‘Perhaps he was right,’ said Sigarni. ‘Maybe they were tougher.’
Loran nodded. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But I was a Marshal at last year’s games. The caber toss from Mereth Sharp-eye broke all records, and Mereth is only five inches above six feet tall. If they were all so strong and fast in those days, why do their records show them to be slower and less powerful than we are today?’
They crossed the last hill before Cilfallen and Sigarni paused. ‘That is my home,’ she said, pointing to the cabin by the stream. ‘You need to follow this road south.’
He bowed and, taking her hand, kissed the palm. ‘My thanks to you, Sigarni. You are a pleasant companion.’
She nodded. ‘I fear you spurned the best of me,’ she said, and was surprised to find herself able to smile at the memory.
Still holding to her hand he shook his head. ‘I think no man has ever seen the best of you, woman. Fare thee well!’ Loran moved away, but Sigarni called out to him and he turned.
‘In the old days,’ she said, ‘the Highland peoples were free, independent and unbroken. Perhaps that is what makes them seem stronger, more golden and defiant. Their power did not derive from a hurled caber, but a vanquished enemy. They may not have all been seven feet tall. Maybe they felt as if they were.’
He paused and considered her words. ‘I would like to call upon you again,’ he said, at last. ‘Would I be welcome at your hearth?’
‘Bring bread and salt, Pallides, and we shall see.’
2
IF LORAN WAS AS disappointed in Fat Tovi the Baker he took pains not to show it, for which Tovi himself was more than grateful. The Pallides clansman had bowed upon entering the old stone house, and had observed all the customs and rituals, referring to Tovi as Hunt Lord and bestowing upon him a deference he did not enjoy even among his own people.
Tovi led the clansman to the back room, laid a fire and asked his wife to bring them food and drink, and to keep the noise from the children to as low an ebb as was possible with seven youngsters ranging from the ages of twelve down to three.
‘Your courtesy is most welcome,’ said Tovi uncomfortably, as the tall young man stood in the centre of the room, declining a chair. ‘But as you will already have noticed, the clan Loda no longer operates under the old rules. We are too close to the Lowlands, and our traditions have suffered the most from the conquest. The title of Hunt Lord is outlawed, and we are ruled by lawyers appointed by the Baron Ranulph. We have become a frightened people, Loran. There are fewer than three thousand of us now, spread all around the flanks of High Druin. Seventeen villages of which my own, Cilfallen, is the largest. There are no fighting men now, saving perhaps Fell and his foresters. And they report to the Baron’s captain of the Watch. I fear, young man, that the old ways are as dead and buried as my comrades on Golden Moor.’ Tovi sniffed loudly, and found himself unable to meet the clansman’s steady stare. ‘So, let us dispense with the formalities. Sit you down and tell me why you have come.’
Loran removed his leaf-green cloak and laid it over the back of a padded chair. Then he sat and stared into the fire for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. ‘We of the Pallides,’ he said at last, ‘suffered great losses at Golden. But we are far back into the mountains and the old ways have survived better than here. Our young men are still
trained to fight, and retain their pride. As you say, you are close to the Lowlands and the armies of the Outlands, and so I make this point without criticism. As to my visit, my Hunt Lord wishes me to tell you that the Gifted Ones of the Pallides have been experiencing dreams of blood. It is their belief that a new war is looming. They have seen blood-wolves upon the Highlands, and heard the cries of the dying. They have seen the Red Moon, and heard the wail of the Bai-sheen. My Hunt Lord wishes to know if your own Gifted Ones have dreamt these things.’