Ironhand's Daughter (25 page)

The corpse eyes flipped open, and blinked twice. The mouth began to move, but there were no sounds. “No good trying to speak, my boy,” said Taliesen with a cruel smile. “You have no throat. I take it I called you back from your torment. It must be so very terrible. Are they still hunting you? Of course they are.” Ballistar saw tears form in the sunken eyes. “Well, I can help you there, Jakuta. Would you prefer your spirit to live for a while in this hapless skull, free from terror? You would?” Gently he laid the head upon the ice, then spoke in a harsh tongue unknown to Ballistar. The ice around the severed head began to melt away. Taliesen knelt by it. “As long as there is still flesh upon the skull you will be safe here, Jakuta. But when the fishes have stripped it away, you will return to the pit.” The ice gave, the head falling into the cold water beneath as Taliesen stood.

“How was it still alive?” asked Ballistar.

“I called him back. I fear his stay will be brief.”

“It was terribly cruel.”

Taliesen laughed. “Cruel? You have no idea of what he suffered where he was. He called upon the Creatures of the Pit for help—and failed them. Now he dwells with them in perpetual torment. I have given him a short respite from that.”

“At the bottom of an ice lake. How kind you are!” sneered Ballistar.

“I never claimed to be kind. I am certainly not disposed toward mercy for such as he. Jakuta Khan caused the death of Ironhand and destroyed a dynasty that might have changed the course of our history. He did it for profit, for greed. Now he pays. You want me to grieve for him, dwarf?”

Ballistar nodded. “Yes, that would be good. For in what way are you different from him, Taliesen? You delight in his suffering and you add to his torment. Is that not evil?”

Taliesen's eyes narrowed. “Who are you, dwarf, to lecture me? I have fought evil for ten times your lifetime. Even now in my own land the ancestors of these Outlanders are waging a war that will see hundreds, perhaps thousands, of my people die. What pity I have is for them. And there is nothing that I would not do to save them. Now, find me the woman!”

Ballistar swung away from him and walked back across the ice. With care he climbed the slope before the cave, feeling his way forward. “For the sake of Heaven!” hissed Taliesen. “Why the delay? I am freezing to death out here!” Ballistar ignored him. Some way to the left he halted, his hands burrowing into the snow. “What now?” asked Taliesen, exasperated.

There was a sharp hiss, then a sapling reared upright, whiplashing back and forth. Three sharpened stakes were bound to it. “It is a pig spear-trap,” said Ballistar, “but angled to strike high. The twine is connected to a ring at the end of the trip wire . . .”

“Yes, yes, I need no instruction. Are there more?”

“We will see,” said Ballistar. The cave was no more than forty feet away, yet it took the two men almost half an hour to reach it. Taliesen was the first inside, where Sigarni was sleeping by a dying fire. The wizard sat down beside her.

Satisfied that she was alive, Ballistar walked away. “Where are you going?”

“There may be more traps. I don't want some unsuspecting traveler to spring one.”

Outside the dwarf took several deep breaths. His relief was almost palpable: Sigarni was alive! Ballistar stood for a moment scanning the area. To the right he could see a huge grey corpse, two arrows in its chest and three stakes in its back. One trap. On the hillside there was another body.

Ballistar trudged out toward it.

For two hours he searched the land around the pool. There were no more traps. Returning to the cave he found Sigarni still asleep, with the wizard dozing beside her. Taliesen awoke as he entered. “Four creatures were killed,” said the dwarf, squatting by the fire and extending his hands to the heat. “One had a dagger in its heart, one was slain by a pig spear-trap, the third by a lance arrow. There was no mark on the fourth.”

“She did well,” agreed the sorcerer.

“How did she pierce their skin?” asked Ballistar. “I could not pull her dagger free. It was as if it was embedded in stone.”

“It was,” said Taliesen. “You have seen the corpses of men stiffen in death?” Ballistar nodded. “With the Atrolls it is many times as powerful. The corpses turn grey, like rocks, then within a few days they putrefy and disappear. Even the bones rot.”

