“Give me the message, old man!” demanded the first rider, holding out his hand.
“Not yet, Gaele. There is much to say. You are all riding to your deaths. Sigarni will see you slain.”
“How is it you know my name?” demanded Gaele.
“I know all your names, and your sordid pasts,” sneered Gwalchmai. “That is my Gift—though when I gaze upon your lives it becomes a curse. You buried her deep, Gaele, by the riverbank—but you never thought that the old willow would one day fall . . . and in so doing expose the grave. Worse yet, you left the ring upon her finger, the topaz ring you brought back from Kushir. All the village knows you killed her. Even now a message is on its way asking that you be returned for trial! Fear not, brave boy, for your belly will be opened at the Duane Pass. No hanging for you!”
“Shut up!” screamed Gaele, spurring his horse forward. His sword lashed down, striking the old man on the crown of his head and smashing him from his feet. Blood gushed from the wound but Gwalchmai struggled to his knees.
“You will all die!” he shouted. “The whole army. And the crows will feast on your eyes!” The sword slashed down again and Gwalchmai fell to his face in the dirt. All tension eased from his frame, and he did not feel the blades lance into his body.
All these years, he thought, and at the last I lied. I do not know whether Sigarni will win or lose, but these cowards will carry the tale of my prophecy back to the army, and it will rage like a forest fire through their ranks.
As if from a great distance, Gwalchmai heard his name being called.
“I am coming,” he said.
Gaele dragged his sword clear of the old man’s back, wiping the blade clean on the dead man’s tunic. Stooping, he plucked the parchment from the dead fingers and opened it.
“What does it say?” asked Bello as the others gathered around the corpse.
“You know I can’t read,” snapped Gaele.
Jeraime stepped forward. “Give it to me,” he said. Gaele passed it over and Jeraime scanned the spidery text.
“Well?” demanded Gaele.
Jeraime was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was trembling. “It says, ‘There will be six. One of them a wife-killer. Gaele will strike me down. Jeraime will read my message.’ ”
Jeraime let the parchment fall and backed away to his horse.
“He was a sorcerer,” whispered Bello. “He said we were all going to die. The whole army! Dear God, why did we come here?”
The army made camp near the ruins of Cilfallen: seven thousand men, incorporating four thousand heavily armored foot soldiers, fifteen hundred archers and slingers, five hundred assorted engineers, cooks, foragers, and scouts, and a thousand cavalry. The Baron’s long black tent was erected near the Cilfallen stream, while the cavalry camped to the north, the foot soldiers to the east and west, and other personnel to the south. Leofric set sentry rotas and dispatched scouts to the north; then he returned, weary, to his own tent.
Jakuta Khan was sitting on a canvas-backed chair, sipping fine wine. He smiled as Leofric entered the tent. “Such a long face,” said the sorcerer, “and here you are on the verge of a glorious expedition.”
“I dislike lying to the Baron,” said Leofric, opening a travel chair and seating himself opposite the red-clad man.
“I told you, it was not a lie. I am a merchant—of sorts. Where do you think the first battle will be fought?”
“The Baron believes they will fortify the Duane Pass. We have several contingency plans for such an eventuality. Can you not tell me what they are planning? The fall of the forts has left me out of favor with the Baron. He blames me!”
Jakuta Khan shook his head and adopted a suitably apologetic expression. “My dear Leofric, I would dearly love to help you. But to use my powers while Taliesen is nearby would be costly to me—perhaps fatal. The old man is not without Talent. When he departs I will reach out and, shall we say, observe them. Relax, my boy. Enjoy the wine. It really is very good.”
Leofric sighed. He knew the wine was good; it had cost a small fortune. Accepting a goblet, he sipped the liquid appreciatively. “You said you had tried to capture the woman before, and had failed. Is she charmed? Is this Taliesen as powerful as you?”
