Behind them the twelve silent Al-jiin gathered up the bodies and left the hall.
*
Sigarni felt gripped by a sense of unreality as she climbed the carpeted steps to the upper balcony, and the room where An had shown her the armour. Beside her Asmidir said nothing as they walked. The room was small, fifteen feet by twenty, with one large window looking out over High Druin. Sigarni had donned the silver chain-mail top coat, the armoured leggings and the boots, but the sword, breastplate and helm remained. The breastplate had been sculpted to resemble the athletic chest and belly of a young warrior, while the helm was too large for the silver-haired woman.
Sigarni walked to the window, pushing it open to allow the cool, yet gentle autumn breeze to whisper into the room. Abby was dead, and this she found almost as hurtful as the abuse she had endured. But more than this Sigarni felt a weight of sorrow for the life she would never know again, the quiet solitude of her mountain cabin, the morning hunt, and the silent nights. Grame had warned her of the Baron, and she wished now that she had heeded him. A few pennies lost and her life would have remained free. Now she was embarked on a course that could lead only to death and ruin for the people of the mountains. What are we, she thought? And the picture came to her mind of a mighty stag at bay in the Highlands, with the wolves closing in. We can run and live for a little longer, or we can fight and be dragged down.
Clouds were gathering above High Druin like a crown of grey above the white snow-capped peaks.
'Speak your thoughts, my lady,' said Asmidir.
'You don't need to give me pretty tides here,' she told him, still staring from the window. 'There is no one to hear them.'
'It has begun, Sigarni,' he said sofdy. 'It is time to make plans.'
'I know. What do you suggest?'
He shook his head. 'I will offer my advice in a moment,' he told her. 'First I would like to hear your views.'
Anger almost swamped her, but she fought it back. 'You are the warrior and the strategist - or so you tell me. What would you have me say, Asmidir?'
'Do not misunderstand me, Sigarni. This is not a game we are playing. You are the one the seer spoke of. Unless the gods are capricious - and perhaps they are - then you must have some special skill. If we are to form an army, if we are to defy the most brilliant military nation of the world, it will be because of you - you understand? At the moment you are full of bitterness and righteous rage. You must conquer that, you must reach inside yourself and find the Battle Queen.
Without her we are lost even before we begin.'
Sigarni turned from the window and moved to a high-backed chair. 'I don't know what to say or where to begin,' she said.'If there is a skill it is lost to me. I do not believe I am given to panic, Asmidir, but when I try to think of the way ahead my heart beats faster and I find myself short of breath. I look inside, but there is nothing there save regret and remembered pain.'
Asmidir seated himself before her. He reached out, but she instinctively drew back her hand; his face showed his hurt. 'Let us examine then the immediate priorities,' he said. 'My men have been scouting the valleys and passes south of here. The Baron has ordered campaign fortifications built. These are vital for an invading army. Stores and supplies will be left at these forts so that when the invasion force moves in they will have bases from which to sally forth into the mountains. The first is being constructed no more than ten miles from here, in the Dunach Valley.
It could be argued that our first task should be to halt their work, to harry them. For that we will need men. We have already discussed where to find warriors. You must seek the aid of the Pallides Hunt Lord, Fyon Sharp-axe.'
Sigarni rose and returned to the window. Sunlight shone brilliantly through gaps in the distant storm-clouds, and the muted sound of far-off thunder rippled across the land. She shivered. 'No,' she said, at last. 'The fortifications must wait. If I were Fyon Sharp-axe I would not turn over my men to an untried woman from another clan. Send Fell to me.'
'What are you planning?' he asked.
'We will discuss it later,' she told him. Asmidir smiled and rose, bowing deeply. After he had gone Sigarni drew the sword from its silver scabbard. It was a sabre, thirty inches long, the blade highly polished and razor-sharp, the hilt bound with strips of dark grey speckled skin, reinforced by silver wire. It was surprisingly light in her hand, and perfectly balanced. She swung the sword to the left. It sliced through the air, creating a low hissing sound. Hearing Fell approach she moved to the chair, laying the naked blade upon the table before her. The forester entered and bowed clumsily.
'A surprising turn of events,' she said. He grinned and nodded. His face was bruised and swollen, but as he smiled she saw again the handsome clansman she had loved. Motioning him to a seat she looked away, gathering her thoughts. 'How many of the foresters could you gather to us?' she asked.
'Not many,' he said. 'Perhaps six of the fifty. You have to understand, Sigarni, that they are men of family. They know a war against the Outlanders can end only one way. Most would therefore do anything to avoid such a war. Even after the murders.'
'What murders?'
Fell told her of the taking of hostages, and his decision to give himself up to the authorities.
'But they did not wait the promised four days. By the following morning all four were hanging from the walls of Citadel. I believe Tovi and Grame would join us, and perhaps half of the men of Cilfallen. What are you planning?'
'I want you to go from here. Now. Find the six men, and any others you trust. We will meet at my cabin in four days. Is that enough time for you?'
'Barely. But I will be there.'
'Go now,' she ordered him. 'And send the Outlander to me.'
*
Gwalchmai lifted his jug from the dog-cart and stared out over the hills towards Citadel town. The two hounds, Shamol and Cabris, were asleep in the sunshine. Gwalch pulled the cork from the jug and sat beside Tovi. The baker was silent, lost hi thought. The sun was bright in a clear sky, the mountains shining in splendour, but Tovi was oblivious to the beauty and Gwalchmai felt for him. 'Your son was a fine boy,' said Gwalch, lifting the jug to his lips and taking three long swallows.
'You didn't know him,' said Tovi, tonelessly.
'I know you. And I can see him in your mind. You were proud of him - and rightly so.'
'None of that matters now, does it? His mother weeps all the time, and his brothers and sisters walk silently around the house. What manner of men are these, Gwalch, who could hang an innocent boy? Are they monsters? Demon-driven?'
The old man shook his head. 'All it takes is a monster in charge, Tovi. Like a pinch of poison in a jug of wine. Suddenly the wine is deadly. You want a drink?'
'No, I need to keep my eyes sharp for when the devils come. You know, I can't even hate them, Gwal. I feel nothing. Is that my age, do you think? Have I lost something during these years in the bakery?'
'We've all lost something, my friend. Maybe we'll find it again.' Gwalch lifted the jug to his lips - then paused. He pointed to the south. 'There! What do you see? My old eyes have dimmed.'
Tovi squinted. 'Flashes of sunlight upon metal. The enemy are coming. It will take them at least an hour to cross the valley floor.'
'How many?'
'They are too far away to count accurately. Go back to Cilfallen and tell them the Outlanders are coming.'
'What about you?' asked Gwalch, pushing himself to his feet. Behind him the grey hounds rose also.
'I'll wait awhile and count them. Then I'll join you.' Gwalch climbed into the cart, still nursing his jug. He flicked the reins and the two war-hounds lurched into the traces. Tovi watched as the little cart trundled out of view, then he stood and stretched. His thoughts flicked to the Pallides man, Loran, and his warnings concerning the Outlanders. He had hoped the clansman was wrong, but now he knew otherwise. A few weeks ago the world had been a calm and pleasant place, filled with the smell of fresh-baked bread and the laughter and noise of his children. Now the days of blood had dawned again.