Ironhand's Daughter (29 page)

The man rubbed his fleshy chin. “I will consider that,” he said. “It is a delicate business. You see, I don't want you to capture or kill Sigarni. That delight is for me. I'll think on it, and let you know my decision.”

“The Baron will almost certainly want to see you.”

“I don't believe so, Lord Leofric. Tell him you have a spy who brought you this information. That, after all, is the truth. Do not mention me to him. It would displease me.”

“Who shall my servant ask for tomorrow?” Leofric inquired.

“Oh, I am sorry, I did not introduce myself. My name is Jakuta Khan.”

Ballistar's hatred for winter was deep and perfect, for it was the one season designed to highlight his deformity. His short, stumpy legs could not cope with deep snow and he felt a prisoner in Asmidir's house. Ballistar longed to be with Sigarni again, planning for the spring and the coming war.

“You would be useless now,” he said aloud as he perched on the battlements staring out over the winter landscape. “Useless.”

Scrambling to his feet, he stood. Yet today there was no enjoyment in being so high. It served only to emphasize how tiny he was. Snow began to fall as Ballistar dropped to his belly and lowered himself to the parapet.

Back inside his upper room, he stoked the fire and sat down on the rug staring into the flames. The chairs were all too tall, and Ari had brought a wooden box to the room so that Ballistar could climb into bed. Why was I born like this? he wondered. What sin could a child be guilty of that a vengeful God would condemn him to a life such as this.

No one understood his torment. How could they? Even Sigarni had once said, “Perhaps one day you will meet a beautiful dwarf woman and be happy.”

I don't want a dwarf woman, he thought. Just because I am deformed, it does not mean I will find deformity attractive in others.

I want you, Sigarni. I want you to love me, to see me as a
man
.

It won't happen. He remembered the taunts that marked his childhood and adolescence. Bakris Tooth-gone had once caused great merriment with a joke about Ballistar and his inability to find love. “How could he make love to a woman?” Bakris had said. “If they were nose to nose, he'd have his toes in it, toes to toes he'd have his nose in it, and if he ever got there he'd have no one to talk to.”

Oh, yes, great roars of laughter had greeted the jest. Even Ballistar had chuckled. What other choice was there?

Ballistar left his room and wandered downstairs and out into the stable yard. The little white pony was in her stall and the dwarf climbed to the rail by her head and stroked her neck. The pony swung her head and nuzzled him. “Do you worry about being a dwarf horse?” he said. “Do you look at the tall mares with envy?” The pony returned to munching the straw in her feed box. It was cold in the stable and Ballistar saw that the pony's blanket had slipped from her back. Climbing to the floor he retrieved it, and tried to flip it back into place. It was a large blanket, and as he tried to throw it high, it fell back over Ballistar's head. Three times he tried. On the last it was almost in place, but the pony moved to its right and the blanket fell to the left.

It was the final humiliation for Ballistar. Tears welled in his dark eyes, and he thought again of the high parapet. On the north side, at the base of the wall, there were sharp rocks. If I were to throw myself from the battlements I would die, he thought. No more pain, no more humiliation . . .

Ballistar returned to the house and began to climb the stairs.

The servant-warrior, Ari, moved out of the library and saw him. “Good morning, Ballistar.”

“Good morning,” mumbled the dwarf, continuing his climb.

“I was wondering if you could assist me.”

Ballistar hesitated, and glanced down through the stair rails at the tall black man.

“Not today,” he said.

“It is important,” said Ari softly. “I am studying the maps of the Duane Pass, for that is where we believe the first battle will be fought. Do you know it?”

“I know it.”

“Good, then you will be of great assistance.” Ari turned away and reentered the library. Ballistar stood for a moment, then slowly climbed down the stairs and followed the man. Ari was sitting on the floor with maps all around him. A coal fire was burning in the hearth.

Ballistar slumped down beside the man. “What do you need?” he asked.

“These woods here,” said Ari, pointing to a green section, “are they thick and dense, or light and open?”

“Reasonably light. Firs, mostly. You thought to hide men there?”

“It was a possibility.”

Ballistar shook his head. “Not possible. But there is a gully just beyond the woods where a force could be concealed. There!” he said, stabbing his index finger on the map. “Now I will leave you.”

“Ah, but we have just begun,” said Ari with a smile. “Look at this.” He passed Ballistar a sketch and the dwarf took it. Upon it was an outline of Duane Pass and a series of rectangles, some blacked in, others in various colors.

“What are these?”

“The classic Outland battle formation—infantry at the center, the heavy black blocks. Two divisions. The blue represents the cavalry, the yellow archers and slingers. The cavalry also may be in two divisions, lightly armored and heavily armored. But this we do not yet know. Where would you place our forces?”

