Tovi led the clansman to the back room, laid a fire and asked his wife to bring them food and drink, and to keep the noise from the children to as low an ebb as was possible with seven youngsters ranging from the ages of twelve down to three.
'Your courtesy is most welcome,' said Tovi uncomfortably, as the tall young man stood in the centre of the room, declining a chair. 'But as you will already have noticed, the clan Loda no longer operates under the old rules. We are too close to the Lowlands, and our traditions have suffered the most from the conquest. The title of Hunt Lord is outlawed, and we are ruled by lawyers appointed by the Baron Ranulph. We have become a frightened people, Loran. There are fewer than three thousand of us now, spread all around the flanks of High Druin. Seventeen villages of which my own, Cilfallen, is the largest. There are no fighting men now, saving perhaps Fell and his foresters. And they report to the Baron's captain of the Watch. I fear, young man, that the old ways are as dead and buried as my comrades on Golden Moor.' Tovi sniffed loudly, and found himself unable to meet the clansman's steady stare. 'So, let us dispense with the formalities. Sit you down and tell me why you have come.'
Loran removed his leaf-green cloak and laid it over the back of a padded chair. Then he sat and stared into the fire for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. 'We of the Pallides,' he said at last, 'suffered great losses at Golden. But we are far back into the mountains and the old ways have survived better than here. Our young men are still trained to fight, and retain their pride. As you say, you are close to the Lowlands and the armies of the Outlands, and so I make this point without criticism. As to my visit, my Hunt Lord wishes me to tell you that the Gifted Ones of the Pallides have been experiencing dreams of blood. It is their belief that a new war is looming. They have seen blood-wolves upon the Highlands, and heard the cries of the dying. They have seen the Red Moon, and heard the wail of the Bai-sheen. My Hunt Lord wishes to know if your own Gifted Ones have dreamt these things.'
'We have only one man with the Gift, Loran. Once a warrior - and a mighty one - he now travels the mountains in a cart drawn by hounds. He is a drunkard and his dreams are not to be relied upon.'
The door opened and Tovi's wife entered, carrying a wooden tray on which sat two tankards of ale and a plate of bread and beef. Laying it down on the table she took one glance at her husband, smiled wearily and left without a word. From beyond the open doorway the sound of children playing could be heard, but the noise was cut off once more as the door closed behind her.
'Drunkard or no,' said Loran, 'has he dreamed?'
Tovi nodded. 'He says a great leader is coming, a warrior of the line of Ironhand. But it is nonsense, Loran. The Outlanders have five thousand men patrolling the Lowlands. Five thousand! If there was the merest hint of rebellion they could treble that number in a matter of weeks. All their wars are won. They have armies sitting idle.'
'That is precisely what troubles my Hunt Lord,' said Loran. 'A warrior race with no wars to fight?
What can they do? Either they will turn on themselves like mad dogs, or they will find an enemy.
What your drunkard says about a great leader is echoed by our own Gifted Ones, and also by the Seer of the Farlain. No one knows this leader's name, nor his clan. There is a mist shrouding him.
Yet we must find him, Lord Tovi. All indications are that the Outlanders will lead an invasion force here in the spring. We have less than seven months to prepare.'
'To prepare?' stormed Tovi. 'For what, pray? Fell and his foresters number around sixty men. I could raise perhaps another two hundred, and some of those would either be greybeards or children.
Prepare? If they come, we die. It is that simple. The Loda were never the largest of the clans.
The Pallides and the Farlain always outnumbered us. Still do. And you have the high passes that can be defended, and the hidden valleys to hide your cattle and goats. What do we have? I was a warrior, boy. I was a captain. I know how to use land in war. If I had ten thousand men I couldn't protect my own villages. You want to talk of preparation? Talk of pleading with the Baron, of sending an entreaty to the Outland King, of dropping to our bended knees and begging for life. The first I'll accede to, the second I'll put my name to, and the third I'll never do! But they are our only options.'
Loran shook his head. 'I don't believe that to be true. If we can find the leader to unite us, we can formulate a strategy. The people of Loda could leave their homes and draw back into the deeper Highlands. We have the autumn before us and could move food and supplies further back into the mountains. If you agree, I can arrange for temporary homes to be erected in Pallides lands.'
Tovi shook his head. 'There must be another way, Loran. There must be! We cannot fight them with any hope of success. And what could they gain from invading the Highlands? There is no gold here, no plunder. Would you declare war to capture a few cattle herds?'
'No, I wouldn't,' agreed Loran. 'But armies are like swords. They must be kept sharp and in use.
The Outlanders will, as I have said, need to find some enemy.'
Tovi sighed and rose from his chair, pausing before the fire and staring into the flames. 'I am not the Hunt Lord, man. I am the baker. I don't have power, and I don't have resources. I don't even have the will.'
'Damn you, man!' stormed Loran, rising from his chair. 'Have you lost so much? I met a whore on the road with more fire in her belly than you.' Tovi's face went white and he lunged forward, his large hands grabbing the front of Loran's pale green tunic, dragging the younger man from his feet.
'How dare you?' hissed Tovi. 'I stood on Golden Moor, my sword dripping Outland blood. I watched my brothers cut down, my land swallowed by the enemy. Where were you when I fought my battles?
I'll tell you - you were sucking on your mother's tit! I have lost much, boy, but don't presume to insult me.'
'My apologies, Hunt Lord,' said Loran softly, holding to Tovi's angry gaze. There was no hint of weakness in the mild manner in which Loran spoke, and Tovi's eyes narrowed.
'You did that on purpose, Pallides. You think to fire my blood through anger." Tovi released the younger man, then nodded. 'And you were right.' Clumsily he tried to brush the creases from Loran's tunic. 'Damn it all, you are right. Live under the yoke long enough and you start to feel like an ox.' He laughed suddenly, the sound harsh. 'I do not know how gifted are your Gifted Ones, Loran, but we will lose nothing by at least sending supplies back into the high country. And tonight I will call a meeting of the Elders to discuss the rest of your proposal. You are welcome to stay here the night and meet them.'
'No,' the younger man told him. 'I want to see the drunkard you spoke of.'
'It is a long walk and it will soon be dusk.'
'Then I'd best finish this meal and be on my way.' Loran tore a chunk from the bread and bit off the crust as Tovi returned to his seat.
'You mentioned a whore? We have only one whore in Cilfallen, and she rarely leaves her house.'
'A young silver-haired woman. She offered herself to me without even asking a price.'
Tovi suddenly chuckled. 'You should consider yourself most fortunate that you did not call her a whore to her face.'
'How do you know I did not?'
'The last man who called her such a name had his jaw broken in three places. It took two men to pull Sigarni away from him; she was about to cut his tongue out.' The smile faded. 'She is the last of the true blood line of Gandarin. Any son of hers would be the undisputed heir to the crown. And it will never happen."
'She is barren?'
'Aye. She was due to wed Fell, the Forest Captain. Old Gwalch, our Gifted One, proclaimed her infertile. She is no whore, Loran. True she has enjoyed many lovers, but she picks only men she likes, and there is no price to pay. She is a woman of fire and iron, that one, and well liked here.'