The Ironhand's Daughter

I think you already know that. Pick him up!'

Torgan felt strong arms lifting him to his feet, then sitting him in his chair. 'The position of Hunt Lord can be passed from father to son,' he heard her say, 'but that has not always been the Highland way. We are in a war, and it is up to you to choose a Hunt Lord who can best serve the needs of the people. the people - Farlain, Loda, Pallides and Wingoras. I do not care who you choose. But whoever it is will serve under my leadership.'

'By what right?' asked a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with a silver moustache. Torgan blinked as Harcanan stepped up to stand before the woman. His uncle would put her in her place. He was a man of iron principles, not one to be fooled by this whore in scarlet.

'By what right?' echoed Sigarni. 'By right of blood and right of battle. By virtue of my sword and my skills.'

He shook his head. 'I do not know of your blood, Sigarni, but your battle was one skirmish fought at Cilfallen. As to your sword and your skills, I have seen no evidence that you can carry a fight with either. I say this with no disrespect, for I applaud your defence of Cilfallen and your determination to fight against the Outlanders. But I need more proof that you are the war leader we should follow.'

'Well said,' she told him. 'And how would you like this proof delivered?'

'I cannot say - but one battle does not convince me. Even now the Outlanders are camped on our land, their position impregnable. A war leader should be able to free us of their presence.'

'What is your name?'

'I am Harcanan.'

'I have heard of you,' she said. 'You fought at Golden Moor. It is said you killed twenty Outlanders, and led the King to safety.'

He smiled grimly. 'An exaggeration, Sigarni. But I was there the last time the clans gathered against the Outlanders and I will be there the next time, God willing.'

'So then, Harcanan, will you follow me?'

'I have already said that I need more proof.'

Sigarni stood silently for a moment. 'I will make a bargain with you, Harcanan,' she said at last.

'Pledge yourself to me, and then I will show you proof

'Why not the other way round?' he countered.

'Because I require your faith, as well as your sword.'

He smiled. 'I hear you require men to bend the knee to you, as if to a monarch. Is that what you are asking?'

'Aye, Harcanan. Exactly that. As in the old days. But you will not need to lead me to safety; you will live to see the Outlanders crushed and broken, begging for mercy. Now give me your pledge.'

Torgan sat quietly, waiting for the old warrior to laugh in her face. He did not. Instead he walked slowly forward and dropped to one knee before her. 'My sword and my life,' he said.

Sigarni swung to the crowd. Throwing up her arm, she pointed to the line of horse-drawn wagons making their slow way over the crest of the hill. 'Those wagons you see are loaded with the spoils of war, taken from the fort on Farlain land. My forces took that fort two days ago. Even as we speak, the Pallides fort is falling to us.'

Harcanan rose. 'How many men did you lose?' he asked.

'None,' she told him. 'Assemble the council, for I would address them.'

Harcanan bowed, and Sigarni turned to Torgan. 'I could - and probably should - kill you,' she said. 'But you are a Highlander, and not without courage. Be at the council meeting.'

Torgan rose and stumbled away, his mind reeling.

*

Gwalchmai was sober. It was not an uplifting experience. As he sat in the log hall, surrounded by the younger children of the encampment, he found himself yearning for the sanctuary of the jug.

There were several older women present, dishing out the last of the milk to the eager young, and about a dozen younger mothers sitting in a group, holding their babies and talking animatedly.

Gwalchmai could not hear their conversation, for most of the smaller children had gathered around him and were asking questions he found it hard to answer. For some weeks now his powers had been waning, and he found himself unable to summon visions. It was ironic, that now of all times his Talent should desert him. He had often prayed to be released from the gift - the curse - and now that it had happened he felt terribly alone, and very frightened.

The clan needed him - and he had nothing more to give.

'Why do they want to kill us all, Gwalchmai?' asked a bright-eyed young boy of around twelve.

'Have we done something wrong?'

'No, nothing wrong," he grunted, feeling himself hemmed in by the youngsters.

'Then why are we being punished?"

'It's no good asking me to make sense of it, lad. It's a war. There's no sense in war.'

'Then why are we doing it?' questioned another boy.

'We don't have a choice,' said Gwalchmai. There was still a little left in the jug, he remembered.

But where had he put it?

'Are we all going to be killed?' asked a girl with long red hair. Gwalchmai cleared his throat. A man's voice cut in and Gwalchmai looked up to see Kollarin, moving through the youngsters. The younger man grinned at Gwalch, patted his shoulder and then sat down beside him. 'When a thief enters your house,' he told the children, 'to take what is yours, then you either allow him to roam unchecked or you stop him. When a wolf pack attacks your cattle, you slay the wolves. That is the way of the hunter. The Outlanders have decided to take all that is yours. Your fathers have decided to stop them.'

'My father is a great hunter,' declared the girl. 'Last year he killed a rogue bear.'

'Not on his own,' said the boy. 'My father was with him. He shot it too.'

'He did not!' A squabble broke out between the two. Kollarin's laughter boomed out.

'Come, come, clansmen, this is no way to behave. I did not have a father - well, not that I recall. I had a mother who could shoot a bow, or wield a sword. Once, when a lioness got in amongst our sheep she strode out to the pasture, carrying only a long staff, and frightened it away. She was a fine woman.'

'You are an Outlander,' said the first boy, his earnest gaze fixed to Kollarin's face. 'Why do you want to kill us?'

'I never wanted to kill anyone,' Kollarin told him. 'There are many ... Outlanders, as you call them, from many nations. They have built an empire; I am from one part of that empire. They conquered my country a hundred and ten years ago. The Outlanders are not, by nature, evil; they do not eat babies, or make blood sacrifices to vile gods. Their problem is that they believe in their own destiny as masters of the world. They respect strength and courage above all else. Therefore the strongest, the most ruthless, tend to achieve high rank. The Baron is such a man; he is evil, and because he leads in the north his evil spreads through the men under his command.'

'What happened to your father?' asked the red-haired girl.

'He ran away when I was a babe.'

'Why?'

Kollarin shrugged. 'I cannot answer for him. My mother told me he found life on the farm too dull.'

'Did people torment you?' asked a small boy with thick curly hair.

Kollarin nodded. 'Aye, they did. A boy without a father becomes, for some reason, an object of scorn.'

'Me too,' said the boy. 'My father ran away before I was born.'

'He didn't run away,' put in another child scornfully. 'Not even your mother could have said who he was.'

The curly-haired boy reddened and started to rise. Kollarin spoke swiftly. 'Let us have no violence here. You are all of the clan, and the clan is in danger; it is no time to argue with another. But there is something else you could think about. How does evil grow? What makes it appear in a human heart, growing like a weed among the blooms? I tell you. It is born from anger and injustice, from resentment and jealousy. You have all witnessed the tiniest seed of it here in this hall. A boy with no father has been insulted for what may - or may not - have been the sin of his mother. That insult, and others like it, will simmer inside him as he grows. And by what right is he treated so unjustly?' Kollarin fixed his eyes on the older boy. 'Has his birth damaged you in some way?'