Ironhand chuckled. 'You are tall enough, boy. What now, daughter?'
She pointed to the twin peaks. 'We make for the city and find the Crown.'
*
Yos-shiel had been a Black River trader for more than two hundred and seventy years, and remembered with great regret the ending of all that was beautiful in Yur-vale. He had been celebrating his twenty fourth birthday when the first mountain had erupted, spewing molten lava down the hillside, destroying the vineyards and the corn-fields.
It had been a bitter summer. First the war, and then the natural upheavals which hid the sun from the sky. Year by year it had grown steadily worse. Yos-shiel pushed his thin fingers through his thick white hair, and stared out of the window at the quay, where men were loading supplies on to one of the three barges he would send down to Zir-vak after dusk. Smoked fish and timber: the only two items of any worth in Yur-vale. Yos-shiel sold them for gold and water, in the vain hope that one day gold would be a viable currency once more.
The old man rose and stretched. From his window he saw a single ray of sunshine to the south and his heart swelled. How long since there had been a break in the clouds? A year? Two? several of the loaders saw it also, and all ceased their work.
A young man, seeing Yos-shiel at the window, called out, 'Is it a sign, master? Is the sun returning?'
The pillar of light vanished. 'I do not look for signs any more,' he said softly.
Stepping out into the dull light, he counted the barrels of fish. 'There should be fifty,' he said.
A huge man wearing a red shirt embroidered with gold moved into sight. 'Two were spoiled,' he said, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder. Yos-shiel looked into the man's small, round eyes. He knew Cris-yen was lying, but the man was a thug and, he suspected, a killer. The two guards Yos-shiel had appointed to supervise the loads had mysteriously disappeared. He feared them dead.
'Very well, Cris-yen, carry on.' With a contemptuous smile the big man swung away.
'I never should have employed him,' thought Yos-shiel. 'He and his brothers will strip me of all I have. I will be lucky to escape with my life.' Glancing up at the iron sky, he suddenly smiled.
What is life worth now, he wondered? Would I miss it?
Soldiers manned the ramparts of the stockade and Yos-shiel considered asking them for help in dealing with Cris-yen. The supplies he sent were vital to the city, and his plea deserved to be heard. But then deserve has nothing to do with it, he realized. Cris-yen had made friends with the officers, giving them presents. If I go to them and they turn against me my death will come all the sooner, he thought.
Strolling to the edge of the quay, he stared down into the inky depths of the river. No fish swam there now. The fleets were forced to put out far to sea in order to make their catches.
The barge from the city came into sight, its cargo of barrels lashed to the deck. Fresh drinking water, cleaned in the charcoal filters of Zir-vak, and fresh meat for the soldiers.
Yos-shiel wandered back to his small office and continued working on his ledgers.
Just before noon he heard a commotion from outside, and saw his workers moving towards the stockade gates. Yos-shiel closed the books, cleaned the quill pen, and followed them. The gates were open and three people had entered the stockade, two men and a woman. The woman was silver-haired and strikingly beautiful. Beside her was a giant in an ill-fitting green tunic, tied at the waist with what looked like an old bow-string; he too was silver-haired. The last of the trio was a young man, dressed in green troos and a shirt too small for him.
'Where are you from?' asked Cris-yen, pushing to the front of the crowd and standing before the woman, his hands on his hips.
'South,' she said. 'We're looking for passage into the city.'
'And how will you pay me?'
The woman produced a small gold coin and Cris-yen laughed. 'That's no good here, my pretty; it doesn't put food in mouths any longer. I'll tell you what I'll do, you and me will go to the warehouse and we'll arrange something.'
'We'll find passage elsewhere,' she said, turning away. One of Cris-yen's brothers stepped forward, grabbing her arm.
'There's nowhere else, you'd better listen to him,' he said.
'Take your hand off my arm,' said the woman icily.
The man laughed. 'Or what?'
The woman ducked her head, hammering her brow into his nose. The man released her and staggered back but she leapt, her foot cracking against his chin and catapulting him back into the crowd.
Yos-shiel saw the soldiers watching from the ramparts but they made no move to interfere.
'That was an assault!' yelled Cris-yen. 'Take her!' Several men rushed forward. The woman downed the first with a straight left. The smaller of her companions rushed in and threw himself at the others; he and several men tumbled to the ground.
'That's enough!' bellowed the silver-bearded giant. The sound boomed around the stockade and all activity ceased as he stepped in close to Cris-yen. 'Well,' he said, 'you seem to be the lead bull of the pox-ridden herd. Perhaps you and I should decide the issue.'
Cris-yen said nothing, but his huge fist hammered into the man's chin. The giant took the blow and did not move. He merely grinned. 'By God, son, if that is the best you have to offer you are in serious trouble,' he said. Cris-yen tried to throw a left, whereupon the giant blocked it with his right and slapped Cris-yen open-handed across the cheek. The sound was like snapping timber. Cris-yen staggered to his right - then, head down, rushed the giant. The charge was met by a right cross that smashed Cris-yen's jaw and spun him from his feet. He hit the ground face down, twitched once and was still.
'A chin like crystal,' muttered the giant. 'Any more for the fray?' No one moved. The man walked to the unconscious Cris-yen and calmly removed the embroidered red shirt. Pulling off his own tunic, he donned the garment. 'A little tight,' he said, 'but it will do.' Without hurry he stripped Cris-yen naked and clothed himself in the man's leather leggings and black boots. 'That feels better," he said. 'Now who is in charge here?'
Yos-shiel stepped from the crowd. 'I am sir.'
'Then it is with you we should discuss passage?'
'It is. And you are welcome to travel free of any charges.'
'Good. That is most hospitable. I am Ironhand, this is my daughter Sigarni and her friend, Ballistar.'
'I can see why you earned your name,' said Yos-shiel.
*
Yos-shiel offered his guests wine and food, and if he was offended by their refusal to eat, he did not show it. Ballistar liked the little old man, and listened with relish as he told of his troubles with Cris-yen.
'I don't believe he will cause you more trouble for a while yet,' said Ironhand, 'but if you'll take my advice you'll promote a man to take his place immediately, and then dismiss all of his henchmen.'
'I shall,' said Yos-shiel, 'although I would be grateful if you could stay beside me while I do the deed.'
'Gladly,' promised Ironhand.
'I was amazed that Cris-yen fell so swiftly to you. I have seen him break men's arms, and cudgel them down with hammer blows from his fists.'
'They breed them tough where we come from,' said Ballistar.
'And where is that?' asked Yos-shiel.
'South,' answered Ballistar vaguely, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
'We are from another world, Yos-shiel,' said Sigarni, moving to sit on the desk opposite the old man. 'We passed through a magical Gateway.'
The trader smiled, waiting for the end of the joke. When it didn't come his smile vanished. 'You
... are wizards?'
'No,' said Sigarni, 'but a wizard sent us. We have come to reclaim something that was lost in this world, and return it to our own.'