember,' she said. 'He took me by the hand.'

'Who took her?' asked Ballistar. Taliesen waved him to silence.

'Yes, you walked with him,' said the wizard, taking Sigarni's hand. She wrenched it back, her eyes blazing.

'Do not touch me! No man will ever touch me again!' The violence in her voice was startling, surprising Ballistar who dropped the empty bowl. It rolled across the cave floor, coming to rest against the far wall.

Taliesen seemed unmoved by the rebuff. 'I am sorry, my dear, that was remiss of me. Did you learn much in your time with him?'

'It is hazy now,' she said sleepily. 'But he said he would teach me ... would always ... be with me.' Sigarni stretched out again and closed her eyes. Taliesen covered her with a blanket of wool.

'What was she talking about?' asked Ballistar. 'When did she go walking? And who with?'

Taliesen rose and walked to the fire. 'Time to gather more wood,' he said.

'Who did she walk with?' repeated Ballistar.

'It's not for you to know, dwarf. Now go and fetch some wood. The black man will be here soon, and then you'll understand a little more of what is happening here.'

'I'm not your servant!' snapped Ballistar. 'I don't have to jump through hoops because you say so!'

'No,' agreed Taliesen, 'you don't. But I am trying to keep her warm, and I am a little too old to relish walking around a forest and stooping to collect dead wood. You, on the other hand, do not have far to stoop.'

Ill do it for her,' said the dwarf. 'But know this, Taliesen, I do not like you. Not one bit.'

'How wise of you,' Taliesen told him.

Ballistar stomped from the cave and out into the afternoon sunlight. Fallen wood was plentiful, following the storm, and he spent an idle hour gathering armfuls of fuel and carrying them back to the cave. TaJiesen spent the hour sitting silently beside the sleeping Sigarni. Bored now, Ballistar returned to the poolside and stared out over the water. It was smooth and motionless here, and the reflections of the trees on the opposite shore could be seen growing upside-down in the pool. Ballistar moved to the edge and knelt, leaning out over the water. His own face looked back at him, the deep-set brown eyes gazing into his.

'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, no 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 centre. 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 honour, 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 in 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 Drain, 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. Any time.'

'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 honour 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 honour, you said, Fell,' muttered Gwyn. 'Now we all see what Outland honour 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 mil 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 was 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.'

'Such a total could not be reached,' she said. 'You could not assemble all the clan's fighting men in one place. If the enemy were to avoid a confrontation, or slip by, all the villages and towns would be undefended.'

Asmidir clapped his hands together. 'Good!' he said. 'Now you are thinking! Tell me then, what is the most important matter to be studied first?'

'The enemy leader,' she said, without hesitation. Then she faltered, her brow furrowing.

'What is it?' he asked. 'Are you in pain again?'

'No. I am... remembering. How strange. It is like looking through a window and seeing myself from afar. And he is with me. Talking. Teaching. He is saying, Know the enemy general for he is the heart and mind of the foe. The body may be of great power, and almost invincible, hut if the heart and mind are not sound he will face defeat.'

She saw that Asmidir was surprised. 'Who is saying this? And when?'

'The King who was,' she told him, 'and he spoke to me while I slept in the cave.'

'Now you are speaking in riddles.'

'Not at all, Asmidir, but let us leave it there, as a mystery for you. He also said there were five fundamentals to analyse before war was undertaken: moral influence, weather, terrain, command, and doctrine.'

Asmidir's surprise turned to astonishment. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. 'Did he also mention the seven elements?'

'No. He said he would leave that to you.'

'Are you making mock of me, woman?' he asked, his expression softening.

She shook her head. 'I am speaking the truth.' Rising smoothly she stood before him. 'And woman is no way to address a leader,' she said, smiling.

Asmidir did not return the smile. Instead he moved to his knees before her and bowed his head. 'I ask your forgiveness, my lady,' he said, 'and I further request that you allow me to be the second man to pledge his loyalty to you.'

'Now you are mocking me, Asmidir,' she admonished him.

He glanced up, his face set. 'I have never been more serious, Sigarni. I offer you my sword, my experience, and - if necessary - my life. All that I have is yours ... now and for ever.'

'It shall be so,' she heard herself say.

At that moment a servant entered. He bowed low. 'Soldiers approaching, lord. Some thirty in number. With them rides the man you spoke of, dressed all in green.'

Asmidir swore softly. 'Remain in your room, Sigarni. This situation may become delicate.'

'Who is the man in green?' she asked.

'A Seeker, a Finder. His powers are strong, and he will sense your spirit. One of my servants will come to you. Follow where he leads, my lady, and I will come to you when I can.'

