Ironhand's Daughter

by David Gemmell

  “You look tired, Sigarni. Perhaps you should rest for a while.”

  “No,” she told him, “I need to see Taliesen before he leaves. Will you fetch him?”

  “And then you will rest?”

  She nodded. As Fell left the cabin Sigarni felt the truth of his words. Her bones ached with weariness, and her mind seemed to float from problem to problem, never settling. How long since you slept? she asked herself. Three days? Four?

  Taliesen entered. “The enemy is six thousand strong,” he said, “and they will be here in two days. I wish you good fortune, Sigarni. It all rests now on your skill, and the courage of your men.”

  “I wish you could stay, Taliesen. Your powers would be more than useful.”

  “I shall return when the battle is over.”

  “You are assuming that we will conquer?”

  “No,” he said sadly. “I am making no assumptions. I have seen many futures, Sigarni. In some you win, in others you die.”

  “They cannot all be true,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, they can,” he said softly. “I long ago learned that there are many worlds identical to our own. When we travel between them, all things are possible. If you are dead when I return I will travel more Gateways, seeking a Sigarni who survived.”

  “Why not seek her now—and then tell me how she did it?”

  He smiled. “I like you, Battle Queen. Truly. And now I must go. Have you spoken to Ironhand since he lost his second life?”

  “Yes. His hurt is considerable, but he is still with me,” she said, touching the pouch hanging at her throat.

  “I am sorry for the dwarf. I did not know that he would be so affected beyond the Gate.”

  “Kollarin will find him. Ballistar is strong; he will recover. Go in peace, Taliesen.”

  The old man bowed once more and walked to the door. Sigarni stretched herself out on the narrow pallet bed.

  And drifted into the bliss of a dreamless sleep.

  When she awoke Ironhand was sitting beside her. The old King was clad once more in his silver armor, with a great winged helm upon his head, his beard braided. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

  “Three hours. Fell is outside the cabin and is allowing no one in.”

  “Now is the time for decisions,” she said, sitting up and rubbing the sand of sleep from her eyes. “And it frightens me.”

  “As it should. A little fear is like yeast to the spirit, encouraging it to grow strong.”

  “What if I make a mistake now?”

  “Then all die,” he told her bluntly.

  She took a deep, calming breath. “What advice can you offer me?”

  “You are the Queen of the Highlands, my daughter, and I am proud of you. But now you must learn the one terrible lesson of monarchy. That you are alone. The decision is yours. Win or lose, you carry the weight. For what it is worth, however, I will offer one thought—seek out the wife of Torgan.”

  “You know her?”

  “I was with you when you spoke last to her. She made you smile, and she made you cry. Both were good for you.”

  “Then you cannot say which defensive plan would be the best for us? I was relying on you, Ironhand. You have fought so many battles. You won them all.”

  “No, I didn’t. Wish I had. I was always too headstrong. I just won the important ones. Seek out the woman, then make a decision. Stick to it, and be firm in your leadership. If you have doubts, hide them. You are the Battle Queen. They will all look to you, now and always.”

  “You will be with me on the battlefield?”

  “Aye, then I will seek Elarine and the fields of glory.”

  The image shimmered and vanished. Sigarni rose and called out to Fell, who entered the room and knelt beside her. “You were talking in your sleep,” he said. “I could not make out the words.”

  “I am going for a walk. Will you join me?”

  “I am at your command,” he told her.

  “I am asking you as a friend, Fell,” she told him, holding out her hand. For a moment only he stared at it, then their fingers touched. She looked into his deep brown eyes, and watched his smile grow.

  “I love you, Sigarni,” he said, his voice thickening. “Always did, always will. Welcome home.”

  Together they walked from the cabin and down the hillside. The snow was melting fast, and spring flowers were everywhere. “Is Torgan still here?” she asked.

  “As far as I know. He and his wife have taken lodging with Fyon Sharp-axe. Are you going to give him a command?”

  “Yes,” she said, “under you.”

  “Why? The man insulted you—and all of us.”

