Ironhand's Daughter (26 page)

Fell was tired, his spirits low as he stood in the new long hut, watching Sigarni discussing tactics and strategies with Asmidir, Obrin, Tovi, and Grame. The Pallides man, Loran, was present, sitting quietly, offering nothing but listening intently. Beside him was the colossal Mereth. Gwyn Dark-eye, Bakris Tooth-gone, and other group leaders were also seated on the floor before Sigarni, who occupied the only chair. In all there were close to forty people present. It seemed to Fell that the meeting was drifting aimlessly, yet Sigarni seemed unperturbed. Some were for storming the three Outland forts, others for sending raiding parties into the Lowlands. Voice after voice was raised in the debate, often resulting in petty arguments.

Fell soon became oblivious to it all, allowing the sound to wash over him. Tired, he sat with his back to the wall, resting his head against the wood. The late summer seemed so far away now, when he had traveled to Sigarni's cabin to have his wound stitched. Her beauty had dazzled him, and left a heaviness in his heart that would not ease. She was so different now, tense as a bowstring, her eyes cold and distant. She no longer laughed, and gone was the lightness of heart and the carefree joy she once exhibited. Now she kept a distance from her followers, allowing no man to come close. A week before Fell had been explaining some of the logistical problems to her and had touched her arm. Sigarni had drawn back as if stung. She had said nothing, but had moved farther away from him. Though hurt by it, Fell saw that he was not the only man to affect Sigarni in the same way. No one could approach within touching distance of her, save the dwarf. He would sit at her feet, as he was doing now.

Fell rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Food was running low. There had not been enough salt to preserve all the meat, and much of it was now bad. The only cattle left were breeding stock, and to kill these would cause great grief among the clan, and ensure future famine. It had been bad enough slaughtering all the others. Grown men had wept at the loss. All cattlemen understood the need of the winter cull, for there was not enough fodder gathered to feed all the animals through this hardest of seasons. But to lose all the hay meant the destruction of whole herds, the loss of prize bulls that were the result of generations of breeding.

The period of late midwinter was always a time of hardship, when the milk cows dried and the meat was all but gone. This year would be ten times worse, and it would be followed by a terrible war.

Fell drifted into a troubled sleep, only to be awoken by the sounds of men pushing themselves to their feet. Cold air touched him as the doors were pushed open and the forester struggled to his feet, dizzy and disoriented. Loran, Asmidir, Obrin, Tovi, and Grame all remained behind, as did Ballistar. Fell decided to leave them to it and moved to the door, but Sigarni called him back. “I need some sleep,” he said.

“You can sleep later,” she told him, then turned to the others. Fell walked to where they all sat and joined them. Sigarni stood. “Obrin has now appointed twenty-five group leaders,” she said. “It is therefore time for our warriors to know the structure of our leadership. There will be two wings in the army. Grame will lead one, and Fell the other. Obrin will retain responsibility for training, and will also captain a third and smaller force; the role of this third force I will discuss with you later. Tovi, you will relinquish the role of Hunt Lord, passing it to me. From that moment you will remain in charge of all supplies, the gathering of food and its distribution; you will liaise with Loran. Later you will have a second role, and that we will discuss tomorrow.”

Fell glanced at the former baker, and saw that his face had grown pale. Tovi had worked as hard as any during and after the exodus from Loda lands. To lose his role as Hunt Lord was bitterly hard, and would be seen as a humiliation. No one spoke. All waited for Tovi's reaction.

The man pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly from the building. As the door closed Fell spoke. “That was not right,” he said. “It was cold cruelty and the man deserved more than that.”

“Deserve?” countered Sigarni. “Did his son deserve to die? Do the Loda deserve to be living in the mountains as beggars, their homes destroyed? Did I deserve . . . ?” Abruptly Sigarni returned to her seat, and Fell could see her struggling to control her anger. “The decision is made,” she said at last. “The left and right wings of the army will be led by you and Grame. Obrin will select your groups tomorrow; discuss the dispositions with him. Once your wings are organized you will work with them, testing your officers, and if necessary promoting others.”

