Ironhand's Daughter

by David Gemmell

  The temperature in the cave plummeted. Something moved behind her . . . instantly Sigarni leaped out and ran to the right, toward a gentle, tree-covered slope. She did not look back, keeping her eyes to the trail. Halfway up the slope she suddenly twisted to the right once more, cutting behind a snow-covered screen of low bushes. The moonlight was bright and she stared at the snow, and the footprints she had left behind.

  Alongside them now she saw other footprints, huge and appearing as if by magic. They were moving inexorably toward her at great speed. Drawing back the bowstring, she aimed high and released the shaft. It traveled no more than twenty feet before stopping suddenly, half of its length disappearing. A terrible screech sounded, and she saw dark blood pumping out around the arrow. She loosed a second. This too thudded home into her invisible assailant. “Come on, you whoreson!” shouted Sigarni. The creature roared and charged, much faster now, smashing aside the screen of bushes. An invisible leg punched against a hidden length of twine, dislodging the slip ring and springing the toggle. Released from tension, a spear-thick sapling whiplashed back into a vertical position. The three sharpened stakes bound to it, each more than a foot long, plunged into the creature’s chest. It thrashed and screamed. The sapling was snapped, but the stakes remained embedded in the invisible flesh. Then it fell and the roaring faded to a low moan. This too died away.

  Sigarni did not wait for the death throes, and was already running as the trap was sprung. Angling across the fresh-fallen snow she ran up the slope, cutting to the left until she was just below the crest of the hill. There were no trees or bushes close by. Dropping to her knees, she notched an arrow and waited.

  No more than a few heartbeats passed before she saw first one, then two sets of footprints being stamped into the snow. Anger flared in her, fueling her determination. The closet of the creatures struck the first trip wire. As the trigger bar was dislodged the rough-made longbow hidden beneath a snow-covered lattice of thin branches released its deadly missile. Four feet long, the sharpened stick had been barbed all along its length. It slammed into the first creature at what to Sigarni appeared to be lower belly height. She had no time to revel in the strike, for the second creature was almost upon her.

  The second hidden bow loosed its deadly shaft—and missed!

  With no time to shoot, Sigarni dropped the bow and took a running dive down the hill, landing on her shoulder and rolling headlong toward the lake. Halfway down she felt her saber snap, then belt and scabbard tore free. Sigarni staggered to her feet. There was one more trap, but it was some way to the left of the cave.

  Too far.

  Spinning around, she saw the terrifying footprints closing in on her right. A low sound came from the left. Sigarni ducked down—just as talons ripped into her shoulder. The silver chain mail she wore stopped her flesh from being ripped from her bone, but even so she was picked up and hurled ten feet through the air, landing hard on the snow-covered ice pool.

  Both creatures now made their way after her.

  Sigarni pushed herself upright and began to run. She had one hope now—perhaps the ice at the pool’s center would not support the weight of the beasts pursuing her.

  The creatures were closing on her and Sigarni could hear the pounding of their taloned feet upon the ice. The saber was gone, but she still had her knife.

  Damned if I’ll die running, she thought. Skidding to a stop, she drew the hunting knife and spun to face them. The swirling snow highlighted their bulk, plastering against the skin of their chests and bellies. In the moonlight they appeared as hairless bears. Flipping the knife and taking the blade in her hand, “Bite on this, you ugly bastard!” she yelled, hurling the weapon with all her might. The point lanced home in the belly of the first; she saw its head go back and a terrible cry of pain and rage echoed in the mountains.

  The creature took two steps forward, then fell to the ice. The last of them closed in on Sigarni . . . and stopped.

  An eerie glow was enveloping it now, faint and golden. It was indeed a hairless bear, though the head was round, the ears and nose humanoid. The beast’s eyes were large, and slitted like a great cat. Malevolence shone in the creature’s golden gaze as it stood blinking in the strange light.

  “Kill her!” shouted the man in red, beginning to run across the ice. “Kill her!”

  The noise caused the creature to jerk its head. It blinked, then focused again on Sigarni. Thin lips drew back to expose a set of sharp teeth. Long arms came up, talons gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Step aside, girl,” came a calm voice. Sigarni scrambled back.