“Interesting questions,” said Jakuta Khan, his jovial round face now looking serious and thoughtful. “I have pondered them often. The first attempt was thwarted by Taliesen and a Highlander named Caswallon. They took her as a babe, and hid her . . . here. At that time I did not know of Taliesen’s existence, and therefore had no plan to cope with him. By the time I found her hiding place she was a small child; her foster mother threw her from the cabin window, and she ran to a nearby waterfall. There Caswallon and Taliesen once more intervened, though how they came to be there at that precise time, I do not know. They could not have stopped me, for I was well prepared. Sadly, a third force intervened; I believe it was a spirit. He aided her again—and that cost the life of the dearest of my acolytes. But there it is. That is life and we cannot grumble. But last week I used one of the four great spells. Infallible. Either the victim dies, or the sender. I risked everything. And nothing happened. Curiously, the demon I summoned disappeared as soon as my spell was complete. I can tell you, Leofric, I have spent many a long night since thinking over that problem. I know it is hard for you to imagine, but think of aiming a bow at an enemy and loosing the shaft. As it flies through the air, it disappears. It was like that. The question is, where did the demon go?”
“Did you find an answer?” asked Leofric, intrigued.
“I believe so. I cast the spell just outside Citadel town, inside a circle of ancient stones. They are believed to be Gateways to other worlds. In some way I believe I activated the Gateway. Even so, the creature was completely attuned to Sigarni. Therefore wherever it went, she would have been there also. Mystifying.”
Leofric refilled his goblet. “Does that mean the creature is still looking for her?”
“It is possible. In fact, it is more than likely. The Gateways operate through time as well as space, and even now he is winging his way toward her. What a cheering prospect—I’ll drink to that!”
“Why do you hate her so? Has she done you some harm?”
“Good Heavens, Leofric, I do not hate her. I don’t hate anyone. Such a harmful emotion! I rather admire her, don’t you? But I need what she has. The blood royal! All the great spells require blood royal. And anything can be achieved with it, lead to gold, immortality—of a kind—physical strength. As limitless as the imagination.”
“She’s just a Highland woman, for God’s sake. What royal blood does she carry?”
“What blood? How arrogant of you, Leofric. Your own King does not carry the blood royal, though his grandsons might. Sigarni is the daughter of the great King, Ironhand, who was done to death by assassins centuries ago. He had a fortress near here, colossal and impregnable. Only the foundation stones are left.”
“Then how could she be his daughter?”
“She was carried through a Gateway in time. Do you not listen, my boy?”
“I think the wine must be going to my head,” Leofric admitted. “It all sounds like gibberish.”
“Of course it does,” said Jakuta Khan soothingly, leaning forward and patting the young man’s knee. “But that is the simple answer to your question. Her blood carries power, and I need that power. If there was a way to utilize it without killing her, I would. For I am not fond of death.”
Leofric refilled his glass for the second time. “You are a strange man, Jakuta. Perhaps you are insane. Have you thought of that?”
“You are full of interesting ideas, Leofric. It makes you a joy to be with. Let us examine the premise. Insanity: not being sane. Yet how do we establish sanity? Would we, for example, look to the majority of people and claim them as normal and sane?”
“That seems reasonable,” agreed Leofric.
“But the King is not normal like them, is he? He is an extraordinary m
an, as is the Baron. Does that make them insane?”
“Ah, I see what you are saying,” said Leofric, leaning forward and spilling his wine. “But then normality is not just a question of who farms or who rules. It is surely an ability to discern right from wrong, or good from evil, perhaps.”
“Now the waters become even muddier, my boy. If a farmer sees a neighbor with a bigger section of land, and more wealth, and sets out to murder him, is he evil?”
“Of course.”
“But if a king sets out to destroy his enemy’s kingdom in order to swell his own treasury, then he, by that example, is evil also.”
“Not so!” insisted Leofric, aware he was on dangerous ground. “There may be many reasons why a nation goes to war. Security, for example, protecting one’s borders.”
“Of course, of course,” agreed Jakuta. “And this war? Against an enemy with no army to speak of, a pretend war for the purpose of self-glorification, is this evil?”