  “But he’s a Highlander, Fell, and a brave man. He deserves a second chance—for his wife and family if for nothing else.”

  “Why the change, Sigarni? What has happened to you?”

  “Perhaps it is High Druin,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps he spoke to me. When I went through the Gateway to that strange land I could almost feel its emotions. Yet the people there could not. I think it is the same here. The land cannot abide hatred, Fell. And I have no place left in my heart for it. Tomorrow we fight the Outlanders—because we must. We will destroy them if we can—but only because we must. Torgan was wrong, but he believed himself right and acted with the best interests of his clan at heart. Now he suffers shame. I shall end that.”

  As they approached the end of the tree line Sigarni turned toward Fell and curled her arms around his neck. “I hated you when you left me, and when I heard about the death of your wife I was glad. It shames me to admit, and I feel sorrow now.”

  Dipping his head he kissed her tenderly. “This is all I ever wanted, Sigarni. I know that now.”

  “Leave me here, Fell. I will see you later—at the meeting hall. There I will announce our battle plan.”

  “And after that?”

  “We will go home. Together.”

  Sigarni walked down the winding lane to the home of Fyon Sharp-axe. Loran, Torgan, and the huge warrior Mereth were sitting in the sunshine with the Hunt Lord. All rose as Sigarni approached.

  “You are welcome, lady,” said Fyon with a short bow.

  Loran fetched a chair for her, and they sat. Torgan remained standing, then turned toward the house. “Wait,” said Sigarni, “I would value your counsel.”

  “Do you wish to shame me again?” he asked, standing tall, his eyes angry.

  “No. I want you to be at the meeting tonight. Tomorrow you will command the Farlain wing, under Fell’s leadership.”

  Torgan stood stock-still, and she could see the anger replaced by wariness. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “I need strong men in positions of authority. You may decline if you choose.”

  “No! I accept.”

  “Good. The meeting begins at dusk. Is Layelia in the house?”

  “Yes,” said Torgan, still stunned. “Shall I fetch her?”

  “No. I will find her.” Sigarni rose and left the men to their conversation. As she passed Torgan he called out to her.

  “Wait!” Dropping to one knee, he bowed his head. “My sword and my life,” he said.

  It was an hour before dusk as Sigarni set out from the Pallides village. The afternoon was clear and bright, the sun dappling the new leaves on the trees. She felt better than she had in days, her mind cleansed of doubt. Whatever the outcome now, she felt that her plan was the best chance for Highland success.

  Breaking into a run, she raced up the track, her body reveling in the exertion. As she ran she noticed a mist spreading out from the undergrowth. At first she ignored it, but it thickened suddenly, swirling around her. Sigarni slowed. The trees were indistinct now, mere faint shadows in the grey. Glancing up she saw that the mist was also above her, blocking the sun.

  Unafraid, yet with growing concern, she walked on, heading upward. The trail was no longer beneath her feet, but if she continued climbing she would arrive at the encampment. A line of bushes appea
red directly before her and she tried to skirt them, moving to the left. The undergrowth was thicker here, the ground flat.

  Her irritation grew, but she pushed on.

  After a while she came to a gap in the mist, a small hollow inside a ring of oak trees. The mist clung to the outer ring, and rose up over the dip to form a grey dome. There was a man sitting on the grass at the center of the hollow, portly and friendly of face. Looking up, he smiled broadly.

  “Welcome, Sigarni. At last we meet in perfect circumstances.”

  “I saw you die at the Falls, ripped to pieces,” she said, her hand closing around the hilt of her dagger.

  “Happily that was an acolyte of mine. I say happily, though I miss him dreadfully. Happily for me, I should have said.”

  “You will not find today so happy,” she told him, drawing the blade and advancing toward him. Her legs felt suddenly heavy, as if she were wading through knee-deep mud. The knife was a terrible weight in her hand . . . it dropped slowly toward her side, then tumbled from her trembling fingers.