*

Obrin removed his iron helm and pushed back his chain-mail head-and shoulder-guard, allowing the mountain breeze to cool his face and blow through his short-cropped hair. Resting the helm on a flat stone beside the stream, he pulled off his riding gauntlets and laid them atop the helm. 'A beautiful land,' observed the Finder Kollarin, moving alongside him and splashing water to his face.

'Like my homeland,' replied the sergeant, scanning the mountains. Obrin said nothing more and moved away to check the horses. They had been picketed a little way upstream and a sentry was standing by them. 'Give them a while to cool down, then take them to water,' he told the young man.

'Yes, sir.'

'Yes, sergeant!' snapped Obrin. 'I'm not a bloody officer.'

'Yes, sergeant.'

Obrin's foul mood darkened further. It had started already. Word of his temporary promotion had spread fast and the men thought it humorous, but nothing could be further from the truth. As they were leaving the Citadel barracks Obrin had seen several officers watching him. They were laughing. One of them, Lieutenant Masrick - a potbellied second cousin of the Baron - cracked a joke, his thin voice carrying to the mounted soldiers waiting for Obrin: Tut a pig in silk and it is still a pig, eh, my friends?'

Obrin pretended not to hear. It was the best policy. His short-lived appointment would soon be forgotten, but the emnity of a man like Masrick could see him humbled - or worse. Obrin pushed thoughts of Masrick from his mind.

He had camped his men in a hollow beside a stream. From here the camp-fires could be seen over no great distance and, with a sentry posted on the closest hill, they could have ample warning of any hostile approach. Not that Obrin expected an attempt to rescue the prisoner. However regulations demanded that, in the absence of a fortified camp, the officer in charge observed the proper precautions. The ground was rocky, but sheltered, and two camp-fires had already been lit. Cooking pots were in place above them and the smell of stew was beginning to fill the air. Obrin walked to the brow of a hill overlooking the camp-site and sat down on a rock. From here he could see Kollarin sitting beside the stream, and the other men moving about their chores. The prisoner was seated by a slender elm at the edge of the camp, his hands and feet tied. There was blood on his face, and his left eye was blackened and swollen.

Obrin felt uncomfortable. He had known Fell for almost four years and he liked the man. A good judge of character, Obrin knew the clansman to be strong, proud and honest. He was no murderer, of that Obrin was sure. What difference does it make what you think, he asked himself? Who cares? You had a job to do and you did it. That's all that matters. Fell had said nothing since the capture.

Kollarin had led them to a cave, in which Fell was sleeping. They had rushed him and overpowered him. But not before Fell had smashed Bakker's nose and broken the jaw of the new recruit, Klebb.

Obrin grinned at the memory. There was little to like about Bakker, a loud, greasy whoreson with shifty eyes. The flattened nose had improved his looks tenfold!

Obrin saw Kollarin rise and begin to walk up the hill. He cursed inwardly for the man unnerved him. The sergeant did not care for magickers. Obrin made the Sign of the Protective Horn as the man approached. He did not do it covertly, but allowed Kollarin to see the gesture.

The man in green smiled and nodded. 'I only read minds when I am paid,' he said. 'Your secrets are quite safe.'

'I have no secrets, Finder. I tell no lies. I deceive no one - least of all myself.'

'Then why make the sign?' asked Kollarin, sitting alongside the soldier.

'A casual insult,' admitted Obrin, unconcerned over any possible reaction.

'You do not like me, sergeant.'You believe Fell should have been given the chance to fight like a man, and not be taken in his sleep. You are probably right. I would go further, though. We are all reared on stories of heroes, great warriors, or poets, or philosophers. We are told that we must aspire to be just like these heroes, for only by so doing can we ensure the survival of civilization. It is very noble. Indeed it is laudable.' Kollarin chuckled. 'And then we become men, and we realize that it is all a nonsense.'

'It is not nonsense!' said Obrin. 'We need heroes.'

'Of course we do,' Kollarin agreed. 'The nonsense is that sometimes they are the enemy. What then do we do, Obrin?'

'I'm not a philosopher. I live by my own rules. I steal from no man, and I commit no evil. God will judge me on that whefi my time comes.'

'I am sure that He will judge all of us, my friend. Tell me, what do you think He will think of us when young Fell is brought before him? When his body lies broken and blinded on the Citadel rack and his spirit floats up to paradise?'

Obrin was growing more uneasy, yet he did not walk away, though he wanted to. 'How should I know?'

'I think you know,' said Kollarin sadly.