  The glowing figure of Ironhand was standing before the creature now, a two-handed sword held ready. He was translucent and shimmering, and Sigarni could not believe such an insubstantial figure could hold back the power of the beast. As the creature growled and leaped, the golden-lit sword flashed out, cleaving through the huge chest. There was no blood, and no visible wound. But the demon tottered back and then sank into the ice.

  The red-garbed wizard looked horror-struck as the last of the beasts fell. Ironhand swung to him. “It’s been a long time, Jakuta,” he said.

  “You can’t hurt me. You might be able to slay a demon’s soul—but you cannot harm the living!”

  “Indeed I cannot. Nor will I have to. Is this not the third time you have tried to steal Sigarni’s soul? And where is your familiar?”

  The wizard blanched. Slowly he drew a wickedly curved dagger. “There is still time,” he said. “She cannot stand against me.”

  “There is no time, Jakuta,” Ironhand told him. “I can see them now!”

  The wizard spun. Heavy footprints were thumping down in the snow. Scores of them . . .

  Dropping his knife, the wizard began to run. Sigarni saw him make fewer than twenty paces before his body was lifted into the air. His arms and legs were torn from him and his screams were awful to hear. They were cut off abruptly as his head rolled to the ice.

  “You should have called upon me,” Ironhand told the stunned woman.

  “I needed to fight them alone,” she said.

  “I would expect no less from Ironhand’s daughter,” he told her.

  Just as the dawn light crept over the mountains a tiny pocket of darkness opened like a black teardrop on the hillside overlooking the frozen falls. Taliesen stepped from it, leading a blindfolded Ballistar. As his feet touched the snow-covered earth Ballistar collapsed to the ground, trembling. Tearing loose the blindfold, he blinked in the light. Taliesen gave a dry chuckle. “I told you the way would not be to your liking,” he said.

  “Sweet Heaven,” whispered the dwarf. “What kind of beasts made the noises I heard?”

  “You do not wish to know,” said Taliesen. “Now let us find Sigarni, for I am already growing cold.”

  “Wait!” ordered the dwarf, pushing himself to his feet and brushing snow from his leggings.

  “What now?”

  “There are traps set,” Ballistar told him. “She did not come here to hide—she came to fight. Now give me a moment to gather my wits, and I will lead you to her.”

  “There may be no need,” said Taliesen softly, pointing to the ice-covered pool. Ballistar saw the patches of blood smeared across the ice. He and Taliesen moved carefully down the slope. Then the dwarf spotted what appeared to be two boulders close to the center of the pool. “Atrolls,” said Taliesen. “Creatures of the First Pit.”

  A severed human leg was half buried in snow. Taliesen tugged it clear. The boot was still in place. “Not hers,” said the wizard. “That is promising.” Ballistar backed away from the grisly find—and stepped on a human hand.

  “Dear God, what happened here?” he said.

  “Aha!” hissed Taliesen, finding the head of Jakuta Khan. Lifting it by the ears, he brought it up until he could look into the grey corpse face. “Well, well,” he said. “Come to me, Jakuta!”

  The corpse eyes flipped open, and blinked twice. The mouth began to move, but there were no sounds
. “No good trying to speak, my boy,” said Taliesen with a cruel smile. “You have no throat. I take it I called you back from your torment. It must be so very terrible. Are they still hunting you? Of course they are.” Ballistar saw tears form in the sunken eyes. “Well, I can help you there, Jakuta. Would you prefer your spirit to live for a while in this hapless skull, free from terror? You would?” Gently he laid the head upon the ice, then spoke in a harsh tongue unknown to Ballistar. The ice around the severed head began to melt away. Taliesen knelt by it. “As long as there is still flesh upon the skull you will be safe here, Jakuta. But when the fishes have stripped it away, you will return to the pit.” The ice gave, the head falling into the cold water beneath as Taliesen stood.

  “How was it still alive?” asked Ballistar.

  “I called him back. I fear his stay will be brief.”

  “It was terribly cruel.”

  Taliesen laughed. “Cruel? You have no idea of what he suffered where he was. He called upon the Creatures of the Pit for help—and failed them. Now he dwells with them in perpetual torment. I have given him a short respite from that.”

