‘No,’ agreed Taliesen, ‘you don’t. But I am trying to keep her warm, and I am a little too old to relish walking around a forest and stooping to collect dead wood. You, on the other hand, do not have far to stoop.’
Ill do it for her,’ said the dwarf. ‘But know this, Taliesen, I do not like you. Not one bit.’
‘How wise of you,’ Taliesen told him.
Ballistar stomped from the cave and out into the afternoon sunlight. Fallen wood was plentiful, following the storm, and he spent an idle hour gathering armfuls of fuel and carrying them back to the cave. TaJiesen spent the hour sitting silently beside the sleeping Sigarni. Bored now, Ballistar returned to the poolside and stared out over the water. It was smooth and motionless here, and the reflections of the trees on the opposite shore could be seen growing upside-down in the pool. Ballistar moved to the edge and knelt, leaning out over the water. His own face looked back at him, the deep-set brown eyes gazing into his.
‘What’s it like in an upside-down world?’ he asked his reflection. ‘Are you happy or sad?’ The face in the pool mouthed the same words back to him. Ballistar moved back and sat with his back to the trunk of a weeping willow.
Asmidir came riding down the slope and Ballistar stood. The black man was wearing clothes of brown and russet, with a deep green cloak. He sported no burnoose and upon his head he wore a helm of burnished iron that rose to a glistening silver point at the crown. Seeing Ballistar, he drew rein and stepped from the saddle. ‘Where is she?’ he asked.
Ballistar pointed to the cave. ‘There is a wizard with her. Unpleasant little man.’
‘How is she?’
‘Beaten and abused. She will get better though. I know it.’
The black man nodded. ‘I know it also. What news of Fell?’
‘I’ve heard nothing,’ the dwarf told him. ‘I’ve been here for three nights. But I don’t think they’ll catch him. A canny man is Fell, and stronger than he believes.’
‘You see much, Ballistar. You are no man’s fool. I shall be taking Sigarni to my house. You are welcome to join us. I think she will feel better with you there.’
‘She may not want either of us,’ said the dwarf. ‘She just told Taliesen that no man will ever touch her again – she may hate us all for the sins of a few.’
Asmidir shook his head. ‘She is too intelligent for that, my friend. Will you come?’
‘Of course I will come. She is my friend.’
‘Mine also,’ said Asmidir softly. ‘And I will defend her with my life. You believe me?’
Ballistar looked deeply into the man’s dark eyes. ‘Aye, I believe you, black man. I don’t like you, but I believe you.’
‘There is much in me to dislike, Ballistar. I have been a harsh man,
no
and at times a cruel one. Despite this I have never betrayed a friend, and treachery is utterly alien to me. I intend to help Sigarni, to teach her all that I know.”
‘About what?’ asked Ballistar.
‘About war,’ Asmidir answered.
There was little conversation as the five men moved through the forest, each locked in his own thoughts. Fat Tovi the Baker kept thinking of his eldest son, and how proud he was of the boy. When the soldiers had selected him as one of the four hostages he had stood tall, straight of back, and he had shown no fear. Like me, when I was younger, thought Tovi. Then he shook his head. No, he’s better than me. There’s a lot of his mother in him, and she comes from good stock.
Beside him walked Grame the Smith, his thoughts dark and brooding. Grame stood by while the soldiers selected the hostages, but he was holding the forge hammer in his hand, and using all his iron will to stop himself from running forward and braining the grinning officer. That I should live to see this, he thought, foreigners riding into our villages unopposed and stealing away our people. The smith felt the shame as if it were his alone.