“For God’s sake keep your voice down!”
“Sanity is not easy to establish, is it, Leofric? All I know is that one man’s good is another man’s evil. That is the way life works: It favors the rich and the powerful, it always has and I suspect it always will. I am not rich, but I am powerful. I intend to become more powerful.”
“As powerful as this Taliesen?”
“Less and more. He is a curious fellow. He has vast resources, and chooses not to use them. You would like him, I think, Leofric. He knows more about the Gateways than any man alive. Yet he lives like a peasant, and dresses worse. He has a cloak of feathers that has seen better days, and he has allowed his body to become old and wizened. We have not conversed, but I would make a wager that he believes his powers to be a gift from some supreme source, to be used wisely and carefully.”
“Perhaps he is right.”
“Perhaps. I cannot disprove his theories, but I tend toward disbelief. I have conversed with demons who serve a greater demon, and I have known holy men who claim to have spoken with God. Whereas I, more powerful than most, have never felt the need to serve either God or the Devil, and neither of them has seen fit to approach me.”
“How will you know when Taliesen has left the Highlands?”
“Oh, I will know.”
In the morning Leofric felt that he had a caged horse inside his skull, trying to kick its way to freedom. His head pounded and the bright sunlight induced a feeling of nausea. Jakuta Khan, who seemed untouched by the excesses of the night before, sat quietly, watching the dawn. Leofric stumbled from the tent and made his way to the stream, where he stripped off his tunic and bathed in the clear, cold water.
Wet and shivering, he dressed and walked to the Baron’s tent. As he had expected the Baron was already awake, and was sitting at his travel desk examining maps. Leofric entered and bowed. “Good morning, my lord. I trust you slept well?”
The Baron rubbed at the black leather eye patch he wore. “I have not slept well since that damned bird tore out my eye. What news?”
“The scouts are not in yet, sir. Shall I fetch you breakfast?”
“Not yet. How do you think they will defend the pass?” The Baron spread out a series of maps on the rug at his feet. Leofric crouched down and studied them.
“They have few choices, sir. My spies tell me the Pallides had pledged themselves to Sigarni. That brings the total of her force to just over three thousand—not quite enough, I would imagine, to defend the eastern slope. They would be too thinly stretched and we could outflank them. The western slope is shorter, but that would mean leaving a gap in their eastern defenses, through which a force of cavalry could ride, creating havoc in their villages. Of course, they may try to defend both slopes, or they may, if desperate, choose to occupy the flat-topped hill at the north end of the pass. The slopes are steep and a shield-ring would be hard to penetrate.”
“In what way do you see this as a desperate move?” inquired the Baron.
“We would surround them, and there would be no means of escape. They would be gambling all on being able to hold us, wear us down, then counterattack.”
“I agree,” said the Baron. “So which do you believe they will choose?”
“I am not a warrior, my lord, and I do not fully understand their mentality. I would, however, think it likely they will try to occupy the western slope. It is wooded, and covered with boulders. We would be forced to attack many times to discover the areas in which they are weak.”
“Aye, they’ll try to be canny,” said the Baron. “That black traitor Asmidir will see to that. Their line will be of varying strength, at its most powerful where an attack is likely.” He stabbed his forefinger at a point on the first map. “Here, where the slope is not so steep, and here, where the tree line thins. We will attack both simultaneously with the infantry. But the cavalry will strike here!”
“The highest ground? Is that wise, my lord?”
“Asmidir knows the way we fight, Leofric. Therefore we change. If I am wrong we will lose a few score cavalry, but the outcome will remain the same. What of supplies?”
Leofric rubbed at his eyes, praying that his head would stop pounding. “I commandeered as many wagons as were available, my lord, and they should start arriving by late this afternoon. The men will be on short rations until we take the Pallides villages and the cattle there.”
