Ironhand's Daughter (24 page)

“Some truth,” said Taliesen. “Salaimun made pacts with the Lords of the Pits. He fed them blood and souls in return for power. Jakuta made a similar pact. But he has failed— twice.”

“As far as I understand it,” said Asmidir, “if you fail then your own soul is consumed. Is that not one of the dangers of necromancy?”

“It should be,” agreed Taliesen. “I can only surmise that Jakuta used a familiar through which to cast his spells of summoning.”

“A familiar?” echoed Ballistar.

“A conduit,” Kollarin told him. “The sorcerer uses an apprentice, who is placed in a trance. The spell is then spoken through the apprentice. If it fails, the demons take the soul of the conduit . . . the familiar.”

“Enough of this!” stormed Taliesen. “We are not here to educate the dwarf! Can you find her, Kollarin?”

Kollarin shook his head. “Not from here. I must go to where she last slept, then I will pick up her spirit trail.”

“It will take three days in the snow,” said Asmidir. The black man swung to the sorcerer. “However, it did not take you three days, Taliesen. Do you know another path?”

“Aye, but none of you could walk it,” he said despondently.

“Why do you need to be in the hut, Kollarin?” asked Ballistar. “Could you not merely track her by using a piece of her clothing?”

“I am not a bloodhound, you idiot! I don't follow the trail with my snout to the snow!”

“Then how do you hone your Talent?” asked Asmidir.

“It is hard to explain. But for me a person leaves an essence of themselves in any building. It fades over a period of weeks, but once I hook to it I can follow it anywhere.”

“And where is such an . . . essence . . . most strongly felt?”

“In a bed, or a favorite chair. Sometimes attached to a family member, or a close friend.”

“By going to the hut, could you gain a sense of her ultimate destination?”

“No,” admitted Kollarin. “I would follow the trail.”

“Damn!” said Asmidir. “It brings us no closer. What of you, Taliesen? You are a sorcerer. You claim to be able to see the future. How then do you not know her whereabouts?”

“Pah!” said the old man. “You think in straight lines. You talk of
a
future. There are thousands upon thousands. New futures begin with every heartbeat. Aye, in all of them Sigarni is the Chosen One. In some of them she even succeeds for a while. In most of them she dies, young and unfulfilled. I am seeking the one future among so many. I do not know where she is; I don't know why she has run away. Perhaps in this future she lacks courage.”

“Nonsense,” said Ballistar, reddening. “She would not flee. If she knew the demons were coming she would try to think of a way of fighting them. I know her—better than any of you. She has gone to choose her ground.”

“Where would that be?” asked Asmidir. “That is the question. And why did she not come to us to aid her?”

“Her father was a great fighter,” said Ballistar, “but he was torn to pieces. She would not take her friends into such peril. Who among us could fight demons?”

“I could, but I wasn't here,” said Taliesen. “My people are fighting a war in another time. They needed me.”

“There was no one she could turn to,” said the dwarf. “Therefore she will fight alone.”

“Wait!” said Taliesen, his eyes brightening. “There is one she would turn to. I know where she is!”

“Where?” Asmidir asked.

“The cave by the pool. She has an ally there. I must go!” Taliesen rose.

Ballistar lifted his hand. “A moment, please,” said the dwarf. “Do you know what Sigarni took with her when she left?”

“Knives, balls of twine, some food, a bow, arrows. What does it matter?” asked the sorcerer.

“It matters more than you think,” said Ballistar. “You had better let me come with you.”

Chapter Nine

Sigarni put out her hand to the fire. The warmth was both welcoming and reassuring. When the demons had killed her parents all heat had vanished from the blaze in the hearth. This, she reasoned, would be her only warning that death was close. She stared at her hands. There were blisters on her palms and on the inside joints of her fingers; one had bled profusely and they were painful.

