‘Thank you, Tovi,’ she said, her voice tender. ‘For this – and for the cakes.’ Rising smoothly, she moved to the door. ‘Be at the log hall at dawn.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I need you there,’ she said.
10
TORGAN’S MOOD WAS not enhanced by the news from his scouts that the Loda woman was riding towards the town. At first the people of the Farlain had talked of little else – how strong she was, now noble she looked, how brave. Torgan had fast become heartily sick of it. That was why he had led his rash raid on the Outlanders, to prove that he was the natural leader of the clans. It might have worked too, save for the craven tactics of the enemy, drawing back and then loosing cavalry upon him. Had they stood and fought like men he was sure the Farlain warriors would have cut them to pieces. After that he had led two spectacularly unsuccessful attacks on their fort. Another forty men had been struck by arrows; seven had died.
Now the Farlain were talking about Sigarni once more, how she had supposedly killed demons sent against her, and how successful she had been against the Outlanders at Cilfallen. God, could they not see what she was? Just a Loda whore in pretty armour! There was little doubt in Torgan’s mind that the battle at Cilfallen had been masterminded by the black-skinned bastard who rode with her. Rode with her? Rode her, more like!
Now she was coming here again.
This time I’ll make her humiliation complete, he thought.
His wife, Layelia, entered the room, bearing a cup of sweet tisane. He took it without a word and sipped it. Layelia did not depart, but stood staring at him. He looked up into her large, soft brown eyes. ‘What?’ he asked, gruffly.
‘She is coming,’ said his wife.
‘I know that. I’ll deal with her.’
‘Are you sure you are in the right?’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he snapped. She flinched, which pleased him. A woman should know her place.
‘I’ve heard talk that she is the chosen one. Carela told me …”
‘I’m not interested in women’s gossip, Layelia. And I’ve heard enough!’
For a moment he thought she would stand her ground, but she bowed her head and left him alone once more. Torgan ran his hand over his close-cropped back hair. The bald spot was growing on the crown and his widow’s peak was becoming more pronounced by the day. He swore softly. Why should he alone of his family lose his hair? His father had a shock of white hair, like a lion’s mane, until the day he died at eighty.
Torgan threw his cloak around his shoulders and stepped out into the winter sunlight. It was bright, the day clear and cold. He could see the Loda woman in the distance. The black man was not with her, but there were a dozen or so riders following her as she made her way down the long slope. More people were on the streets than was normal for this time of day. They were making their way to the square, ready to hear the whore’s words.
Torgan strode out, looking to neither left nor right. His chair had been set at the centre of the square, his lieutenants were already standing beside it. This time there was no Neren, or Calias, or Pimali. All had fallen in the battle.
I never would have acted so fast had the woman not inflamed my anger, he thought. It’s her fault they are dead.
By the time Sigarni and her followers rode into the square, there were more than two hundred Farlain gathered to witness the exchange. She did not dismount, but sat her horse staring at Torgan.
‘Well, woman?’ he called out. ‘What now? Why are you here?’
‘Perhaps I just wanted to look at a fool,’ she said, her words colder than the wind. ‘Perhaps I wondered whether the Outlanders had made you a general in return for the number of clansmen you killed for them.’
Torgan was outraged. ‘How dare you?’ he shouted, surging to his feet. ‘I did not come here to listen to your insults.’