  “You are quite correct,” he said, “I do not find this a happy experience. You have done well among your barbarian friends, and were you to live, I believe you could cause the Outlanders considerable embarrassment. Sadly you must die—would that it were different.” Pushing himself to his feet, he drew a slender curved blade and advanced toward her. Sigarni fought to move, but could not. The knife came up and he took the neck of her tunic between the pudgy fingers of his left hand and cut away the cloth, exposing her breasts. “I apologize for this apparently unseemly behavior,” he said amiably. “I have no intention of soiling your virtue. It is just that I need to make the correct incision for the removal of your heart.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked him. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “As I recall, my dear, you used to hunt hares for sport. What had they ever done to you? We are not dealing here in petty squabbles or feuds. I am a sorcerer and a student of the universe. It is well known among my peers that certain sacrifices are considerably more powerful than others. A man, for example, will provide more power than . . . a hare. But the blood royal! Ah now, that is a priceless commodity.” Taking a small chunk of charcoal from his pocket, he drew a line between her breasts and along the rib line on her left side.

  “Ironhand!” she cried.

  “Ah,” he said, stepping back, “so he was the mysterious force. Fascinating! Sadly, however, my dear, I have established a mystic wall around this hollow. No spirit can enter here, so save your breath. Your friend will not hear you either, for the mist dampens all sound. Now what I am about to do is remove your heart. There will be no pain. I am not a savage, and your death will be swift.”

  “Give me until tomorrow,” she begged him. “Let me save my people first!”

  He chuckled. “And you, of course, will give me your word to return?”

  “Yes, I will. I swear it.”

  “Ah, but you know what you hunters say—a hare in the bag is worth ten in the burrow. Let us merely hope that your officers will perform ably without you. Now, do you have a God you wish to make a final prayer to?”

  “Yes,” she said, silently praying for the return of Taliesen.

  “Then make it brief, my dear, for I wish to return to Leofric’s tent. He has a fine stock of wine which I am looking forward to savoring. This country air does not suit me. I was born to exist within well-stocked cities. Let me know when you are finished, Sigarni. And do not waste your time seeking to contact Taliesen. He has gone back to his own time and is too far away to be of assistance—even could he hear your thoughts, which he cannot. I am afraid, dear lady, you are all alone. There are no creatures of myth or legend to help you now.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, I am sure,” he said. The knife rose and Jakuta Khan leaned forward, then arched back with a cry. He staggered several paces, his hand scrabbling at his back, where a bone-handled knife jutted from his kidneys. Sigarni felt the spell holding her dissipate and fall away. She lunged for her dagger and sprang at the sorcerer, ramming her blade into his fat belly and ripping it up toward his lungs. His scream was high-pitched and pain-filled as he sank to the ground. “Oh, you have wounded me!” he cried.

  Ballistar ran forward to stand beside Sigarni and Jakuta Khan looked up at him, his eyes already misting in death. “A dwarf,” he whispered, surprised. “I have been killed by a dwarf!”

  He turned his dying eyes upon Sigarni. “It is . . . not over. I sent a . . . demon. He is lost somewhere in time. But one day . . . when you look into his eyes . . . remember me!” And he slumped facedown on the grass.

  “Your arrival was most timely,” she said, kneeling beside the dwarf and kissing his bearded cheek.

  “Gwalchmai appeared to me. Told me to be here. I was ready to kill myself, but he said I would be needed, that I could help the clans.”

  “Oh, Balli, if you had died my heart would have been broken. Come, let us go to the meeting!”

  “I suggest you dress yourself first,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fell lay awake, Sigarni’s sleeping body pressed closely against him and her head upon his shoulder. Lady lay at Sigarni’s left, her black flanks gleaming in the firelight. The coals in the iron brazier were burning low now, and the cabin was bathed in a gentle red glow.

  Fell had stood at the back of the meeting hall and watched the faces of her officers as she outlined her battle plans. At first they had been shocked, but they had listened to her arguments, delivered quietly but forcefully, and had offered no objections. Each of the officers had been given a task—save for Fell.