It was the eve of her second day by the frozen Falls and she had worked hard through the hours of daylight. Fear was a constant companion, but somehow that fear was eased merely by being alone. Sigarni the Huntress had no other concerns now save to stay alive. To do that she must somehow defeat a wizard and his demons.

They can be killed, she thought. Father struck one of them and black blood flowed from it. And that which bleeds can die. Banking up the fire, she drew her saber and honed the edge with a whetstone. Outside the light was failing fast. Sigarni hooked her quiver of arrows over her shoulder and kept the bow close at hand.

Will it be like last time? she wondered. Will the man in red come first? And if he does, how many creatures of the dark will be with him? How many had been back at the cabin on that awful day? One? Two? More? How could she tell? Father had been struck first. Perhaps it was the same creature that slew her mother.

Sigarni had made plans for three.

The wind was building outside, and flurries of snow were blowing into the cave mouth. A distant wolf howled. The fire crackled and spat and Sigarni knocked a burning cinder from her leggings. Feeling drowsy, she took up her bow and walked to the mouth of the cave, drawing a deep, cold breath. How long since you slept? Too long, she realized. If they did not come tonight, she would catch a few hours after dawn.

Perhaps they won't find me here, she thought suddenly. Perhaps I am safe.

The moon shone in a cloudless sky, but the wind continued to blow flurries of snow across the frozen pool, rising like a white mist and sparkling in the moonlight. The air was cold against her face, but she could just feel the warmth of the fire behind her.

Alone in the wilderness of white Sigarni found herself thinking of her life, and the great joys she had known. It saddened her that she had not appreciated those joys when she had them; those glorious golden days with Abby and Lady, walking the high country without a care. Recalling them was a strange experience, as if she was looking through a window onto the life of a twin. And she wondered about the white-haired girl she could remember. How could she have lived in such a carefree manner?

Her thoughts roved on, and Bernt's sweet face appeared from nowhere. Sigarni felt a swelling in her throat and her eyes misted. He had loved her. Truly loved her. How callous she had been.
Is this all a punishment for my treatment of
you, Bernt? Is God angry with me?
There was no way of knowing.
If it is, I will bear it
.

A white owl swooped over the trees—silent killer, silent flight. Sigarni remembered the first time she had seen such a creature. After the murder of her parents she had lived with old Gwalchmai. He had walked her through the woods on many a night, educating her to the habits of the nocturnal creatures of the forest. The old drunkard had proved a fine foster father, restricting his drinking to when Sigarni was asleep.

Sigarni sighed. Only a few short months ago she had been a willful and selfish woman, reveling in her freedom. Now she was the leader of a fledgling army with little hope of survival.

Survival? She shivered.
Will you survive the night?

Weariness sat upon her like a boulder, but the bow felt good in her hands. I am not a child now, she thought, running from peril. I am Sigarni the Huntress, and those who come for me do so at the risk of their lives.

Moving back into the cave, she added two large chunks of deadwood to the fire, then returned to the entrance.

Doubts blossomed constantly.
Your father was a great
fighter, but he lasted only a few heartbeats
.

“He did not know they were coming,” she said aloud. “He was not prepared.”

How can you prepare against demons of the dark?

“They have flesh, even if they cannot be seen. Flesh can be cut.”

Fear rose like a fire in her belly, and she allowed the flames to flicker. Fear is life, fear is caution, she told herself.

You are a woman alone!

“I am a Highlander and a hunter. I am of the blood of heroes, and they will not bring me to despair and panic. They will
not
!”

A silver fox moved out into the open and padded across to the poolside. “Hola!” shouted Sigarni. The noise startled the beast and it leaped out onto the ice and ran across the pool. As it reached the center it swerved to the left, then raced to the other side. Sigarni's eyes narrowed. Why had it swerved? What did it see? Whatever it was remained invisible within the snow mist. Sigarni ran back to the fire; it was still warm. Notching an arrow to her short hunting bow, she returned to the cave mouth and waited.