“Will more come?”

“It is unlikely, though not impossible. Jakuta pursued Sigarni through the Gateways of Time. He had to, for his soul was pledged against her death. I know of no other sorcerer hunting her.”

“Why did he seek her?”

“Perhaps she will tell you that when she wakes,” said Taliesen. “And now I am tired. I shall sleep. Be so kind as to fetch wood and keep the fire blazing.”

Sigarni stood on the battlements, staring out over the flanks of the mountains and the distant peak of High Druin. Ironhand stood beside her, his huge hand on her shoulder. Moonlight glistened on his braided silver beard, and shone from his silver chain mail and breastplate. She felt power radiating from him, encompassing her, bathing her in its warmth. “Where are we?” she asked.

“You mean you don't recognize it?” he said, mystified. “I'm sure that I have created it perfectly. Perhaps you need to see it from the outside?”

“I know this area,” she told him. “There is nothing here save a few wooded hills.”

“That cannot be!” he said, his hand of red iron sweeping out to encompass the hills. “This is my stronghold of Al-Druin. It was here that I fought the Four Armies, and slew their champion, Grayle.” Sigarni saw the sadness in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Ironhand. I have traveled these hills all my life. There are some broken stones that show there was once a large dwelling place here. But it is long gone. And not even the eldest of the Loda know what stood here.”

“Ah, well,” he said, turning from the parapet, “it is . . . was . . . merely stone. And at least you can see it now. Come inside and we will talk. I have a fire prepared; it will offer no heat, but is pretty to look upon.” The scene shimmered and Sigarni found herself in a rectangular room, velvet curtains covering the high windows. A log fire blazed in the hearth, but as Ironhand predicted, it burned without heat.

“How is it done?” she asked, running her hand through the flames.

“Here all is illusion. We are spirits, you and I.” The giant warrior, clad now in a simple tunic of green, with soft leather trews, sat himself down in a deep chair. Sigarni seated herself on the bearskin rug before the fire. “It took a long time to learn how to do all this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the room. “I do not know how long, for there is no sense of the passage of time. To me it was an eternity. Now it is the only home I know—save for the pool by the Falls where my body lies.” Sigarni sat silently, aware that his sorrow was great. “Ironhand's Falls. It is a beautiful place,” he continued, forcing a smile. “A man could choose far worse for his death. During the centuries I have watched the trees grow and die in that wondrous cycle of birth, growth, and death. People too—hunters, wanderers, tinkers, clansmen, foreign soldiers. And I saw you, Sigarni, diving from the edge of the Falls, straight as an arrow. I was there when you found my bones. But I could not speak, for you were not ready to listen. You can have no idea how good it is to speak to another soul.”

“Are there no others here?” she asked.

“No, not now. This is my world, the silent kingdom of Ironhand. Others have come, demons and evil spirits. I slew them, and now the others avoid my . . . lands.”

“You must be lonely.”

He nodded. “I hope you will never know how much. I would give anything—accept the darkness and solitude of the true grave for just one hour in your mother's company. It is not yet to be. I can accept that.”

“My mother?” asked Sigarni. “You knew her?”

“Did you not listen to me back at the pool? You are my daughter, Sigarni. Your mother was my wife, Elarine. I see her in you, the same strength of purpose, the same pride.”

“But you lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago. I can't be your daughter! It is not possible! I knew my mother and father—lived with them until they were slain.”

“For all my faults, Sigarni, I was never a liar. Not in life, and certainly not in death. You were born in the last year of my life, when enemies I thought were friends were meeting in secret with plans to destroy me. When I did learn of their plans I urged Elarine to run, to cross the water. She would not.” He smiled at the memory. “ ‘We will fight them,' she said. ‘We will conquer once more.' I tried. My wizards were slain, all mystic protection lost to me. That was the work of Jakuta Khan. I tried to reach Elarine, but the assassins trapped me at the Falls. I died there. Elarine died at Kashar. I learned this from Taliesen, when he summoned my spirit to the Falls. You were a babe then. He and Caswallon carried you through a Gateway and left you with your
new
parents: a fine couple, unable to have children of their own. Taliesen disguised you, changing the color of your hair.” Reaching out, he stroked her head. “All our family are born with silver hair. We took it as a sign of greatness. Perhaps that was arrogance. Perhaps not. We did become kings, after all. And not one foreign enemy ever brought us low.”