  He had returned to the cabin with Sigarni, and their love-making had been tender and joyous. No words spoken throughout, but both experiencing an intensity that led to tears. Fell had never known anything like it; he felt both complete and fulfilled. In all his adult life he had dreamed of moments like this, to be at one with the object of his love.

  The night was quiet, and the entire world consisted of nothing more than the four walls he could see and the glowing fire that warmed the cabin. Tomorrow the great battle would begin and, God willing, after that he and Sigarni could begin a new life together. Once the Baron was defeated, they could send emissaries to the Outland King and end a war neither side had truly wanted. Then he and Sigarni could build a home near the Falls.

  She moaned in her sleep and he stroked her silver hair. She awoke and smiled sleepily. “You should be asleep,” she said.

  “I am too happy for sleep,” he told her. Her hand stroked down his warm belly and arousal flared instantly.

  “Then I shall tire you,” she said, sliding her body over his. Her mouth tasted sweet and he smelled the perfume of her hair, felt the warmth of her body.

  At last the passion subsided and he sighed. “Are you ready for sleep now?” she whispered into his ear.

  “You held them, Sigarni,” he said proudly. “All those warriors and greybeards! They stood and listened and they believed. I believe! It is so hard to think of you now as the huntress who lived alone and sold her furs. It is as if you were always waiting to be a queen. Even Bakris Tooth-gone speaks of you with awe. Where did you send him, by the way?”

  “South,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “To cut their supply lines. God, Fell, I wish this was over. I don’t want to be a Battle Queen.”

  “We can end it tomorrow,” he said. “Then we’ll build a house. You know the flat land to the west of the Falls? I’ve often thought that it would make a splendid home. A little back from the pool, so that the noise of the Falls would be filtered by the willows. There’s good grazing land close by, and I know Grame will loan me some breed cattle.”

  “It sounds . . . wonderful,” she told him.

  “There’s good hunting too.”

  At the sound of their voices Lady awoke and pushed herself between them. Sigarni stroked the hound’s ears. “
It is a fine dream,” said Sigarni. “Now let’s get some rest.”

  “What do you mean, a dream?” Fell asked.

  “The war will not be over with one battle,” she said sadly. “If we win, the Outlanders will see it as a blow to their pride. They will have no alternative but to send another army north.”

  “But it makes no sense!”

  “War makes no sense, Fell. Let’s talk about it all tomorrow.”

  “Aye, we’ll do that,” he said. “I will be proud to stand beside you.”

  “You won’t be beside me, Fell. I need you and your men to take up a position away from the battle, on the right. They will break through on the western slope, and head for the encampments. They must be stopped. Destroyed. Hold the right, Fell. Do it for me!”

  “Oh, God!” he whispered, his stomach knotting.

  “What is it?” she asked, concern in her voice.

  “Nothing,” he assured her. “It is all right, just a little cramp in my leg. You are right, Sigarni. We should sleep now. Come, put your head on my shoulder.”

  Sigarni sat up and pushed Lady away. “Back to your blanket, you hussy!” she said. “He is mine alone!”

  Settling down beside him with her arm across his chest, she fell asleep almost immediately. But for Fell there would be no rest that night. He remembered the night at Gwalchmai’s cabin, and the drunken words of the Dreamer.

  “But I know what I know, Fell. I know you’ll live for her. And I know you’ll die for her. ‘Hold the right, Fell. Do it for me!’ she’ll say. And they’ll fall on you with their swords of fire, and their lances of pain, and their arrows of farewell. Will you hold, Fell, when she asks you?” Gwalch looked up, his eyes bleary. “I wish I was young again, Fell. I’d stand alongside you. By God, I’d even take that arrow for you.”

  No house by the Falls. No golden future in the sunshine on the mountains. This one night is all there is, he realized. He felt the panic in the pit of his belly, and in the palpitations of his heart. Fell so wanted to wake Sigarni again, to tell her of Gwalchmai’s prophecy. Yet he did not.