'What do you want me to say?' stormed Obrin. 'That he has been treated unjustly? Yes, he has. That he doesn't deserve to die? No, he doesn't. None of it matters. The Baron is the law, he gave me my orders and it is my duty to obey them. What of you? You took his money, and agreed to hunt down the clansman. Why did you do it?'

Kollarin smiled. 'I had my reasons, Obrin. Did you hear about what happened to the woman?'

'It is said they raped her but I find it hard to believe. Will Stamper was not that kind of man. We were friends, I knew him.'

'He did it,' said Kollarin. 'I was in that cell. I read it in the blood. They all did it. And they cut her, and they bit her, and they beat her with fists. And all because she tried to stop the Baron stealing her hawk. Heroic, eh?'

Obrin said nothing for a moment. The light was failing and the camp-fires cast a gentle glow over the hollow. 'I can't change the world,' he said sadly. 'Fell rescued the woman and I'm glad that he did. Now he has to pay for it, which saddens me. But in my life I've seen a lot of good men die, Kollarin. And a lot of evil men prosper. It is the way of things.'

'You'll see worse yet,' said Kollarin coldly.

'Like what?'

'The invasion in the spring, when the Baron leads an army to annihilate the Highlanders. You'll see the burning buildings, hear the screams of women and children, watch the crows feast on the bodies of farmers and shepherds.'

'That's just a rumour!' snapped Obrin. 'And a stupid one at that! There's no one for the army to fight here.'

'I am Kollarin the Finder,' said the man in green, rising. 'And I do not lie either.'

Obrin stood and walked down the hill. A soldier offered him a bowl of stew, which he accepted, and for a while he sat with his men, listening to them talk of whores they had known, or lands they had campaigned in. Then he ladled more stew into his bowl and walked to where Fell was tied. The clansman looked up at him, but said nothing.

Obrin squatted down. 'I have some food foryou,' he said, lifting the bowl to Fell's lips. The clansman turned his head away and Obrin laid down the bowl. 'I'm sorry, Fell,' he said softly. 'I like you, man, and I think you did right. I hope to God the woman gets far away from here.' The clansman's eyes met his, but no words were spoken by him.

Returning to the fire, Obrin ordered the cooking pots cleaned and stowed, then set sentries for the night. Kollarin was once more sitting by the stream, his green cloak wrapped about his shoulders.

Using his saddle for a pillow, Obrin removed his chain-mail shoulder-guard and his breastplate, unbuckled his sword and dagger belt and settled down to sleep. In all his seventeen years of soldiering sleep had always come easily. In the blazing heat of the Kushir plains, in the harsh, bone-biting cold of the Cleatian mountains, at sea in a gale-tossed ship, Obrin could just close his eyes and will his body to rest. It was, he knew, a vital skill for a veteran. In sleep a man regained his strength and rested his soul. In war a soldier's life depended on his power, speed and reflexes. There were few second chances for a tired warrior on a battlefield.

But sleep was slow to come tonight.

Obrin lay on his back, staring up at the bright stars and the lantern moon.

*

He was walking along a narrow trail, beneath an arched tunnel made up of the interlinked branches of colossal trees on both sides of the way. Obrin stopped and glanced back. The tunnel seemed to stretch on for ever, dark and gloomy, pierced occasionally by a shaft of moonlight through a gap in the branches.

Obrin walked on. There were no night sounds, no owl calls, no rustling of wind in the leaves. All was silence, save for his soft footfalls on the soft earth. Ahead was a brilliant shaft of moonlight, a beautiful column of light that shone upon a cross-roads. Obrin approached it, and saw a warrior sitting on a rock by the wayside. The man was huge, his long white hair gleaming in the moonlight. He wore his beard in two white braids which hung to his silver breastplate. A double-handed claymore was plunged into the earth before him, its hilt a glistening silver, while a huge crimson stone was set into the pommel.

'It is a fine weapon, 'said Obrin.

The man stood. He towered over Obrin by a good Southland foot. 'It has served me well,' he said, his voice rich and deep. Obrin looked up into his pale, deep-set eyes. They were the colour of a winter storm-cloud, grey and cold. Yet Obrin felt no fear.

'Where are we?' he asked.

The tall warrior extended his arm, sweeping it across the three paths that began in the pillar of light. 'We are at the cross-roads,' said the warrior. Obrin's attention was caught by the man's single gauntlet of red iron. It was splendidly crofted, seemingly as supple as leather.

'Who are you?' he asked

'A man who once travelled,' answered the warrior. 'Many paths, many roads, many trails. I walked the mountains, Obrin, and I rode the lowlands. Many paths, some crooked, some straight. All were hard.'