  “At the bottom of an ice lake. How kind you are!” sneered Ballistar.

  “I never claimed to be kind. I am certainly not disposed toward mercy for such as he. Jakuta Khan caused the death of Ironhand and destroyed a dynasty that might have changed the course of our history. He did it for profit, for greed. Now he pays. You want me to grieve for him, dwarf?”

  Ballistar nodded. “Yes, that would be good. For in what way are you different from him, Taliesen? You delight in his suffering and you add to his torment. Is that not evil?”

  Taliesen’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, dwarf, to lecture me? I have fought evil for ten times your lifetime. Even now in my own land the ancestors of these Outlanders are waging a war that will see hundreds, perhaps thousands, of my people die. What pity I have is for them. And there is nothing that I would not do to save them. Now, find me the woman!”

  Ballistar swung away from him and walked back across the ice. With care he climbed the slope before the cave, feeling his way forward. “For the sake of Heaven!” hissed Taliesen. “Why the delay? I am freezing to death out here!” Ballistar ignored him. Some way to the left he halted, his hands burrowing into the snow. “What now?” asked Taliesen, exasperated.

  There was a sharp hiss, then a sapling reared upright, whiplashing back and forth. Three sharpened stakes were bound to it. “It is a pig spear-trap,” said Ballistar, “but angled to strike high. The twine is connected to a ring at the end of the trip wire . . .”

  “Yes, yes, I need no instruction. Are there more?”

  “We will see,” said Ballistar. The cave was no more than forty feet away, yet it took the two men almost half an hour to reach it. Taliesen was the first inside, where Sigarni was sleeping by a dying fire. The wizard sat down beside her.

  Satisfied that she was alive, Ballistar walked away. “Where are you going?”

  “There may be more traps. I don’t want some unsuspecting traveler to spring one.”

  Outside the dwarf took several deep breaths. His relief was almost palpable: Sigarni was alive! Ballistar stood for a moment scanning the area. To the right he could see a huge grey corpse, two arrows in its chest and three stakes in its back. One trap. On the hillside there was another body.

  Ballistar trudged out toward it.

  For two hours he searched the land around the pool. There were no more traps. Returning to the cave he found Sigarni still asleep, with the wizard dozing beside her. Taliesen awoke as he entered. “Four creatures were killed,” said the dwarf, squatting by the fire and extending his hands to the heat. “One had a dagger in its heart, one was slain by a pig spear-trap, the third by a lance arrow. There was no mark on the fourth.”

  “She did well,” agreed the sorcerer.

  “How did she pierce their skin?” asked Ballistar. “I could not pull her dagger free. It was as if it was embedded in stone.”

  “It was,” said Taliesen. “You have seen the corpses of men stiffen in death?” Ballistar nodded. “With the Atrolls it is many times as powerful. The corpses turn grey, like rocks, then within a few days they putrefy and disappear. Even the bones rot.”

  “Will more come?”

  “It is unlikely, though not impossible. Jakuta pursued Sigarni through the Gateways of Time. He had to, for his soul was pledged against her death. I know of no other sorcerer hunting her.”

  “Why did he seek her?”

  “Perhaps she will tell you that when she wakes,” said Taliesen. “And now I am tired. I shall sleep. Be so kind as to fetch wood and keep the fire blazing.”

  Sigarni stood on the battlements, staring out over the flanks of the mountains and the distant peak of High Druin. Ironhand stood beside her, his huge hand on her shoulder. Moonlight glistened on his braided silver beard, and shone from his silver chain mail and breastplate. She felt power radiating from him, encompassing her, bathing her in its warmth. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “You mean you don’t recognize it?” he said, mystified. “I’m sure that I have created it perfectly. Perhaps you need to see it from the outside?”

  “I know this area,” she told him. “There is nothing here save a few wooded hills.”

  “That cannot be!” he said, his hand of red iron sweeping out to encompass the hills. “This is my stronghold of Al-Druin. It was here that I fought the Four Armies, and slew their champion, Grayle.” Sigarni saw the sadness in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Ironhand. I have traveled these hills all my life. There are some broken stones that show there was once a large dwelling place here. But it is long gone. And not even the eldest of the Loda know what stood here.”

