He did not look at the waiting party, but strode directly to a chair opposite the King of Zir-vak and sat down.
'Well, Nashan,' he said at last, as his twenty-man escort fanned out behind him, 'for what purpose do you call this meeting?'
The King told him of Sigarni's arrival, and of the miracle in the rose garden. The enemy leader was less than impressed.
'Today you destroyed a few siege towers, but they proved their worth, did they not? You were hard pressed to stop them. I have now ordered fifty to be built, then Zir-vak will fall. You think me a fool, cousin? You seek to stave off defeat with this nonsense?'
'It is all nonsense, Reva. We fight a war our grandfathers began. And for what? For the honour of our Houses. Where is the honour in what we do?'
'I will find honour,' stormed Reva, 'when I have your head impaled on a lance over the gates of Zir-vak.'
'Then you may have it,' said the King. 'You may take it now. If that will end the war and bring the sun back to our lands, I will die gladly. Is that all you desire?'
'The surrender of all your forces, and the opening of the gates,' demanded Reva.
'The gates are already open,' pointed out the King. 'And we will fight no more.'
'No!' screamed Pasan-Yol. 'You cannot betray us all.'
'It is not betrayal, Pasan, it is a new beginning.'
The young man lurched to his feet, a dagger in his hand. Before anyone could stop him he had rammed the blade into his father's breast. The King groaned and fell against Sigarni. Ironhand, standing behind the King, reached over and grabbed Pasan-Yol by the throat, dragging him away.
Ballistar threw himself at the young man, wrenching the knife from his grasp.
Sigarni lowered the dying King to the ground. 'Reva!' he called.
The enemy King knelt by his side. 'I spoke the truth, cousin. This war is killing the land and it must end. Not just for you and I, and our Houses, but for the land itself. You now have my head, and my city. Let the hatred pass away with my death.'
For a moment Reva said nothing, then he sighed. 'It will be as you say, Nashan. I too have a need to see the sun.' Pulling off his gauntlet, Reva took Nashan's hand.
A man cried out and pointed upwards. A full moon had appeared in the night sky, and the glimmering of distant stars could be clearly seen. 'It begins,' whispered Nashan.
And he died.
Sigarni closed the King's eyes and stood. 'A sad end to a fine man,' she said, turning and walking away. Ironhand released Pasan-Yol, who stood staring at the moon and stars. Then he ran to his father's body, hurling himself across it and sobbing.
Sigarni, Ballistar and Ironhand returned to the museum. Ironhand thundered his fist against the crystal case, which exploded into fragments. Reaching inside, he drew out the Crown and passed it to Sigarni.
'It is time to go,' she said, opening her pack and stowing the Crown inside.
Vast numbers of people thronged the streets, staring up at the sky as the trio made their slow way down to the river.There were several boats moored there and Sigarni chose a small craft, with two oars. Loosing it from its moorings, they climbed aboard, and set out on the journey downstream.
Sigarni sat staring back at the receding city. Ballistar put his arm around her shoulder. 'Why so sad, Sigarni? You saved them.'
'I liked him,' she said. 'He was a good man.'
'But there is something else, I think?' he probed.
She nodded. 'We stopped one war, and now we have the means to pursue another. Is our land any different from this one? How does High Druin feel about the slaughter that is coming?'
'Our fight is not about honour, or a stolen wife,' said Ballistar. 'We fight for survival against a pitiless enemy. There is a difference.'
'Is there? My hatred is all used up, Balli. When they raped me, I wanted to see every Outlander slain. That is not what I desire any more.'
Later the following day, in bright sunlight, the three stood at the circle of stones. Sigarni unwound the bandage on her forearm and used it to press her blood against each of the six stones.
Then the three of them stood at the centre, holding hands and waiting.
'I'm anticipating that steak with great pleasure,' said Ironhand.
'And I can't wait to see their faces when they see what I have become,' said Ballistar happily.
Light grew around them and Sigarni felt dizziness swamp her. Then Taliesen appeared before her, and a cold winter breeze touched her face.
'Did you get it?' the wizard asked.
Sigarni did not answer. In her right hand lay the tiny bone fragment of Ironhand, while clinging to her left was Ballistar the Dwarf, tears flowing from his eyes as he stood, dressed in her outsize leggings.
*
Like all Highlanders, Gwalchmai loved the spring. Life in the mountains was always harsh, and people lived with the constant knowledge that death waited like a monster beyond the firelight.
Winter fell upon the mountains like a mythical beast, robbing the land of crops, of food, sucking the heat from the soil and from the bones of Man.
But spring, with her promise of sunshine and plenty, was a season to be loved. The burst of colour that appeared on the hillsides as the first flowers pushed their way through the cold earth, the singing of birds in the trees, the fragrant blossom on bush and branch - all these things spoke of life.
The ache in Gwalchmai's back had faded away in the morning sunlight, as he sat in the old chair on the porch of his cabin. I almost feel young again, he thought happily. A faint touch of regret whispered across his mind, and he opened the parchment he had held folded in his hand. It had been so long since he had written anything that the words seemed spidery and over-large, like a child's. Still, it was legible.
Time for the last of the mead, he thought. Leaning to his right, he lifted the jug and removed the stopper. Tipping it, he filled his mouth with the sweet liquor and rolled it over his tongue. He had hidden the mead the year Sigarni was brought to him, which had been a vintage year. Gwalchmai smiled at the memory. Taliesen had walked into the clearing, leading the child by the hand. In that moment Gwalchmai had seen the vision of his death. That night, as the child slept, he had taken two jugs and hidden them in the loft, ready for this day.
This day . ..
The old man pushed himself to his feet and stretched his back. The joints creaked and cracked like tinder twigs. Drawing in a deep breath, he swirled the last of the liquor in the jug. Less than half a cup left, he realized. Shall I save it until they come? He thought about it for a moment -
then drained the jug. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he sank back to the chair.
The sound of horses' hooves on the hard-packed ground made him start and panic flickered within his breast. He had waited so long for this moment - and now he was afraid, fearful of the long journey into the dark. His mouth was dry, and he regretted the last swallow of mead.
'Calm yourself, old fool,' he said, aloud. Rising, he strolled out into the wide yard and waited for the horsemen.
There were six scouts, clad in iron helms and baked leather breastplates. They saw him and drew their weapons, fanning out around him in a semi-circle. 'Good morning, my brave boys!' said Gwalchmai.
The riders edged their horses closer, while scanning the surrounding trees. 'I am alone, boys. I have been waiting for you. I have a message here that you may read,' he added, waving the scrap of parchment.
'Who are you, old man?' asked a rider, heeling his horse forward.
Gwalchmai chuckled. 'I am the reader of souls, the speaker of truths, the voice of the slain to come. They found the body, you know, back in your village. Upon your return they intend to hang you. But do not let it concern you - you will not return'