Annoyed, the huntress walked from the old castle, crossing the rickety drawbridge and heading off into the woods. Her mood was dark and angry as she went. The mind of a whore, indeed. Her thoughts turned to Fell the Forester. Now there was a man who understood pleasure. She doubted if there was a single woman within a day's walk who hadn't succumbed to his advances. Did they call him a whore? No. It was 'Good old Fell, what a character, what a man!' Idiotic!
Asmidir's words rankled. She had thought him different, more ... intelligent? Yes. Instead he proved to be like most men, caught between a need for fornication and a love of sermonizing.
Abby soared above her, and Lady ran to the side of the trail, seeking out hares. Sigarni pushed thoughts of the black man from her mind and walked on in the dusk, coming at last to the final hillside and gazing down on her cabin. A light was showing at the window and this annoyed her, for she wished to be alone this evening. If it was that fool, Bernt, she would give him the sharp side of her tongue.
Walking into the yard, she whistled for Abby. The hawk came in low, then spread her wings and settled on Sigarni's glove. Feeding her a strip of meat she removed the hunting jesses; then carrying her to the bow perch, she attached the mews ties, and turned towards the cabin.
Lady moved to the side of the building, lying down beside the door with her head on her paws.
Sigarni pushed open the door.
Fell was sitting by the fire, eyes closed, his long legs stretched out before the blaze. It angered her that she could feel a sense of rising excitement at his presence. He looked just the same as on that last day, his long black hair sleek and glowing with health, swept back from his brow and held in place by a leather headband, his beard close-trimmed and as soft as fur. Sigarni took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
'What do you want here, Goat-brain?' she snapped.
Then she saw the blood.
*
There were wolves all around him, fangs bared, ready to rip and tear. A powerful beast leapt at him. Fell caught it by the throat, then spun on his heel hurling the creature into the pack. His limbs felt leaden, as if he were wading through water. The wolves blurred, shifting like smoke, becoming tall, fierce-eyed warriors holding knives of sharpened bronze. They moved in on him, smoothly, slowly. Fell's arms were paralyzed and he felt the first knife sink into his shoulder like a tongue of fire.. .
He opened his eyes. Sigarni was kneeling beside him with a needle in her hand, and he felt the flap of flesh on his shoulder drawn tight by the thread. Fell swore softly. 'Lie still,' she said and Fell obeyed her. His stomach felt uneasy. Snapping the thread with her teeth, she sat back.
'Looks like a sword cut.'
'Long knife,' he told her, taking a deep shuddering breath. He said no more for a while, resting his neck against the thick, cushioned hide of the chair's head-rest. Focusing his gaze on the far timbered wall he ran his eyes over the weapons hanging there - the long-handled broadsword with its leaf-shaped blade and hilt of leather, the bow of horn and the quiver of black-shafted arrows, the daggers and dirks and lastly the helm, with its crown and cheek-guards of black iron and the nasal guard and brows of polished brass. Not a speck of rust or tarnish showed on them.
'You keep your father' s weapons in good condition,' he said.
'That's what Gwal taught me,' she told him. 'Who gave you the wound?'
'We didn't exchange names. There were two of them. Robbed a pilgrim on the Low Trail. I tracked them to Mas Gryff.'
'Where are they now?'
'Oh, they're still there. I returned the money to the pilgrim and made a report to the Watch.' His face darkened. 'Bastards! You could almost feel their disappointment.' He shook his head. 'It won't be much longer, you know. They'll look for any excuse.'
'You've lost a lot of blood,' she said. 'I'll make some broth.'
He watched her move away, his eyes lingered on the sway of her hips. 'You're a beautiful woman, Sigarni. Never saw the like!'
'Look on and weep for all you've lost,' she said, before disappearing into the back room.
'Amen to that,' he whispered. Resting his head once more, he remembered the last parting two years before, Sigarni standing straight and tall and proud ... always so proud. Fell had walked across the glens to Cilfallen and paid bride-price for Gwendolyn. Sweet Gwen. In no way did she match the silver-haired woman he had left, save in one. Gwen could bear children, and a man needed sons. Ten months later Gwen was dead, the victim of a breech birth that killed both her and the infant.
Fell had buried them both in the Loda resting place on the western slope of High Druin.
Sigarni returned to his side. 'Flex the muscles of your arm,' she ordered.
He did so and winced. 'It's damned sore.'
'Good. I like to think of you in pain.'
'I buried my son, woman. I know what pain is. And I'd not wish it on a friend.'
'Neither would I,' she said. 'But you are no friend.'
'Your mood is foul,' he admonished her. 'Had a falling-out with your black man, have you?'
'Have you been spying on me Fell?' It irritated him that she did not deny the association.
'It is my work, Sigarni. I patrol the forest and I have seen you enter the castle, and I have seen you leave. How could you rut with such as he?'
She laughed then, and his anger rose. 'Asmidir is a better man than you, Fell. In everyway.' He wanted to strike her, to slap the smile from her face. But the growing nausea finally swamped him and with a groan he pushed himself from the chair, staggered to the door, and just made it to open ground before falling to earth and vomiting. Cold sweat shone upon his face in the moonlight, and he felt weak as a day-old calf as he struggled to rise. Sigarni appeared alongside him, taking his arm and looping it over her shoulder. 'Let's get you to bed,' she said, not unkindly.
Fell leaned in to her. The scent of her filled his nostrils. 'I loved you,' he said, as she half-carried him up the four steps to the doorway.
'You left me,' she said.
When he woke it was daylight, the rising sun shining through the open window. The sky was clear and Fell saw the hawk silhouetted briefly against the blue. With a groan he sat up. His shoulder was burning, and his ribs were badly bruised from the fight with the two Outland robbers.
Rising from the bed he moved to the window. Sigarni was standing in the sunlight, the hawk on her glove, the black hound lying at her feet. Fell's mouth was dry, and all his long-suppressed emotions surged to the surface. Of all the women he had known - and there had been many - he had loved only one. And in that moment he knew, with a sickening certainty, that it would always be thus. Oh, he would marry again, and he would have sons, but his heart would remain with this enigmatic mountain woman until the daggers of time stopped its beat.
Though still weak from loss of blood, Fell knew he could stay no longer in sight of Sigarni.
Gathering his cloak of black leather he pulled on his boots, took up his longbow and quiver and walked from the rear of the cabin, heading back on the long trail to Cilfallen. There was a maid there, of marriageable age, whose father had set a bride price Fell could afford.
*
'I hate this place,' said the Baron Ranulph Gottasson, leaning on the wide parapet and staring out over the distant mountains. Asmidir said nothing. It was cold up here on the Citadel's high walls, the wind hissing down from the north, cutting through the warmest clothes. But the Baron seemed not to notice the inclemency of the weather. He was dressed in a simple shirt of black silk and a sleeveless jerkin of the finest black leather. He wore no adornments, no silver enhancements to his black leather leggings, no chains or ornate discs attached to his knee-length boots. As Asmidir stood shivering on the battlements, the Baron turned his pale hooded eyes on the black man. 'Not like Kushir, eh? Too cold, too bleak. Ever wish you were back home?'