‘I could not say where in relation to Yur-vale,’ she told him, her voice deep, almost husky. ‘We were sent through a magical Gateway.’
The King picked up the letter. ‘So Yos-shiel tells me. I must say I find it hard to believe. Could it be that you are spies, sent by the enemy?’
A squad of guards moved in behind the newcomers, ‘You wish them arrested, Majesty?’ asked Pasan-Yol.
‘Not yet,’ the King told the young guardsman. ‘They interest me. So tell me, woman, why you are here.’
‘To bring back the sun,’ she said. The silence in the room grew as the listeners took in her words.
‘You are a witch?’ asked the King.
‘I am.’
‘Sorcery has long been considered a crime here, punishable by death.’
The woman smiled. ‘Whereas stupidity has obviously not. Do you wish to see the sun shine over Yur-vale?’
The King leaned back in his chair. ‘Let us suppose – merely for the sake of argument – that you could achieve this … this miracle. What do you desire in return?’
‘I think the letter from Yos-shiel will answer that,’ she told him.
‘You know of that – and yet you come here? Was that wise, witch?’
She shrugged. ‘The wisdom of any course can only be judged by the outcome. I offer you the sun for a piece of metal. You make whatever choice seems fitting.’
‘What do you think, Pasan?’ asked the King.
The young guardsman gave a derisory laugh. ‘I think they are spies, Father. Let me interrogate them.’
‘Yet another numbskull,’ said Ironhand to Sigarni, in the same tone of voice. ‘You think they are all victims of in-breeding?’ The guardsman’s sword snaked from its scabbard. ‘Put it away, boy,’ said Ironhand, ‘before I take it away from you and swat your backside.’ The guardsman took a deep breath and dropped into a fighting position with sword extended.
‘That’s enough!’ said the King.’Put up your blade, Pasan!’
‘You heard what he said, Father!’
‘Aye, I did,’ answered the King, wearily. ‘So let us not be too swift to prove his point.’
‘I think a little proofwould not go amiss,’ put in Sigarni to the King. ‘Do you have a garden here?’
‘Nothing grows in Zir-vak,’ he said. ‘But, yes, there was a garden. I do not go there now, for the sight of it saddens me.”
‘Take me there,’ she said, ‘and I will show you something to lift your heart.’
The King stood and moved to the window, where the siege towers were inching ever closer. He swung back to the woman. ‘Very well, I will humour you. But know this, if there is no miracle I shall not be best pleased – and the charge of sorcery will be laid against you.’
‘If there is no miracle,’ said the woman, ‘then the charge will be hard to prove.’
For the first time the King smiled. ‘Let us go to the garden,’ he said.
The garden was more than two hundred feet long, and had been designed around a series of winding white-paved pathways. There were three fountains, none of them in use, and the flower-beds were covered with thick grey ash. Scores of dead trees lined the marble walls at the outer edges of the garden, and the area was devoid of any life.
Sigarni felt a moment of fear as she surveyed the landscape. What if her reasoning was flawed?
‘I’m looking forward to this,’ said Ironhand, with a wink.
‘Well,’ said the King, ‘we are here, and you promised a miracle.’ He was standing with his arms folded, his son beside him with hand on sword. The six guards stood nervously by.
Sigarni approached the King. ‘May I borrow your dagger, my lord?’ she asked.
‘What nonsense is this?’ stormed the young man at his side.
Sigarni frowned, then raised her arm before him. ‘Make a shallow cut, here,’ she said, pointing to her forearm.
Pasan-yol drew his dagger, and drew the blade slowly across her skin. Blood welled, and Sigarni walked to a line of dead bushes, kneeling down before the first and holding her arm above the dry branches. Slowly drops of blood dripped to the wood.