Long minutes passed. Then he appeared, walking with care upon the ice. He was not as tall as she remembered, but then she had only looked upon him with the eyes of a child. Shorter than Fell, he was a stocky man, his belly straining at the red leather coat he wore. His hair was black, close-cropped, silver at the temples, his face fleshy and round. His leggings and boots were red, as was the ankle-length cloak he wore.

Sigarni drew back the bowstring, took careful aim, and waited as he approached. The man saw her, and continued to move closer. Forty feet, thirty. He looked up and smiled. Sigarni let fly and the arrow flashed through the air. He raised his hand and the shaft burst into flame. She notched another.

“Don't waste your energy, child,” he said, his voice surprisingly light and pleasant. “This is the day you die—and move on to worlds undreamed of. Great adventures await you. Accept your destiny with joy!”

The temperature in the cave plummeted. Something moved behind her . . . instantly Sigarni leaped out and ran to the right, toward a gentle, tree-covered slope. She did not look back, keeping her eyes to the trail. Halfway up the slope she suddenly twisted to the right once more, cutting behind a snow-covered screen of low bushes. The moonlight was bright and she stared at the snow, and the footprints she had left behind.

Alongside them now she saw other footprints, huge and appearing as if by magic. They were moving inexorably toward her at great speed. Drawing back the bowstring, she aimed high and released the shaft. It traveled no more than twenty feet before stopping suddenly, half of its length disappearing. A terrible screech sounded, and she saw dark blood pumping out around the arrow. She loosed a second. This too thudded home into her invisible assailant. “Come on, you whoreson!” shouted Sigarni. The creature roared and charged, much faster now, smashing aside the screen of bushes. An invisible leg punched against a hidden length of twine, dislodging the slip ring and springing the toggle. Released from tension, a spear-thick sapling whiplashed back into a vertical position. The three sharpened stakes bound to it, each more than a foot long, plunged into the creature's chest. It thrashed and screamed. The sapling was snapped, but the stakes remained embedded in the invisible flesh. Then it fell and the roaring faded to a low moan. This too died away.

Sigarni did not wait for the death throes, and was already running as the trap was sprung. Angling across the fresh-fallen snow she ran up the slope, cutting to the left until she was just below the crest of the hill. There were no trees or bushes close by. Dropping to her knees, she notched an arrow and waited.

No more than a few heartbeats passed before she saw first one, then two sets of footprints being stamped into the snow. Anger flared in her, fueling her determination. The closet of the creatures struck the first trip wire. As the trigger bar was dislodged the rough-made longbow hidden beneath a snow-covered lattice of thin branches released its deadly missile. Four feet long, the sharpened stick had been barbed all along its length. It slammed into the first creature at what to Sigarni appeared to be lower belly height. She had no time to revel in the strike, for the second creature was almost upon her.

The second hidden bow loosed its deadly shaft—and missed!

With no time to shoot, Sigarni dropped the bow and took a running dive down the hill, landing on her shoulder and rolling headlong toward the lake. Halfway down she felt her saber snap, then belt and scabbard tore free. Sigarni staggered to her feet. There was one more trap, but it was some way to the left of the cave.

Too far.

Spinning around, she saw the terrifying footprints closing in on her right. A low sound came from the left. Sigarni ducked down—just as talons ripped into her shoulder. The silver chain mail she wore stopped her flesh from being ripped from her bone, but even so she was picked up and hurled ten feet through the air, landing hard on the snow-covered ice pool.

Both creatures now made their way after her.

Sigarni pushed herself upright and began to run. She had one hope now—perhaps the ice at the pool's center would not support the weight of the beasts pursuing her.

The creatures were closing on her and Sigarni could hear the pounding of their taloned feet upon the ice. The saber was gone, but she still had her knife.

