'A good question,' said Fyon, also rising. He rubbed at his silver-forked beard and moved to the fire blazing in the hearth. 'And I wish I had an answer. We need a sign, Sigarni. Until then you must train your own warriors.'
Ten days later Fyon had ridden his horse into the makeshift camp of the Loda, seeking out Sigarni.
'Welcome,' she said, as he ducked into the small log dwelling. It was dark inside, and lit by the flickering fire within a small iron brazier. Fyon seated himself opposite Sigarni and cast a nervous glance at the black man at her side. 'This is Asmidir. He is my general, and a warrior of great skill.' Asmidir held out his hand and Fyon shook it briefly.
'The Outlanders struck several Farlain villages,' said Fyon. 'Hundreds were slaughtered, women and children among them. Torgan led his men on a vengeance strike, but they were surrounded and cut to pieces. Torgan escaped, but he lost more than three hundred warriors. He has blamed you - claims you are a curse upon the people. My scouts tell me the Outlanders are marching towards us. They will be here in less than five days.'
'They will not arrive,' said Sigarni. 'There are blizzards in the wind; they will drive them back.'
'Only until the spring,' said Fyon. 'What then?'
'Let us hope that by then you will have had a sign,' said Sigarni coldly.
High on the mountainside Sigarni wrapped her sheepskin cloak more tightly around her shoulders.
Lady padded across the snow and hunkered down by her side. Sigarni pulled off her fur-lined mittens and stroked the dog's head. 'We'll soon be back in the warm, girl,' she said. At the sound of her voice Lady's tail thumped against the snow.
The three walkers were at the foot of the mountain now and Sigarni could see them clearly. The first was Fell. With him were Gwyn Dark-eye and Bakris Tooth-gone. Slowly the three men climbed the flank of the mountain, reaching the ridge just before dusk. Snow was falling again, thick and fast.
Fell was the first to climb to the ridge. Snow was thick upon his hair and shoulders.
'What did you learn?' asked Sigarni.
'They have put a price of one thousand guineas upon your head, lady. And they are expecting another three thousand men by spring.'
'Did you see Cilfallen?'
Fell sighed. 'There is nothing there. Not one stone upon another. As if it never was.'
'Come back to the settlement,' she said. 'You can tell me all.'
'There's one piece of news I'd like to spit out now,' he said, brushing the snow from his hair.
'There was an arrival in Citadel - a wizard from the south. His name is Jakuta Khan. There are many stories about him, so we were told. He conjures demons.'
Sigarni could see the fear in their eyes, and she hoped they could not see the same fear in hers.
'I do not fear him,' she heard herself say.
'He came to our fire last night,' said Gwyn. 'Just appeared out of nowhere, and seemed to stand within the flames. Tell her, Fell.'
'He said for us to tell you he was coming for you. He said you were lucky that night by the Falls, but that this time he would not fail. You would remember him, he said, for the last time you saw him he had your father's heart in his hand. Then he vanished.'
Sigarni staggered back and swung away from the men. Her mouth was dry, her heart beating wildly.
Panic welled in her breast, and she felt herself adrift on a current of fear. Her legs were weak and she reached out to grip the trunk of a tree.
The demons were coming again!
*
For Tovi Long-arm the onset of winter was a nightmare. The people of the Loda were spread now across two valleys, in five encampments. Food was a problem for almost three thousand refugees.
Four of the Loda herds had been driven north after the attack on Cilfallen and three had been slaughtered to supply meat for the clan, leaving only breeding stock for the spring. But meat alone was not enough. There was a shortage of vegetables and dried fruit, and dysentery had spread among the old and infirm. Lung infections had begun to show among the old and the very young, and eleven greybeards had died so far in the first month of snow. Worse was to come, for soon the milk cows would go dry and then hunger would border on famine. Blizzards had closed many of the trails and communication was becoming difficult, even between camps. The structures erected by the Pallides were sound enough, but they were spartan and draughty, smoke-filled and dark.
Complaints were growing, and morale was low. Added to this there was resentment about the Outlander Obrin and his training methods. Day after day he would order the young men to engage in punishing routines, running, lifting, working in groups. It was not the Highland way, and Tovi had tried to impress this on the Outlander.
To no avail...
It was dawn when Tovi roused himself from his blankets. Beside him his wife groaned in her sleep.
It was cold in the cabin and Tovi placed his own blanket over hers. The children were still asleep. Tovi moved to the fire, which had died down to a few smouldering ashes. With a stick he pushed the last few glowing embers together, then blew them into life, adding kindling until the flames licked up. Pulling on his boots and overshirt he tried to open the door of the cabin, but snow had piled up against the door in the night and Tovi had to squeeze through a narrow gap to emerge into the dawn light. Using his hands, he scooped the snow away from the door and then pushed it shut.
Grame was already awake when Tovi called at his small hut. The smith, wrapped in a long sheepskin coat and holding a long-handled felling axe, stepped out to join him. 'The sky's clear,' said Grame, 'and it feels milder.'
'The worst is yet to come,' said Tovi.
'I know that!' snapped Grame. 'God, Tovi, must you stay so gloomy?'
Tovi reddened at the rebuke and glared at the white-bearded smith. 'Give me one good reason to be optimistic and I shall. I will even dance a jig for you! We have nearly three thousand people living in squalor, and what are we waiting for? To face famine or slaughter in the spring. Am I wrong?'
'I do not know if you are wrong, Tovi. That's the truth of it. But you could be. Concentrate on that. We now have five hundred fighting men, hard men, fuelled by anger and the need for revenge.
By spring we could have thousands. Then we will see. Why do you need to show such despair? It does no good.'
'I am not skilled at hiding my feelings, Grame,' admitted Tovi. 'I am getting old and I have no fire in my belly. They killed my son, destroyed my village. Now I feel as if I am waiting for the rest of my family to be put to the sword. I find it hard to stomach.'
Grame nodded. 'You are not so old, Tovi. And as for your stomach — well, you look better than you have in years. Felling trees and building cabins has been good for you. Come the spring, that claymore will have no more weight than a goose feather. Then you'll find the fire.'
Tovi forced a smile and scanned the camp. To the south the new community hall was almost half built, the ground levelled, the log walls already around five feet high. Eighty feet long and thirty wide, the structure when finished would allow many people of the encampment to gather together in the evenings. This, Tovi knew, would encourage a greater camaraderie and help lift morale. 'How long now?' he asked pointing at the structure.
'Five days. We'll be felling trees on the north slope today. If there's no fresh snow for a while we might finish in three.'
All around them people were emerging from the huts. Tovi saw the Outlander Obrin. The man was dressed now in borrowed leggings and a leather tunic; he strolled to a tree and urinated against the trunk. 'I don't like the man,' said Tovi.
'Aye, he's iron hard,' Grame agreed.