David Gemmell. Ironhand’s Daughter
David Gemmell. Ironhand’s Daughter
First Book Of The Hawk Queen
PROLOGUE
SUNLIGHT GLINTED ON steel as the knife blade spun through the air to thud home in the chalk-circled centre of the board. The woman chuckled. ‘You lose again, Ballistar,’ she said.
‘I let you win,’ the dwarf told her. ‘For I am a creature of legend, and my skills are second to none.’ He smiled as he spoke, but there was sadness in his dark eyes and she reached out to cup her hand to his bearded cheek. He leaned in to her touch, twisting his head to kiss her palm.
‘You are the finest of men,’ she said softly, ‘and the gods – if gods there be – have not been kind to you.’
Ballistar did not reply. Glancing up he drank in her beauty, the golden sheen of her skin, the haunting power of her pale blue-grey eyes. At nineteen Sigarni was the most beautiful woman Ballistar had ever seen, tall and slender, full-lipped and firm-breasted. Her only flaw was her close-cropped hair, which shone like silver in the sunlight. It had turned grey in her sixth year, after her parents were slain. The villagers called it the Night of the Slaughterers, and no one would speak of it. Pushing himself to his feet he walked to the fence post, climbing the rail to pull Sigarni’s throwing knife from the board. She watched him stretching out his tiny arms, his stunted fingers unable to curl fully around the hilt of her blade. At last he wrenched it clear, then turned and jumped to the ground. He was no larger than a child of four, yet his head was huge and his face heavily bearded. Ballistar returned her blade and she slid it home into the sheath at her hip. Reaching to her right she lifted a pitcher of cool water and filled two clay goblets, passing one to the dwarf.
Ballistar gave a wide grin as he took it, then slowly passed his tiny hand across the surface of the water. She shook her head. ‘You should not make those gestures, my friend,’ she said seriously. ‘If you were seen by the wrong man, you would be flogged.’
‘I’ve been flogged before. Did I show you my scars?’
‘Many times.’
‘Then I shall not concern myself with fears of the lash,” he said, passing his hand once more over the drink. ‘To the long-dead King over the water,’ he said, lifting the goblet to his lips. A sleek black hound padded into sight. Heavy of shoulder, slim of flanks, she was a hare and rabbit hound, and her speed was legendary. Highland hunting hounds were bred for strength, stamina and obedience. But most of all they had to be fast. None was swifter than Sigarni’s hound. Ballistar laid down his empty goblet and called to her. ‘Here, Lady!’ Her head came up and she loped to him, pushing her long muzzle into his beard, licking at his cheek. ‘Women find me irresistible,’ he said, as he stroked the hound’s ears.
‘I can see why,’ Sigarni told him. ‘You have a gentle touch.’
Ballistar stroked Lady’s flanks and gazed down into her eyes. One eye was doe-brown, the other opal-grey. ‘She has healed well,’ he said, running his finger down the scar on the hound’s cheek.
Sigarni nodded, and Ballistar saw the fresh flaring of anger in her eyes. ‘Bernt is a fool. I should never have allowed him to come. Stupid man.’
‘That stupid man loves you,’ chided Ballistar. ‘As do we all, princess.’
‘Idiot!’ she snapped, but the anger faded from her eyes. ‘You know I have no right to such a title.’
‘Not so, Sigarni. You have the blood of Gandarin in your veins.’
‘Pah! Half the population have his blood. The man was a rutting ram. Gwalchmai told me about him; he said Gandarin could have raised an army of his bastard offspring. Even Bernt probably has a drop or two of Gandarin’s blood.’
‘You should forgive him,’ advised Ballistar. ‘He didn’t mean it.’ At that moment a red hawk swooped low over the clearing, coming to rest on a nearby bow perch. For a moment or two it pranced from foot to foot, then cocked its head and stared at the silver-haired woman. The hound gave a low growl, but slunk back close to Ballistar. Sigarni pulled on a long black gauntlet of polished leather and stood, arm outstretched. The hawk launched itself from the fence and flew to her.