“How did my mother die?” asked Sigarni. “Did Taliesen tell you this?”

“Aye, he told me. She had a saber in her hand, the blood of the enemy staining it. And as she died she cursed them.” He rose and turned away from her, a tall man of immense power and even stronger grief. His head was bowed and Sigarni went to him, taking his hand in hers.

“Why are you here?” asked Sigarni tenderly. “Why not in paradise, or wherever it is that heroes go?”

He smiled. “I had to wait, Sigarni. I made a promise, a sacred oath, that I would come again when my people needed me. I have felt the desire to quit this place many times, seen the far light shining. But I will not travel the swans' path until the time is right.”

“Perhaps she waits for you there, Elarine.”

“Aye, I have thought of that often. But I never made a promise I did not fight to keep. Now that promise is upon me. For you are the heir to Ironhand, you are the hope of the Highlands.”

“But how can you help me?” she asked. “You are a spirit, a ghost. What can you do within the world of men?”

“Nothing,” he admitted. “But you can. And I shall continue to teach you what it means to be a king. I will re-create battles for you, and you shall see how they are fought and won. I will show you my life, the traitors and the friends, the good and the deceitful, the brave and the unmanly. All of this and more you will experience here.”

“How long will this take?”

“As before, you could be with me for what seems like years, yet when you awake only a single night will have passed. Trust me, my daughter. When you return you will be closer to the warrior queen they have longed for.”

“I forgot much of what passed between us before. In the true world all this will seem a hazy dream.”

“The knowledge will be there,” he said. “As it was at Cilfallen.”

“That was your doing?”

Ironhand shook his head and led her back to the fire. “Not at all. It was you! What I did was to open your mind to the ways of war. I never lost a battle, Sigarni, for when forced to fight I was always prepared with lines of retreat and secondary plans. And I understood the importance of
speed
—of thought, of action. You have a fast mind, and great courage. You will teach your enemies to fear you.”

“We have a very small army,” said Sigarni. “The enemy is large, well disciplined, and used to the ways of war.”

“Aye, it was the same with me, at the very beginning. There is, however, an advantage in such a situation. An army is like a man. It needs a head, and a heart, two good arms, two sound legs. It requires a strong belly and a solid backbone. Now, while it is yet small, is the time to lay the foundations of your force.”

“Which is the leader,” asked Sigarni, “the head or the heart?”

He chuckled. “Neither. He—or in this case
she
—must be the soul. Take heed, my daughter. Choose your men with great care, for some will be exceptional when commanding small forces, less capable with larger groups. Others will seem too cautious, yet when the swords are drawn will fight like devils.”

“And how do I know which to choose?”

“Honor your instincts, and never cease to be vigilant. You can read a general by the attitudes of his men. They may fear him or love him—that is generally of no consequence. Look at their discipline. See how fast or how badly they react. The men are merely an extension of the captain commanding them.”

“How then does the
soul
operate?”

“The head suggests the plans, the heart gives men spirit, the backbone gives them strength, the belly gives them confidence. The soul gives them the
cause
to fight for. Men will fight well for loot and plunder, for pride and honor. But when the
cause
is perceived as noble they will fight like demi-gods.”

Sigarni sighed. “All this I can understand. But when the war starts I cannot keep traveling to the Falls to speak with you, to ask your advice. I will be alone then, and my lack of experience could condemn us all.”

“I cannot be with you always, Sigarni, for this is your world and your time. When the spring comes, dive once more into the pool and swim to where my bones rest. Take one small fragment and keep it with you. Then you may call upon me and I will be with you. Let no one know of this, and never speak to me unless you are alone. Now let us begin with your lessons.”