Knife in hand, Sigarni walked from the cell and out into the dungeon corridor. Her legs had no strength, and she fell to her knees and vomited once more. 'Don't be weak,' she scolded herself. 'You are Sigarni the Huntress. You are strong.'
Rising unsteadily, she managed to reach the stairs and started to climb up into the darkness. Halfway up she heard footfalls. Pushing herself back against the wall she waited. Then a man called out from some distance above, 'Hey Owen, I was on my way home when I thought it would be worth a second tilt at the bitch. You fancy a double, eh?'
From out of the darkness he appeared, a looming shape with a protruding belly. Sigarni rammed the blade into that belly, ripping it up towards the heart. He grunted and fell back to the stairs.
'Oh God! Oh God!' he screamed. Sigarni pulled the blade clear and stepped in close.
'You want to ride double with me, Outlander? You want to enjoy Sigarni?'
'Oh, please! Don't kill me!'
'You left teeth marks in my breast, you fat bastard. Now bite on this!' The knife slid between his teeth and Sigarni slammed ithome to the hilt. His fat arms began to flail, but she knelt on his chest and cut his throat. Only when he was still did she mutilate him in the same way she had the first guard. Slowly she climbed the stairs, pushing open the door at the top. The courtyard was moonlit and deserted, save for a sentry sitting under the arch. He was facing out into the town.
Sigarni stepped into the open air and walked across to the arch.
The sentry was not even aware of dying...
Blood-drenched and weak, Sigarni moved on into the silent town.
*
Abby was dead - killed trying to save her. And I am dead, she thought. They will kill me, for I have not the strength to find them all. Somehow the thought of dying held no fear for her. All that kept her moving on tottering feet was the need for vengence, a need as old as the Highlands themselves. Clan laws were not subtle, precedents were rarely cited, and there were no glib-tongued lawyers to represent the factions. Wrongdoers were punished by those they had wronged, or in the case of murder were hunted down by clan warriors selected by the Hunt Lord. Justice was sudden, harsh and final.
But Sigarni had no family, save old Gwal who had raised her after the Slaughter. There were no men to seek blood revenge.
Only me, she thought. Only Sigarni. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the street. Stopping, she picked it up, then fell heavily. 'Damn!' she whispered. Twisting round, she sat for a while with her back against a cool stone wall. The stars were bright, the night cool with the promise of autumn. Some distance away she could hear the sound of revellers, and knew she was close to the Blue Duck tavern. What will you do, she wondered? Walk in, covered in blood, and move from table to table until you see them? What kind of a plan is that? And if you wait past the dawn they will find you anyway, and drag you back to that cell, and who knows what torture. Are you mad, girl? Leave this place. Get back into the Highlands were you can gather your strength.
Two of them are dead, she told herself. One more, at least, is in the tavern.
One more ...
Forcing herself to her feet Sigarni groaned. Blood was trickling down her leg. She licked her lips with a dry tongue and tried to blank out the pain.
Women are made for sport.
The words flashed back into her memory. The short soldier had said them at some point during her ordeal. Laughter had followed his words, then more pain. Suddenly she remembered the little Census Taker and his revulsion and fear as Abby pecked at him. What was it he had said: 'I prefer the hares'? Hares are made for sport, Sigarni had told him.
Everything is made for sport, she realized, in a world ruled by Outlanders.
The rest had given her fresh strength and she walked on.
The Blue Duck tavern was an old building with frayed timbers and white walls. There were four windows on the ground floor, two either side of the old oak door.One of the windows was open and through it she could hear the sounds of the drinkers. Moving to the wall beside it, she glanced in. The place was packed and her keen eyes scanned the faces within. There were none she recognized, but then she could see only a section of the crowd. Dropping to her knees she crawled under the window, then rose and glanced in from the new angle. Two men were walking towards the door. Her heart, and her anger, lifted. Transferring the knife to her left hand, she wiped the sweat from her right, rubbing the palm down her leggings.
The door opened. 'That's it, Will, one foot in front of the other. That's the way to go, son.'
'Shut the bloody door!' said someone inside. Relph pulled shut the door as Will Stamper leaned against the wall.
'Be right with you, mate, but I've got to piss,' said Relph, opening the front of his leggings and urinating against the wall. Sigarni moved silently alongside the drunken Will and sliced the knife back across his throat. The skin flapped open, blood bubbling clear. Then she ran forward and plunged the blade into Relph's back. He reared up and grabbing his hair, she rammed his head against the wall. Falling to his knees Relph struggled to turn. Wrenching the knife clear Sigarni, still holding to his hair, dragged his head back to expose his throat.
'Women are made for sport,' said Sigarni, slashing open his jugular. Relph fell back, his arms and legs thrashing. Sigarni stepped clear and moved to where Will stood leaning against the wall, his blood gushing over the front of his tunic. Slowly he toppled to his knees and looked up at her. There was no hatred in his gaze, and no fear. He tried to speak, but could only mouth two words. Sigarni almost laughed.
Then she leaned back and kicked him in the head and his body fell to the stones.
Only one more now, she thought. The captain.
But where would he be?
Are you insane, woman! came a voice inside her mind. Leave now!
'No!' she said aloud. 'I'il find him.'
'Leave and he 'II find you. I promise you! Stay and you will die and he will live. I promise you that too!'
'Who are you? Where are you?' she asked, spinning round and scanning the shadows.
I am with you, girl, and I want your trust. Leave now. Believe me, you won't like being dead. I know, I've tried it. Now go!'
Confused, Sigarni obeyed, cutting down through an alley towards the North Gate.
The bastards have unhinged my mind, she thought. Now I am hearing ghost voices.
From the citadel keep came the sound of clanging alarm bells.
I'll never get out now, she thought.
'Yes, you will' said the voice. 'Your people need you.'
*
Baron Ranulph Gottasson groaned. The pain had moved beyond pleasure to a burning point of agony that bordered on the exquisite.
Narcotics flowed in his blood, and his waking dreams were vivid. He saw again the fall of the Kushite cities, refugees running panic-stricken from their burning homes, heard again the wailing of the soon-to-die, the piercing screams of city dwellers staring into the brutal faces of the conquering soldiers, feeling the cold bite of their blades into soft, yielding flesh.
Days of blood and glory, marching his men across inhospitable deserts, iron mountains and lush foreign plains.
And then it was over. No one left to conquer.
At first it had not seemed so onerous: the triumphant return to the capital, the cheering crowds choking the streets, the nights of celebration at the palace, the orgies... The Baron groaned again. He felt someone lift his head, and a cold metal goblet was placed against his lips. He swallowed and sank back.
Then had come the day when the organization of the empire was re-shaped. Plessius was made Governor General of Kushir and the east - a bumbling fool of a man with not an ounce of ambition in his fat head. A hardly surprising choice to rule a land three thousand leagues from the capital. The King had chosen wisely; there would be no rebellion from that quarter. Ranulph had let it be known he desired the north. There was nothing here of any worth, save cattle and timber.