“I'm not a soldier!” snapped Ballistar.

“Indeed not, but you are a bright, intelligent man. Skills can be learned. Let me give you an example: Where would cavalry be of limited use?”

“In a forest,” answered Ballistar, “where the trees and undergrowth would restrict a mounted man.”

“And what slows down infantry?”

“Hills, mountains, rivers. Forests again.”

“There, you see?” Ari told him. “Having established that, then we look for ways to ensure that battles are fought where
we
desire them—in forests, on hills. So, where in Duane would you position our forces?”

Ballistar gazed at the map. “There is only one good defensive point. There is a flat-topped hill at the northern end of the pass—but it would be surrounded swiftly.”

“Yes,” said Ari, “it would. How many people could gather there?”

“I don't know. A thousand?”

“I would think two thousand,” said Ari. “Which is our entire force.”

“What would be the point of such an action?” asked Ballistar. “Once surrounded there would be no way to retreat, and even the advantage of occupying a hill would be overcome by an Outland army numbering more than five thousand men.”

“Yet it remains the only true defensive position,” insisted Ari. “Once the Outlanders are through Duane Pass, they can spread out and attack isolated hamlets and villages. Nothing could stop them.”

“I don't know the answer,” Ballistar admitted.

“Nor I, but we will speak of it again. Tonight at dinner.” He looked directly into Ballistar's eyes. “Or did you have other plans?”

Ballistar took a deep breath. “No, no other plans.”

“That is good. I will see you later.”

“You really believe I can be of help in this?” asked Ballistar, struggling to his feet.

“Of course. Take the sketches with you, and think about them.”

Ballistar smiled. “I will, Ari. Thank you.”

The black man shrugged and returned to his studies.

Chapter Eleven

“By God, she's some woman,” said Obrin, peeling off his jerkin and sitting by the fire. “They fell just like she said they would. Like skittles! I could scarce believe it, Fell. When I rode up to that Farlain fort my heart was in my mouth. The officer just ordered the gates opened, listened to my report, then turned over command to me and rode out. What a moment! I even told him the best route through the snow, and he rode his men into Grame's trap.”

“Grame lost no men in that first encounter, yet more than twenty when the Pallides detachment was ambushed,” said Fell.

“That's nothing compared with the two hundred we slew in those engagements,” pointed out Obrin. “But it's a damn shame the men from the Loda fort escaped. I still don't know what went wrong there.”

“They simply got lost,” said Fell, “and missed the trap. No one's fault.”

Obrin reached for a pottery jug and pulled the cork. “The Baron's wine,” he said with a dry chuckle. “There were six jugs in each fort. It's a good vintage—try some.”

Fell shook his head. “I think I'll take a walk,” he said.

“What's wrong, Fell?”

“Nothing. I just need to walk.”

Obrin replaced the cork and looked hard at the handsome forester. “I'm not the most intuitive of men, Fell. But I've been a sergeant for twelve years and I know when something is eating at a man. What is it? Fear? Apprehension?”

Fell smiled wearily. “Is it so obvious then?”

“It is to me, but your men must not see it. That is one of the secrets of leadership, Fell. Your confidence becomes their confidence. They feed off you, like wolf cubs suckling at the mother's teats. If you despair, they despair.”

Fell chuckled. “I've never been compared with a mother wolf before. Pass the jug!” He took several long swallows. “You're right,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “The wine is good. But I don't fear the Outlanders, Obrin. I am not afraid to die for my people. What gnaws at me is more personal. I shall make sure that my feelings do not show as strongly in the future.”

“Sigarni,” said Obrin, lifting the jug.

“How would you know that?” asked Fell, surprised.

Obrin grinned. “I listen, Fell. That's another secret of leadership. You were lovers, but now you are not. Don't let it concern you. You're a good-looking lad and there are plenty of women who'd love to warm your bed.”

Fell shook his head. “That's not the
whole
reason for my sadness. You didn't know her when she was just the huntress. God, man, she was a wonder! Strong and fearless, but more than that she had a love for life and a laugh that was magical. She could make a cold day of drizzle and grey sky suddenly seem beautiful. She was a
woman
. What is she now? Have you ever seen her laugh? Or even smile at a jest? Sweet Heaven, she's become a creature of ice, a winter queen.” Fell drank again, long and deeply.

“There's not been a great deal to laugh about,” observed Obrin, “but I hear what you say. I once owned a crystal sphere. There was a rose set inside, as if trapped in ice. I've always loved roses, and this was one of the most beautiful blooms, rich and velvet red. It would live forever. Yet it had no scent, and would not seed.”