'The warrior's paths,' said Obrin. 'Aye, I know them. No hearth, no home, no kin. Only the Way of Iron.' Weariness settled upon him and he sat down. The warrior seated himself beside the Southlander. 'And which path do you walk now?' asked the stranger.

'Igo where lam sent. What else can a soldier do? Seventeen yean I have served the Baron. I have matched friends die, and my boots have collected the dust of many nations. Now I have an aching shoulder and a knee that does not like to march. In three years I can claim my hectare of land.

Maybe I will - if I can still remember how to farm. What of you? Where are you going?'

'Nowhere I haven't teen,' answered the man. I too wanted to farm, and to breed cattle. But I was called upon to right a wrong. It was a small matter. A nobleman and his friends were hunting, and they rode through afield and trampled a child playing there. Her legs were broken badly and the family had no coin to pay for a Wycca man to heal her. I went to the nobleman and asked for justice.'

Obrin sighed. 'I could finish that story for you, man. There's no justice for the poor. Never was, never will be. Did he laugh in your face?'

The giant shook his head. 'He had me flogged for my impudence.'

'What happened to the girl?'

'She lived. I went back to the nobleman and this time he paid.'

'What brought about his change of heart?'

'There was no change of heart. I left his head on a spike, and I burned his home to the ground. It was a grand fire, which burned bright and lit the sky for many a mile. It also lit men's hearts, and that fire burned for thirty years.'

'By God, did they not hunt you?'

'Aye. And then I hunted them.'

'And you were victorious?'

'Always.' The warrior chuckled. 'Until the last day.'

'What happened-then?'

Idly the warrior drew his sword from the earth and examined the glistening blade. The ruby shone like fresh blood, the blade gleaming like captured moonlight. 'The war was over. Victory was won.

The land was at peace, and free. I thought my enemies were all dead. A dreadful mistake for a warrior. I was riding across my lands, gazing upon High Druin, watching the storm-clouds gather there. They surprised me. My horse was killed, but not before the gallant beast got me to the edge of the forest. They came at me in a pack: men I had fought alongside, even promoted. Not friends, you understand, but comrades-in-arms. My heart was wounded each time I killed one of them. The wounds to my body were as nothing to my grief.'

'Why did they turn on you?'

The warrior shrugged, then thrust the sword once more into the earth.

I wasaking, Obrin. And I was arrogant and sure. I treated some of them with disdain. Others I ignored. There were always ten men queuing for every favour I could grant. And I made mistakes.

Once I had freed them from the tyranny of the oppressor I became a tyrant in their eyes. Who knows, maybe they were right. I do not judge them.'

'How did you survive alone against so many?'

'I did not.'

Obrin was shocked. 'You . .. you are a spirit then?'

'We both are, Obrin. But you have a body of flesh to which you will return.'

'I don't understand. Why am I here?'

'I called you.'

'For what purpose?' asked Obrin. I am not a king, nor of any worth.'

'Do not be so harsh on yourself, man,' said the warrior, laying his iron gauntlet on Obrin's shoulder. 'You have merely lost your way. And now you are at the cross-roads. You may choose a new path.'

Obrin gazed around him. All the pathways looked the same, interminable tunnels beneath arched trees. 'What difference does it make?'he asked. 'They are identical.'

The warrior nodded. 'Aye, that is true. All roads lead to death, Obrin. It is inescapable. Even so, there is a right path.'

Obrin laughed, but the sound was bitter and harsh. 'How would I know it?'

'If you cannot recognize it, then you must find a man already upon it and follow him. You will know, Obrin. Let the heart-light shine. It will light the way.'

*

Obrin awoke with a start. The dawn light was streaking the sky, though the stars had not yet faded. His thoughts were muddled and his mouth felt as if he'd swallowed a badger. With a groan he sat up. His right shoulder ached abominably. Rising from his blankets, he walked to a nearby tree and emptied his bladder. Everyone else was still asleep, including the prisoner. Obrin hawked and spat, then stretched his right arm over his head, seeking to ease the ache.

The hill sentry walked down and saluted.'Nothing to report from the watch, sergeant,' he said,

'but there are riders to the south.'

'Clansmen?' This was unlikely, for there were few horses in the mountains.

'No, sir. Soldiers from Citadel, I think. Too far away to be sure.'

'Get a breakfast fire going,' ordered Obrin. Moving to the stream, he stripped to the waist and washed in the cold water, splashing it over his face and hair. Kollarin joined him. 'Sleep well, sergeant?' 'I always sleep well.' 'No dreams?'