“We have your negligence to thank for that,” snapped the Baron. “I shall not swiftly forget the fall of your impregnable forts. If you were not my cousin, I would have had you flayed alive.”
“I am very grateful to you, sir,” said Leofric dutifully. The sound of horsemen approaching allowed him to avoid further embarrassment and he rose swiftly and moved outside. The first of the scout troops were returning. Lightly armed on fast horses, they could move swiftly across the countryside. All were veterans of many campaigns, and had traveled with the Census Taker in the autumn in order to accustom themselves to the land.
The lead rider dismounted, the other four riding off toward the cook-fires. The man saluted.
“Your report?” demanded Leofric.
“No sign of the enemy, sir. We killed one old man who ran at us with an ancient broadsword, and we spotted some foresters heading south, but as ordered, we avoided contact. The Loda fort has been plundered and the walls part dismantled. We rode to the Pallides fort, and this has seen similar treatment.”
“Any activity at Duane?”
“None that I could see, sir, and I thought it best not to push too far. We’ll head out again after the men have eaten and acquired fresh mounts.”
“Good. We will be moving on to the Loda fort within the hour. When you return, make your report to me there.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Baron appeared and called out to the man as he was about to mount his horse.
“You, how many foresters were heading south?”
“Around a score, sir. Maybe a few more hidden by the trees.”
“Not an attacking force, then?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. I think they may have been hunting. I expect food is scarce about now.”
“That’s all,” said the Baron, moving alongside Leofric as the man saluted and turned away. “How many men do you have guarding the supply wagons?”
“Two troops, my lord, and a section of infantrymen.”
“Send back another fifty cavalrymen. I don’t think they are hunting deer, they are seeking to cut our supply line.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that immediately.”
“And give the orders to take some of them alive for questioning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now you can order me that breakfast,” said the Baron, returning to his tent.
Asmidir fought to keep himself calm. “Sigarni, listen to me; you cannot continue to risk everything on a single throw of the dice. We have enough men now to hold the western slope. We can wear them down, harry their flanks, disrupt their supply lines. There is simply no need for us to take
unnecessary chances.”
“I hear what you say, Asmidir, and I will consider it,” she said. “Leave me now.”
She watched him depart, knowing his turmoil. He was a soldier, a strategist, and his hatred of the Outlanders had seeped into his bones. He had traveled far to find an enemy capable of inflicting savage defeats on his enemies, and now he felt it was all at risk. As indeed it was . . .
Fell had stood by silently during the exchange, and she turned to him. “You are slow to offer your opinions, general?”
He laughed. “I’m no general. I am a forester and proud of it. What he says makes sense to me, but who am I to argue with the great Battle Queen of the Highlands?”
“Stop it, Fell,” she said, irritated. “Just tell me what you think.”
“The man understands war—and he knows the ways of the Outlanders. The western slope must be defended, for it leads into our heartland. He knows it. You know it. The Outlanders know it.”
“Exactly my point,” said Sigarni. “We all know where the dangers lie—therefore it is time to think of something different. And, by God, I shall!” She sat in silence for a few moments. “Any sign of Gwalchmai yet?” she asked.
“No. I think he headed home.”
“To die,” she said softly.
“Aye. His time had come, he said. He told me he was due to die in the spring—even knew the face of the soldier who would do the deed.”
“He did not say good-bye,” she said. “He took me in when the beasts slew my . . . parents, and he cherished me throughout my childhood. Why would he leave without saying good-bye?”
“He knew the day and the hour, Sigarni. He left soon after you set off for the Crown. He spoke to Taliesen just before he departed; maybe the wizard can tell you more.”
“And what of Ballistar?”
Fell shook his head. “Nothing yet, but Kollarin is seeking him.”
“It broke his heart, Fell. He wanted you to see him as he was in that other world, strong and straight. He even bedded a woman there. It is often said that what is never had cannot be missed. I think that is true. All his life he has yearned to be like us. Then it happened, and he experienced a joy he could not have dreamed of. The return was a living nightmare for him.”
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