The Ironhand's Daughter

'There is one who will,' said the old man. 'I do not know who.'

'I will watch for him', promised Kollarin.

*

Leofric's servant banked up the fire and brought in fresh candles which he lit and placed atop the dying stubs. The blond-haired young man did not acknowledge his presence, but remained poring over maps and calculations. Leofric was not a happy man. Much as he enjoyed the logistics of a campaign, he could not divorce himself from the feeling that it was all so unnecessary. The clans had been peaceful for years, and now the Baron was set to bring fire and death into their lands.

And for what? A little glory and the chance to rise again in the King's eyes. That and the speculation on land prices south of the border.

It was all so meaningless.

The servant placed a goblet of steaming tisane before him. Leofric lifted it and sipped the brew, which was sweet and spiced with liquor. 'Thank you. Most thoughtful,' he said, looking up at the servant. The man disappeared from his mind instantly.

The army would march in ten weeks. Each of the six thousand men would carry four days' food supply with them. Leofric lifted a quill pen. One pound of oats, eight ounces of dried beef, half an ounce of salt. Seven pennies for each pack, multiplied by six thousand. He shook his head. The Baron would not be pleased at such an outlay.

Sipping his tisane, he leaned back in his chair.

By his reckoning this war would cost twelve thousand four hundred gold pieces in wages, food and materials. But the Baron had budgeted for ten thousand.

Where to make cuts? Salt was expensive, but soldiers would not march without it, and it was common knowledge that an absence of beef in the diet led to cowardly behaviour. But halving the oats ration would mean less bulk food, and besides would save only... he scribbled down a calculation, then multiplied it. Three hundred and forty-two gold pieces.

Then he brightened. You have not considered the dead, he thought. The Highlanders will fight, and that means a percentage of the army would not be requiring food or payment. But how many? On a normal campaign with the Baron the losses could be as high as thirty per cent, but that would not be the situation here. Half that? A quarter? Say five per cent: Three hundred men. Once more he bent over his calculations.

Almost there, he decided.

The servant returned. 'Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is a man to see you.'

'What time is it?'

'A little before midnight, sir.'

'An odd time to be calling. Who is it?'

'I do not know him, sir. He is a stranger. He asked for you and said he had information you would find invaluable.'

Leofric sighed; he was tired. 'Very well, show him in. Give us no more than ten minutes, then interrupt me on a matter of importance - you understand?'

'Of course, sir.' The man bowed and departed.

Leofric rubbed his eyes and yawned. Midnight. Dear God, I have been working on these papers for seven hours! Hastily he gathered them together, pushing them into a drawer. The servant returned, ushering in a middle-aged man with a round fleshy face and glittering eyes.

'I trust you will forgive this intrusion,' said the newcomer. 'But the news I have could not wait for the morning.'

'And why is that pray?' countered Leofric, gesturing the man to a seat.

'You were working on the invasion plans,' said the other, with a smile. 'My information will force substantial changes.'

'How do you know what I was working on?'

'Let us come back to that, Leofric,' said the man, with a wide smile. 'For now, let me tell you that two of your three forts have fallen to the clansmen, and all the supplies they contain are now being consumed by your enemies.'

Leofric's weariness vanished immediately. 'That's not possible! I supervised the structures myself. They were impregnable!'

'Not from deceit, it appears.'

Leofric sat down. 'Deceit?'

'The woman Sigarni sent the traitor, Obrin, and a hundred men posing as a relief force. Both forts surrendered without a fight.'

'How... ? Who are you?'

'I think you can fairly assume that I am a friend, Lord Leofric. I also have information concerning Sigarni and her plans. She is gathering an army, you know.'

'Under whose leadership?'

'Her own, of course. She is of the blood royal, and she masterminded the defeat of your forces at Cilfallen. Fine credentials, don't you think?'

'How many men does she command now?'

'Close to two thousand. The Farlain are with her, and the Pallides will soon follow. Unless she is stopped, that is.'

'We cannot get through until the thaw. All the northern passes are blocked.'

'You cannot get through but! can. I have already, in a manner of speaking.'

The servant entered. 'My lord, I think you should ...'

'Yes, yes, no need for that now. Bring me another tisane, and one for our guest.'

The man nodded and bowed as Leofric returned his attention to his guest. 'I think it is time you declared your interest in this matter,' he said.

'Of course. I am hunting the witch, Sigarni. My reasons are of no concern to you, but it is important to me that I find her. Surrounded as she is now by loyal clansmen, it might be ... difficult for me to reach her. You can help me in my quest - as I can help you in yours.'

'You're a magicker?'

The man laughed. 'Nothing so dainty, my lord. I am a sorcerer. Some time ago I was paid to...

remove the problem Sigarni posed. I failed. Three times. I say this without shame, for my opponents were mighty indeed. Happily, they now believe me to be dead, which leaves me free to enjoy the success I have waited for.'

'Why would they think you dead?'

'A man was torn to pieces by demons. I made sure he resembled me in every way. You wish to hear more?'

Leofric shook his head. 'Absolutely not. What is it you require of me, in return for your information?'

'I find that I am short of funds in Citadel town. I am far from my own bankers, and would be grateful for a gratuity that would enable me to rent a house in Citadel. There is much I must do to prepare for my next attempt. Men and materials, that sort of thing.'

'Of course. Where are you staying at present?'

'A hostelry nearby, the Blue Duck tavern.'

'I will have one of my servants bring you money tomorrow morning. I would also appreciate any further information you can supply concerning the plans of the rebels.'

The man rubbed his fleshy chin. 'I will consider that,' he said. 'It is a delicate business. You see, I don't want you to capture or kill Sigarni. That delight is for me. I'll think on it, and let you know my decision.'

'The Baron will almost certainly want to see you.'

'I don't believe so, Lord Leofric. Tell him you have a spy who brought you this information. That, after all, is the truth. Do not mention me to him. It would displease me.'

'Who shall my servant ask for tomorrow?' Leofric enquired.

'Oh, I am sorry, I did not introduce myself. My name is Jakuta Khan.'

*

Ballistar's hatred for winter was deep and perfect, for it was the one season designed to highlight his deformity. His short, stumpy legs could not cope with deep snow and he felt a prisoner in Asmidir's house. Ballistar longed to be with Sigarni again, planning for the spring and the coming war.

'You would be useless now,' he said aloud, as he perched on the battlements staring out over the winter landscape. 'Useless.'

Scrambling to his feet, he stood. Yet today there was no enjoyment in being so high. It served only to emphasize how tiny he was. Snow began to fall as Ballistar dropped to his belly and lowered himself to the parapet.