Obrin cupped some water into his hands and drank noisily. There was an edge to the man's voice, like a plea of some kind. Obrin looked at him. 'Yes, I dreamt,' he said. 'You?'

Kollarin nodded. 'Did it make sense to you?'

'Are dreams supposed to make sense?'

Kollarin moved in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'He has come to me before - back in Citadel when I was hunting the woman. He told me to leave her be. That is why I only agreed to hunt down the man. Do you know who he is?'

'I thought you only read minds for coin,' Obrin reminded him. The sergeant stood and shivered as the cold morning breeze touched his wet skin. Hastily he donned his shirt, then returned to his blankets and put on his armour. Kollarin remained by the stream.

A soldier with a swollen nose approached Obrin. 'All quiet in the night,' he said, his voice thick and nasal.

'How's the nose, Bakker?'

'Hurts like Hell. I was tempted to cut the bastard's throat last night, but I reckon I'll just get myself dungeon duty and watch the torturer at work on him.'

'We ride in one hour,' said Obrin.

They breakfasted on porridge and black bread, but the prisoner steadfastly refused the food Obrin brought to him. With the meal finished, the cooking pots cleaned and stowed, Obrin's men prepared for the journey back to Citadel.

'Riders coming!' shouted one of the men. Obrin wandered to the edge of the hollow and waited as the ten-man section rode in. They were led by Lieutenant Masrick. Obrin saluted as the man dismounted.

'I see you caught him,' said the officer, ignoring the salute. 'About time, sergeant. Has he told you where the girl is?'

'No sir. I was ordered to bring him back, not interrogate him.'

Masrick swung to Bakker, who was just about to douse the breakfast fire. 'You there! Keep that fire going.' Slipping his dagger from its sheath, he tossed it to Bakker. 'Heat the point. I want it glowing red.'

Masrick strode to where Fell was tied, then aimed a savage kick into the prisoner's belly, doubling him over. 'That,' said the officer, 'is for nothing at all. What follows will, however, have value. Are you listening, clansman?'

Fell raised his head and met the officer's stare. He said nothing. Masrick knelt before him and punched him full in the face. Fell's head snappped back, cannoning against the tree-trunk. 'You killed a cousin of mine. He was a wretch, but he owed me money. That was bad. But it will be worth much more to me to find the woman and bring her back to the Baron. I think you'll help me. All you clansmen think you are tough. But trust me, when I have burned out your left eye you'll do anything to save the sight in the other."

The soldiers had gathered round the scene in a sweeping half-circle. Obrin gazed at their faces.They were eager for the entertainment. Kollarin was standing back from them, his expression impossible to read. Bakker brought the heated knife to the officer; the hilt was wrapped in a rag, the point hissing as Masrick took it.

'Lieutenant!' Obrin's voice barked out. Masrick was startled and he almost dropped the knife.

'What? Make it quick, man, the knife is cooling!'

'Leave him be!'

Masrick ignored him and knelt before Fell, the knife moving towards the forester's eyes. Obrin's foot rose and slammed into the officer's face, spinning him to the ground. There was a gasp from the soldiers. Masrick rolled to his knees, then screamed as his hand pressed down on the red-hot blade which was smouldering in the grass. He surged to his feet, his face crimson. 'By God you'll pay for that!'

'I am an acting captain,' said Obrin, 'promoted by the Baron himself. You are a lieutenant who just disobeyed an order from a superior officer. Where does that leave you, you jumped-up toad?'

'You have lost your mind,' sneered Masrick, 'and I will see you hang for your impertinence. No common man may strike a nobleman, be the common man a captain or a general. That kick is going to cost you dear!'

'Ah well,' said Obrin, with a broad smile, 'may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!' So saying, he took a step forward and slammed his fist into the officer's mouth, catapulting the man from his feet. Drawing his dagger, he moved in for the kill.

Something struck him a wicked blow on the skull and he staggered, half turning. He saw Bakker raise his arm, then the cudgel struck his temple and he fell into darkness.

When he awoke he found himself tied to his saddle. Masrick was leading the column and they were approaching a small castle. Fell was walking beside Obrin's mount, his hands tied behind him and a rope around his neck. The other end of the rope was being held by the rider in front.

'You really did it this time, sergeant,' said a voice from his left. Obrin turned in the saddle to see, riding alongside him, Bakker. 'Now they're going to hang you! Not before time, if you ask me.

You always was a right pain in the groin. Never liked you.'

Obrin ignored him.

The castle gates loomed ahead.