The Ironhand's Daughter

'The sunlight,' said the old man. 'That was you, in the south. What did you do?'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Sigarni. 'You mean the break in the clouds?"

'Yes. It's been years since we've seen the sun. Can you make it come at will?'

'I did nothing, Yos-shiel. It was merely my bow. The wood began to sprout leaves and root itself in the soil. Then the sun shone.'

'We had wizards once - a whole temple of them. They supervised the building of the Great Library in Zir-vak. They were blamed when the sun went away and sacrificed on the high altar. The King promised that with their deaths the mountains would stop spewing fire, but it didn't happen. In the last two hundred years there have been other prophets who claimed that blood sacrifice would appease the gods, and they would relent of their punishment. But they have not. We are a dying people, Sigarni; there is no hope for us.'

'And yet amid all this turmoil you fight a war,' she said. 'Why?'

'It was originally over a woman. The King's grandfather fell in love with a noblewoman from the east, but she was betrothed to the King of Kal-vak. Despite her pleas her father made her honour her promise, and she was sent to Kal-vak. Our King was furious - and swore he would free her. We went to war. Our troops attacked Kal-vak and were repulsed. Then the first of the mountains exploded. Each side blamed the other for the catastrophe, claiming that treachery had alienated the gods against us. At first it wasn't too terrible; the summers got shorter, and less warm, but crops still grew. But gradually the sky turned darker, and fine ash was deposited over the farmlands. Food grew scarce, save for the fish. But even these are swimming far from shore now.'

'Yet the war goes on,' said Ironhand. 'How is it that neither side has won? You said the battle was begun by the King's grandfather. How long ago was that?'

'A little more than two hundred and forty years. Most of the principal players are now dead though the war goes on for other reasons. People need to eat.'

'They eat the corpses!' whispered Ballistar.

'It is a little like pork, I am told,' said Yos-shiel. 'I have not eaten it myself, but when the time comes I don't doubt that I shall. Life is always sweet- even in the Hell of Yur-vale.' The old man sighed. 'But tell me, my friend, what is the object you seek? I may be of some assistance.'

'The Crown of Alwen,' said Sigarni.

'I know of no such object.'

'It is a winged helm, bright silver, embossed with gold.'

'The Paradise Helm,' said Yos-shiel, his eyes widening. 'You cannot take that! It is all that gives the people hope. Every twenty-five years it shows us a vision of Paradise, waterfalls and green trees, and a multitude standing around it, happy and smiling. That is our most prized artefact.'

Sigarni laid her hand on the old man's shoulders. 'What you see is my people standing by the Alwen Falls. Every quarter of a century the Crown reappears there, shimmering over the water. We all gather to see it, and you in turn, it seems, gather to see us. Tell me, Yos-shiel, of the last time the sun shone.'

'It was on the day of the old King's burial. I was there as they laid him on the funeral ship and sent it blazing on the river. The clouds broke and the sun shone for a full day. It was magnificent, there was singing and dancing in the streets."

'And before that?'

'I don't remember exactly. Wait... yes, I do. Twelve years ago, at the Feast of Athling. We saw the dawn on the following day, the sun huge and red. That lasted only minutes.'

'What happened on the next feast day?'

'You don't understand, the Feast of Athling corresponds with the public display of the Paradise Helm. It happens only four times a century.'

For some time Sigarni questioned the old man and soon Ballistar became bored with the dialogue. He wandered to the window, leaned on the sill and watched the barges being loaded.

At last the conversation died away and Ironhand broke in. 'Best bring your men in for dismissal, old fellow,' he said, 'for we have a hankering to be on one of those barges when it pulls away.'

'Yes, I will,' said Yos-shiel. 'Thank you.'

An hour later the three sat at the stern of a forty-foot barge as the crew poled it steadily up-river. The vessel was fortified by hinged wooden flaps along both rails, which could be raised to offer protection from an assault. Huge rocks had been left at intervals along both sides of the deck, ready to be hurled down on any boat that sought to impede the barge's progress. Armed men sat at the prow, and all of the barge workers carried long knives.

'So we find the temple and steal the Crown?' said Ballistar. 'It would be best to enter it at night.'

Sigarni rose, stretched and walked away down the port side of the vessel. A soldier smiled at her.

'Stay with your friends,' he said. 'Soon it will be so dark you will not be able to see your hand before your face.'

She thanked him and returned to the others, seating herself on a coil of rope. The light faded fast, and soon the barge was engulfed in a darkness so complete that Sigarni felt an edge of panic.

'It's like being dead,' whispered Ballistar. Sigarni felt his hand brush against her arm; she took hold of it and squeezed his fingers.

'No, it isn't,' said Ironhand. 'Death is not dark; it is bright and vile.'

'How can they see to steer?' Ballistar asked.

'Quiet back there,' came a voice. 'We'll see the city within an hour.'

There was little sensation of movement within the all-encompassing blackness and Sigarni found herself thinking back to her days with Fell, when they had hunted together and made love before the fire. He had been able to read her moods so well. There were times when she had wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, stroking his skin. On such occasions he would hug her and kiss her fondly. On other nights, when the fey mood was upon her she would desire to make love with passion and fire. Always he responded. I was good for you too, Fell, she thought. I knew you, your thoughts and your dreams.

The first kiss had been shared on the slopes of High Druin, on a bright summer's day. They had raced over the four miles from Goring's Rock to the White Stream. Fell was faster and stronger, but his staying power could not match Sigarni's; she had doggedly clung to his trail, always keeping him in sight until the last, long rise. Then, as he faltered, she drew ori her reserves and passed him.

At the White Stream he had sunk back to his haunches and fought for breath. Sigarni brought him water in a hastily made cup of bark.

'You are a wonder, Sigarni,' he said at last, taking her hand and kissing it.

She sat beside him, looping her arm around his neck. 'My poor Fell! Is your pride damaged beyond repair?'

He looked at her quizzically. 'Why would my pride be hurt? I did my best.'

'I liked it when you kissed my hand,' she said, changing the subject.

'Then I shall do it again.'

'I would like it more if you kissed my mouth.'

He smiled then. 'You are very forward for a Highland girl - I shall put it down to Gwalchmai's poor teaching. I don't mind losing a race to a woman like you, but it is not meet for you to do the seducing.'

'Why?'

'Because I sat up through most of the night trying to think of a way to get you to kiss me. It makes a mockery of all my planning.'

Sigarni lay back on the soft grass. 'Not at all. Go ahead. Show me your strategy.'

He chuckled. 'Too late. I think the fox is already in the henhouse.'

'Even so, I would like to hear it.'

Rolling to his elbow he lay beside her, looking down. 'I wanted to tell you that I have never known anyone like you, and that when I am with you I am happier than at any other time. You are the delight in my life, Sigarni. Now and always.'