“That is it,” said Fell. “Exactly that! Like the Crown of Alwen—all men can see it, none can touch it.”

Obrin smiled. “I've often heard Highlanders talk of the lost Crown. Is it a myth?”

Fell shook his head. “I saw it when I was ten. It appears once every twenty-five years, at the center of the pool at Ironhand's Falls. It's beautiful, man. It is more a helmet than a crown, and the silver shines like captured moonlight. There are silver wings, flat against the helm like those of a hawk when it dives, and a golden band around the brow inscribed with ancient runes. It has a nasal guard—like an Outland helm—and this is also silver, as are the cheek guards. I was there with my father. It was the winter before he went down with the plague, my last winter with him. He took me to the Falls and we stood there with the gathered clans. I could not see at first, and he lifted me to his shoulders. A man cursed behind us, but then the Crown appeared. It shimmered for maybe ten, twelve heartbeats. Then it was gone. Man, what a night!”

“Sounds like a conjuring trick to me,” said Obrin. “I've seen magickers make birds of gold that fly high into the air and explode in showers of colored sparks.”

“It was no trick,” said Fell without a hint of anger. “Alwen was Ironhand's uncle. He had no children, and he hated Ironhand. When he was dying he ordered one of his wizards to hide the Crown where Ironhand would never find it, thus condemning his nephew to a reign fraught with civil war and insurrection. Without it, Ironhand was a king with no credentials. You understand?”

“It makes no sense to me,” said Obrin. “He had right of blood. Why did he need a piece of metal?”

“The Crown had magical properties. Only a true king could wear it. It was not made by Alwen's order, it was far older. Once, when a usurper killed the King and placed the Crown on his head, his skin turned black and fire erupted from his eyes. He melted away like snow in the sunshine.”

“Hmmm,” muttered Obrin, unconvinced. “ 'Tis a pretty tale. My tribe has many such, the Spear of Goldark, the Sword of Kal-thyn. Maybe one day I'll see this Crown. But you were talking of Sigarni. If you loved her, and she you, why did it end?”

“I was a fool. I wanted sons, Obrin. It's important in the Highlands. I had a need to watch my boys grow, to teach them of forestry and hunting, to instill in them a love of the land. Sigarni is barren—like your rose in crystal. I walked away from her. But not an hour has passed since then that her face does not shine in my memories. Even when I lay with my wife, Gwen, all I could see was Sigarni. It was the worst mistake of my life.” Fell drained the last of the wine and lay back on the floor of the hut. “I'd just like to see her laugh once more . . . to be the way she was.” He closed his eyes.

Obrin sat quietly as Fell's breathing deepened.

You're wrong, Fell, he thought. I know what war is, and I know the pain and terror that is coming. Given a choice I'd keep Sigarni the way she is, the Ice Queen, the coldhearted warrior woman whose strategies have already seen three enemy forts overcome, and several tons of supplies brought into the encampments.

Obrin pulled on his jerkin and stepped out into the night.

Sigarni was tired. The morning had been a long one, discussing supplies with Tovi, organizing patrols with Grame and Fell, then poring over the battle plans drawn up by Asmidir and Ari, listening to Obrin's tales of woe concerning training.

“We've not the time to train them properly,” said the stocky Outlander. “I've got them responding to the hunting horn for attack and retreat and re-form. But that is it! Your army will be like a spear, Sigarni. One throw is all you get.”

She felt as if her mind could take not one more ounce of pressure, and had walked with Lady to a hilltop to look upon the ageless beauty of High Druin, hoping to steal a fragment of its eternal peace.

Two of Asmidir's
Al-jiin
walked twenty paces behind her, never speaking but always present. At first their ceaseless vigilance had been a source of irritation, but now she found their silent presence reassuring. A stand of trees grew across the hilltop, and these gave some shelter from the wind as Sigarni stared out over the winter landscape at the brooding magnificence of High Druin, its sharp peaks spearing the clouds. Down on the slopes leading to the valley she could see Loda children tobogganing, and hear the squeals of their laughter. The sounds were shrill, and echoed in the mountains.

Will they still be laughing in a few weeks? she wondered. Taliesen had disappeared again, gone to whatever secret place wizards inhabit, and his last words to her echoed constantly in her memory:
“The Pallides will ask for a sign.”

“They already have,” she had told him.

“No, no, listen to me! They will ask for something specific. When they do, agree to it. Don't hesitate. I will be back when I have prepared the way. Will you trust me?”

“You have given me no reason to distrust you. But what if they ask me to supply the moon on a silver salver?”

“Say that you will,” he said with a dry laugh. He threw his tattered cloak of feathers around his scrawny frame, and his smile faded. “They will not ask that, but it will seem as difficult. Remember my words, Sigarni. I will be back before the first snowdrops of spring. We will meet by Ironhand's Falls in twelve days.”

