‘We have only one man with the Gift, Loran. Once a warrior – and a mighty one – he now travels the mountains in a cart drawn by hounds. He is a drunkard and his dreams are not to be relied upon.’
The door opened and Tovi’s wife entered, carrying a wooden tray on which sat two tankards of ale and a plate of bread and beef. Laying it down on the table she took one glance at her husband, smiled wearily and left without a word. From beyond the open doorway the sound of children playing could be heard, but the noise was cut off once more as the door closed behind her.
‘Drunkard or no,’ said Loran, ‘has he dreamed?’
Tovi nodded. ‘He says a great leader is coming, a warrior of the line of Ironhand. But it is nonsense, Loran. The Outlanders have five thousand men patrolling the Lowlands. Five thousand! If there was the merest hint of rebellion they could treble that number in a matter of weeks. All their wars are won. They have armies sitting idle.’
‘That is precisely what troubles my Hunt Lord,’ said Loran. ‘A warrior race with no wars to fight? What can they do? Either they will turn on themselves like mad dogs, or they will find an enemy. What your drunkard says about a great leader is echoed by our own Gifted Ones, and also by the Seer of the Farlain. No one knows this leader’s name, nor his clan. There is a mist shrouding him. Yet we must find him, Lord Tovi. All indications are that the Outlanders will lead an invasion force here in the spring. We have less than seven months to prepare.’
‘To prepare?’ stormed Tovi. ‘For what, pray? Fell and his foresters number around sixty men. I could raise perhaps another two hundred, and some of those would either be greybeards or children. Prepare? If they come, we die. It is that simple. The Loda were never the largest of the clans. The Pallides and the Farlain always outnumbered us. Still do. And you have the high passes that can be
defended, and the hidden valleys to hide your cattle and goats. What do we have? I was a warrior, boy. I was a captain. I know how to use land in war. If I had ten thousand men I couldn’t protect my own villages. You want to talk of preparation? Talk of pleading with the Baron, of sending an entreaty to the Outland King, of dropping to our bended knees and begging for life. The first I’ll accede to, the second I’ll put my name to, and the third I’ll never do! But they are our only options.’
Loran shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that to be true. If we can find the leader to unite us, we can formulate a strategy. The people of Loda could leave their homes and draw back into the deeper Highlands. We have the autumn before us and could move food and supplies further back into the mountains. If you agree, I can arrange for temporary homes to be erected in Pallides lands.’
Tovi shook his head. ‘There must be another way, Loran. There must be! We cannot fight them with any hope of success. And what could they gain from invading the Highlands? There is no gold here, no plunder. Would you declare war to capture a few cattle herds?’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ agreed Loran. ‘But armies are like swords. They must be kept sharp and in use. The Outlanders will, as I have said, need to find some enemy.’
Tovi sighed and rose from his chair, pausing before the fire and staring into the flames. ‘I am not the Hunt Lord, man. I am the baker. I don’t have power, and I don’t have resources. I don’t even have the will.’
‘Damn you, man!’ stormed Loran, rising from his chair. ‘Have you lost so much? I met a whore on the road with more fire in her belly than you.’ Tovi’s face went white and he lunged forward, his large hands grabbing the front of Loran’s pale green tunic, dragging the younger man from his feet.