“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 defenses, 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 her 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 toward 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.”
“I’ll 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. Taliesen 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.”
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“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 o
bjective?” 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.”