Lady brushed against her leg and whined. Sigarni knelt and stroked her long ears. “I have neglected you, my lovely,” she said. “I am sorry.” Lady's long nose pushed against Sigarni's cheek and she felt the hound's warm tongue on her face. “You are so forgiving.” She patted Lady's dark flank.

“She wishes solitude,” she heard one of her guards say. Sigarni turned to see a tall, dark-haired woman standing with the two men.

“Let her through,” she called. The woman gave the black men a wide berth and walked up the hillside. She was thin of face, with a prominent nose, but her large brown eyes gave her face a semblance of beauty. “You wish to speak with me?” said Sigarni.

“I do. I am Layelia, the wife of Torgan.”

“There is no place for him among my officers,” said Sigarni sternly. “He is a fool.”

“That is a trait shared by most men I have met,” said Layelia. “But then war is a foolish game.”

“Have you come to plead for him?”

“No. He will regain his honor—or he will not. That is for him. I came to speak with you. I have questions.”

Sigarni removed her cloak and spread it over the snow. “Come, sit with me. Why not more questions? That is my life now. Endless questions, each with a hundred answers.”

“You look tired,” said Layelia. “You should rest more.”

“I will when there is time. Now ask your questions.”

The dark-haired woman was silent for a moment, staring deeply into Sigarni's pale blue eyes. “What if we win?” she asked, at last.

Sigarni laughed. “If we lose we die. That is all I know. My God, I certainly have no time to think of the aftermath of a victory that is by no means certain.”

“I think you should,” said Layelia softly. “If you don't, then you are just like a man, never seeing beyond the end of your nose.”

Sigarni sighed. “You are correct, I am tired. So let us assume the hare is bagged, and move on to the cooking. What do you want?”

Layelia chuckled. “I have heard a lot about you, Sigarni. You have lived a life many women—myself included— would envy. But I don't envy you now, trying to adjust to a world of men. I ask about victory for a simple, selfish reason. I have children, and I want those children to grow in the Highland way, with their father beside them, learning about cattle and crops, family, clan and honor. The Outlanders threaten our way of life—not just by their invasion, but by our resistance. Tell me this, if you beat the Baron, what then? Is it over?”

“No,” admitted Sigarni. “They will send another army.”

“And how will you combat them?”

“In whatever way I can,” said Sigarni guardedly.

“You will be forced to attack the Lowland cities, sack their treasuries, and hire mercenaries.”

Sigarni smiled grimly. “Perhaps.”

“And if you defeat the next army, will that end the war?”

“I don't know,” snapped Sigarni, “but I doubt it. Where is this leading?”

“It seems to me,” said Layelia sadly, “that win or lose our way of life is finished. The war will go on and on. The more you win, the farther away you will take our men—perhaps all the way to the Outland capital. What then, when the outlying armies of their empire gather? Will you be fighting in Kushir in ten years?”

“If I am, it will not be from choice,” Sigarni told her. “I hear you, Layelia, and I understand what you are saying. If there is a way I can avoid what you fear, then I will. You have my word on that.”

The dark-haired woman smiled, and laid her hand on Sigarni's arm. “I believe you. You know, I have always thought the world would be a better place with women as leaders. We wouldn't fight stupid wars over worthless pieces of land; we would talk to one another, and reach compromises that would suit both factions. I know that you have to be a war leader, Sigarni, but I ask that you be a
woman
leader, and not just a pretend man in armor.”

“You are very forthright, Layelia. A shame you were not so forthright with Torgan.”

“I did my best,” said the other with a wry smile, “but he was not gifted with a good brain. He is, however, a fine partner in bed, so I will not complain too much.”

Sigarni's laughter rang out. “I'm glad he is good at something.”

“He is also a good father,” said Layelia. “The children adore him, and he plays with them constantly.”

“I am sorry,” said Sigarni. “I have obviously not seen the best of him. Have you been married long?”

“Fourteen years come summer.” She smiled. “He hasn't changed much in those years, save to lose some of his hair. It's beautiful here, isn't it, the sun gleaming on High Druin?”

“Yes,” Sigarni agreed.

Layelia rose. “I have taken too much of your time. I will leave you to your thoughts.”

Sigarni stood. “Thank you, Layelia. I feel refreshed, though I don't know why.”

“You've spent too long in the company of men,” said Layelia. “Perhaps we should talk again?”

“I would enjoy that.”

Layelia stepped forward and embraced the silver-haired warrior woman, kissing her on both cheeks. Sigarni felt hot tears spill to her face. Abruptly she pulled clear and turned back toward High Druin.