“Does Asmidir have no role?” asked Fell. “I understood he was once a general.”

“He will advise me. Now the hour is late, and as you said, Fell, you are in need of sleep. We will meet here tomorrow night, and then I will tell you of Obrin's force and what they must do.”

The men rose to their feet and walked from the room, leaving only Obrin with Sigarni.

Fell stepped into the moonlight, Grame beside him. The white-bearded smith clapped him on the shoulder. “Do not be so downhearted, general,” he said. “If Tovi is honest he will admit to his relief. His heart is not in war.”

“It would have been more kind had she spoken to him alone.”

The smith nodded. “She's been through the fire, boy, and it does tend to burn away softness. And she'll need to be harder yet, if the Loda are to survive.”

“Those words should be chiseled in stone,” said Asmidir softly, from behind them. The two clansmen said nothing. Neither was comfortable in the presence of the black man. He smiled and shook his head, then politely bade them good night and headed for his own small hut.

“I don't like that man,” said Grame.

“He can be trusted,” said Ballistar, from where he was standing unnoticed by the door. “I'd stake my life on it.”

“I didn't say he couldn't be
trusted
, little man. I just don't like him; there's no heart in him.”

Snow began to fall once more and the bitter wind came down from the north. Fell pulled his cloak around his shoulders. “I'm for sleep,” he said. “I feel like I haven't closed my eyes since autumn.”

“I'll stay up for a while yet,” said Grame. “She gave us much to think about.” He grinned at Ballistar. “I still have a jug of Gwalchmai's throat burner. You're welcome to a dram.”

Ballistar chuckled. “Just the one, mind.”

Fell left them and wandered away.

Obrin's anger was hard to contain as he stood before Sigarni. “If you want me to die, why not just ask one of your soldiers to do it? Or you could cut my throat now!”

“I am not looking for you to die, Outlander.” The coldness of her tone only served to inflame him further.

Obrin forced a laugh. “Come now, lady, there's no one else here. I see the way you look at me: loathing and hatred. You think I've never seen it before? What I don't understand is why you'd want to send a hundred of your own men to die with me.”

“Are you finished?” stormed Sigarni, rising from her chair. “Or have you still some whining to do?” She stood directly before him, her eyes blazing. “You are entirely correct in your assessment of my feelings toward you. Perhaps toward all men, including clansmen. There is no room in my heart for love. No room. In less than twelve weeks an army will descend on these mountains, and I
must
have a force to oppose them. Not only that, but they must be denied supplies. They have three forts built deep into our territory—tell me what they contain?”

“You know the answer.”

“Tell me.
Exactly!
”

“Food and supplies, weapons—bows, arrows, lances, swords, helms. But more importantly they each contain one hundred fighting men, and are impregnable against all but a huge encircling force. The palisade walls are twenty-five feet high, the entrance guarded by drop-gates. Any force approaching would be open to bowshot for one hundred paces all around the fort. Once they arrived they would have to scale the walls. I've done that, lady, and I can tell you that a man with a good sword can kill twenty men scaling. You can't defend yourself when you're scrambling up a rope.”

“I am not asking you to scramble up ropes, Obrin. I did not ask you to
assault
the fort on Farlain land. I said you were to
take
it. Now will you listen to my plan?”

“I'm listening,” he said, “but I spent half my life building those damned forts. I know what goes into their construction.”

“I want you to ride up to the drop-gate, with your hundred men, and I want you to relieve the defenders of their command.”

Obrin's jaw dropped. “Relieve? What are you talking about?”

“When we were both at Asmidir's home I asked you about the forts. You said the men who manned them would expect to serve no more than two months, then a relief force would arrive.”

“But the snow? There's no way through those southern passes.”

“They won't know that, will they? You are a former officer . . .”

“Sergeant,” he corrected.

