Taliesen had warned that this was a world of strong magic, and that it would affect them far more than the inhabitants of Yur-vale. What had he said about his fellow sorcerer? He had eaten pork and it had swelled inside him? Sigarni shuddered. Like the bone of Ironhand, the flesh had reconstituted itself in his belly and he had been ripped to pieces from within by a live and panic-stricken boar.
Reaching for the water goblet, she winced as the cold metal edge pushed at the still healing cut on her palm.
And instantly she had the answer. On the night before the journey she had held Ironhand’s bone. On the journey itself through the Gateway she had gripped Ballistar’s hand.
My blood touched them. The bow also – but not the arrows!
Sigarni rose from her seat and walked upstairs to her room. The bed was deep and soft, but she did not sleep for several hours. When she awoke Ironhand was sitting beside the bed.
‘I hope your dreams were good ones,’ he said. ‘I had none that I can recall,” she told him. ‘You?’ ‘I didn’t sleep a wink,’ he said with a grin. ‘But I could eat a horse.’ ‘That would not be advisable. The horse would eat you.’ He looked at her quizzically and she explained about Taliesen’s warning. ‘Well, then, we had better find the Crown and head back to the Highlands. I want to taste a good steak again, and smell the pines.’ ‘First we must find the palace, or wherever it is that the King resides.’
‘You think he will just give you a national treasure?’ ‘We’ll see.’
The King stared from the window of his eighth-floor study, and watched as the enemy siege engines slowly approached the city’s north wall. There were seven of them, each around eighty feet high, clad in sheets of hammered iron and impervious to flame arrows. When they reached the walls, which they would within the hour, the fighting would be hard. Close to the wall the towers would lower their drawbridges, and fighting men would pour out on to the ramparts.
His Guards would meet them, blade to blade, hacking and slaying, buying time for the engineers to hurl fire bombs through the apertures. The iron cladding outside would offer no protection to the scores of men waiting on the siege tower stairs.
You are coming to your doom, he told himself. He glanced to his left, where his ceremonial armour was laid out on a bench of oak. You are getting too old to fight, he thought. And what will happen to Zir-vak when you fall in battle? Neither of his sons had yet reached one hundred – and even if they had, he thought with regret, they could not shoulder the responsibilities of command. Perhaps I have been too easy on them.
Stepping back from the window he moved to his desk, lifting a bronze-rimmed oval mirror. The face that peered back at him was grey with fatigue, the eyes dull. Dropping the mirror, he picked up the letter that had arrived the previous evening from the merchant Yos-shiel. Three strangers had come to the city, intent on stealing the Paradise Helm. They would find a fine surprise waiting for them!
A servant entered the room and bowed deeply. ‘Majesty, there is a woman who wishes to see you.’
‘Tell her I have no time today. Let her make her entreaty to Pasan-Yol!’
‘With respect, Majesty, I feel you may wish to speak with the woman. She says she wishes to see you in connection with the Paradise Helm – and she matches the description you gave to the soldiers.’
The King turned. ‘Is she alone?’
‘No, her companions are with her, Majesty – a white-haired giant and a young man.’
‘Are they armed?’
‘They gave their weapons to the Royal Sentries.’
Intrigued, the King moved to his desk. ‘Show them in – and fetch Pasan-Yol.’
Bowing once more, the servant departed.
As Yos-shiel had reported, the woman was very beautiful, and moved with a grace that stirred the King’s blood. ‘I understand you claim to be from another land,’ he said. ‘Where might that be?’