Damned if I'll die running, she thought. Skidding to a stop, she drew the hunting knife and spun to face them. The swirling snow highlighted their bulk, plastering against the skin of their chests and bellies. In the moonlight they appeared as hairless bears. Flipping the knife and taking the blade in her hand, “Bite on this, you ugly bastard!” she yelled, hurling the weapon with all her might. The point lanced home in the belly of the first; she saw its head go back and a terrible cry of pain and rage echoed in the mountains.

The creature took two steps forward, then fell to the ice. The last of them closed in on Sigarni . . . and stopped.

An eerie glow was enveloping it now, faint and golden. It was indeed a hairless bear, though the head was round, the ears and nose humanoid. The beast's eyes were large, and slitted like a great cat. Malevolence shone in the creature's golden gaze as it stood blinking in the strange light.

“Kill her!” shouted the man in red, beginning to run across the ice. “Kill her!”

The noise caused the creature to jerk its head. It blinked, then focused again on Sigarni. Thin lips drew back to expose a set of sharp teeth. Long arms came up, talons gleaming in the moonlight.

“Step aside, girl,” came a calm voice. Sigarni scrambled back.

The glowing figure of Ironhand was standing before the creature now, a two-handed sword held ready. He was translucent and shimmering, and Sigarni could not believe such an insubstantial figure could hold back the power of the beast. As the creature growled and leaped, the golden-lit sword flashed out, cleaving through the huge chest. There was no blood, and no visible wound. But the demon tottered back and then sank into the ice.

The red-garbed wizard looked horror-struck as the last of the beasts fell. Ironhand swung to him. “It's been a long time, Jakuta,” he said.

“You can't hurt me. You might be able to slay a demon's soul—but you cannot harm the living!”

“Indeed I cannot. Nor will I have to. Is this not the third time you have tried to steal Sigarni's soul? And where is your familiar?”

The wizard blanched. Slowly he drew a wickedly curved dagger. “There is still time,” he said. “She cannot stand against me.”

“There is no time, Jakuta,” Ironhand told him. “I can see them now!”

The wizard spun. Heavy footprints were thumping down in the snow. Scores of them . . .

Dropping his knife, the wizard began to run. Sigarni saw him make fewer than twenty paces before his body was lifted into the air. His arms and legs were torn from him and his screams were awful to hear. They were cut off abruptly as his head rolled to the ice.

“You should have called upon me,” Ironhand told the stunned woman.

“I needed to fight them alone,” she said.

“I would expect no less from Ironhand's daughter,” he told her.

Just as the dawn light crept over the mountains a tiny pocket of darkness opened like a black teardrop on the hillside overlooking the frozen falls. Taliesen stepped from it, leading a blindfolded Ballistar. As his feet touched the snow-covered earth Ballistar collapsed to the ground, trembling. Tearing loose the blindfold, he blinked in the light. Taliesen gave a dry chuckle. “I told you the way would not be to your liking,” he said.

“Sweet Heaven,” whispered the dwarf. “What kind of beasts made the noises I heard?”

“You do not wish to know,” said Taliesen. “Now let us find Sigarni, for I am already growing cold.”

“Wait!” ordered the dwarf, pushing himself to his feet and brushing snow from his leggings.

“What now?”

“There are traps set,” Ballistar told him. “She did not come here to hide—she came to fight. Now give me a moment to gather my wits, and I will lead you to her.”

“There may be no need,” said Taliesen softly, pointing to the ice-covered pool. Ballistar saw the patches of blood smeared across the ice. He and Taliesen moved carefully down the slope. Then the dwarf spotted what appeared to be two boulders close to the center of the pool. “Atrolls,” said Taliesen. “Creatures of the First Pit.”

A severed human leg was half buried in snow. Taliesen tugged it clear. The boot was still in place. “Not hers,” said the wizard. “That is promising.” Ballistar backed away from the grisly find—and stepped on a human hand.

“Dear God, what happened here?” he said.

“Aha!” hissed Taliesen, finding the head of Jakuta Khan. Lifting it by the ears, he brought it up until he could look into the grey corpse face. “Well, well,” he said. “Come to me, Jakuta!”