  “Ah, well,” he said, turning from the parapet, “it is . . . was . . . merely stone. And at least you can see it now. Come inside and we will talk. I have a fire prepared; it will offer no heat, but is pretty to look upon.” The scene shimmered and Sigarni found herself in a rectangular room, velvet curtains covering the high windows. A log fire blazed in the hearth, but as Ironhand predicted, it burned without heat.

  “How is it done?” she asked, running her hand through the flames.

  “Here all is illusion. We are spirits, you and I.” The giant warrior, clad now in a simple tunic of green, with soft leather trews, sat himself down in a deep chair. Sigarni seated herself on the bearskin rug before the fire. “It took a long time to learn how to do all this,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the room. “I do not know how long, for there is no sense of the passage of time. To me it was an eternity. Now it is the only home I know—save for the pool by the Falls where my body lies.” Sigarni sat silently, aware that his sorrow was great. “Ironhand’s Falls. It is a beautiful place,” he continued, forcing a smile. “A man could choose far worse for his death. During the centuries I have watched the trees grow and die in that wondrous cycle of birth, growth, and death. People too—hunters, wanderers, tinkers, clansmen, foreign soldiers. And I saw you, Sigarni, diving from the edge of the Falls, straight as an arrow. I was there when you found my bones. But I could not speak, for you were not ready to listen. You can have no idea how good it is to speak to another soul.”

  “Are there no others here?” she asked.

  “No, not now. This is my world, the silent kingdom of Ironhand. Others have come, demons and evil spirits. I slew them, and now the others avoid my . . . lands.”

  “You must be lonely.”

  He nodded. “I hope you will never know how much. I would give anything—accept the darkness and solitude of the true grave for just one hour in your mother’s company. It is not yet to be. I can accept that.”

  “My mother?” asked Sigarni. “You knew her?”

  “Did you not listen to me back at the pool? You are my daughter, Sigarni. Your mother was my wife, Elarine. I see her in you, the same strength of purpose, the same pride.”

  “But you lived hundreds and hundreds of years a
go. I can’t be your daughter! It is not possible! I knew my mother and father—lived with them until they were slain.”

  “For all my faults, Sigarni, I was never a liar. Not in life, and certainly not in death. You were born in the last year of my life, when enemies I thought were friends were meeting in secret with plans to destroy me. When I did learn of their plans I urged Elarine to run, to cross the water. She would not.” He smiled at the memory. “ ‘We will fight them,’ she said. ‘We will conquer once more.’ I tried. My wizards were slain, all mystic protection lost to me. That was the work of Jakuta Khan. I tried to reach Elarine, but the assassins trapped me at the Falls. I died there. Elarine died at Kashar. I learned this from Taliesen, when he summoned my spirit to the Falls. You were a babe then. He and Caswallon carried you through a Gateway and left you with your new parents: a fine couple, unable to have children of their own. Taliesen disguised you, changing the color of your hair.” Reaching out, he stroked her head. “All our family are born with silver hair. We took it as a sign of greatness. Perhaps that was arrogance. Perhaps not. We did become kings, after all. And not one foreign enemy ever brought us low.”

  “How did my mother die?” asked Sigarni. “Did Taliesen tell you this?”

  “Aye, he told me. She had a saber in her hand, the blood of the enemy staining it. And as she died she cursed them.” He rose and turned away from her, a tall man of immense power and even stronger grief. His head was bowed and Sigarni went to him, taking his hand in hers.

  “Why are you here?” asked Sigarni tenderly. “Why not in paradise, or wherever it is that heroes go?”

  He smiled. “I had to wait, Sigarni. I made a promise, a sacred oath, that I would come again when my people needed me. I have felt the desire to quit this place many times, seen the far light shining. But I will not travel the swans’ path until the time is right.”

  “Perhaps she waits for you there, Elarine.”

  “Aye, I have thought of that often. But I never made a promise I did not fight to keep. Now that promise is upon me. For you are the heir to Ironhand, you are the hope of the Highlands.”