“Whatever!” she snapped. “Some of them may know you and that is good. They have been trapped in those forts and will have no knowledge of your . . . change of loyalty. We still have the weapons, and what passed for uniforms, of the mercenaries who attacked Cilfallen. We also have the horses. I want you to choose a hundred men and take over the Farlain fort.”

He said nothing for a moment, his mind racing. They
would
be hoping for a relief force. Most of the men would be thinking about the Midwinter celebrations in Citadel, the parties, the dancing, the women. “It's a fine idea,” he said, “but I should be carrying sealed orders from the Baron. Without them no officer will turn over his command.”

Sigarni returned to her seat, and he could see her pondering his words. “Discipline,” she said softly. “Orders and rules.” She nodded. “Tell me this, Obrin, what would happen if a
verbal
order reached a commander, and when refusing to obey it, the Baron's plans were thrown into chaos? Would the Baron merely congratulate the commander on holding to the rules?”

“It is not quite that easy,” replied Obrin. “In that situation the Baron would have the man flogged or hanged for not acting on his own initiative. But if the commander did obey the verbal order, and then failed, he would still be blamed for not holding fast to the regulations.”

“I see,” said Sigarni. “Then you will ride to the Farlain fort with only . . . say . . . eighty-five men. Get some bandages soaked in cattle blood and disguise some of your men as wounded. You will ride to the fort and tell the commander that your officer was slain, and that you are the relief force. You will say that the Pallides fort is under attack and that the Baron has ordered the commander to reinforce it.”

“But there are no sealed orders!”

“You will tell him that when you were surrounded your officer, thinking all was lost, destroyed the orders so that the enemy would not see them. Then a blizzard broke and you were able to lead your men to safety.”

“He won't relinquish the fort,” said Obrin stubbornly. “You have to understand the officer mentality.”

“Oh, I think I understand it, Obrin. Hear me out. The commander will be caught on twin horns. If he disobeys an order you tell him was issued by the Baron and the Pallides fort falls, he will be hanged or flogged. If he obeys and everything goes wrong, he will be asked why he did not follow the rules and remain where he was.”

“Exactly,” said Obrin.

“Then, as a good sergeant, you will help him. You will offer to lead the rescue of the Pallides fort. That way he has not disobeyed an order, and he has not left his post.”

“Aye,” said Obrin slowly. “He might go for such a plan. But where does that leave us? I'll be riding out again with my men.”

“No,
his
men. You will explain that your forces are exhausted, whereas his are fresh.”

“So I ride out with a hundred enemy soldiers behind me? What then?”

“You lead them into an ambush. Grame will tell you where.”

Obrin stared hard at the tall young woman. Her face, though beautiful, was emotionless, the eyes cold now and cruel. “You are a canny woman, Sigarni,” he said. “It has a good chance of success.”

“Make it succeed,” she urged him. “I need those supplies and weapons. More importantly, I need to deny them to the Baron.”

“I can understand that, lady, but why that fort? The Pallides is closer. Even if we do take the Farlain fort we have a great distance to cover carrying the supplies back here, much of it over rough country.”

“You will take all three forts,” she assured him. “The Farlain will be first. And you will not carry the supplies far— only to Torgan's town. Then you will move on to the others. Now get some rest and be here tomorrow at dawn with Grame and Tovi.”

Obrin bowed and walked out into the night. He could hear the sounds of laughter from Grame's hut, but elsewhere all was quiet.

She was canny all right. Not only would the plan—if it succeeded—ease the food shortage, and rob the Baron of spring supplies, but it would also impress the Farlain, who had lost scores of men in useless assaults on the fortification. And the chances of success, he knew, were high indeed. Sigarni was using the enemy's great strength against them. Discipline. Blind obedience.

Who would have thought that an untutored clanswoman could have such a devious mind?

“All women have devious minds,” he said aloud. “It's why I never wed.”

Sigarni rapped on the door of the small hut. “Who's there?” called Tovi. Stepping inside, she saw the Hunt Lord sitting by an open fire. He glanced up as she entered. “How did you find me?” he asked.