Asmidir’s surprise turned to astonishment. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. ‘Did he also mention the seven elements?’
‘No. He said he would leave that to you.’
‘Are you making mock of me, woman?’ he asked, his expression softening.
She shook her head. ‘I am speaking the truth.’ Rising smoothly she stood before him. ‘And woman is no way to address a leader,’ she said, smiling.
Asmidir did not return the smile. Instead he moved to his knees before her and bowed his head. ‘I ask your forgiveness, my lady,’ he said, ‘and I further request that you allow me to be the second man to pledge his loyalty to you.’
‘Now you are mocking me, Asmidir,’ she admonished him.
He glanced up, his face set. ‘I have never been more serious, Sigarni. I offer you my sword, my experience, and – if necessary – my life. All that I have is yours … now and for ever.’
‘It shall be so,’ she heard herself say.
At that moment a servant entered. He bowed low. ‘Soldiers approaching, lord. Some thirty in number. With them rides the man you spoke of, dressed all in green.’
Asmidir swore softly. ‘Remain in your room, Sigarni. This situation may become delicate.’
‘Who is the man in green?’ she asked.
‘A Seeker, a Finder. His powers are strong, and he will sense your spirit. One of my servants will come to you. Follow where he leads, my lady, and I will come to you when I can.’
Obrin removed his iron helm and pushed back his chain-mail head-and shoulder-guard, allowing the mountain breeze to cool his face and blow through his short-cropped hair. Resting the helm on a flat stone beside the stream, he pulled off his riding gauntlets and laid them atop the helm. ‘A beautiful land,’ observed the Finder Kollarin, moving alongside him and splashing water to his face.
‘Like my homeland,’ replied the sergeant, scanning the mountains. Obrin said nothing more and moved away to check the horses. They had been picketed a little way upstream and a sentry was standing by them. ‘Give them a while to cool down, then take them to water,’ he told the young man.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes, sergeant!’ snapped Obrin. ‘I’m not a bloody officer.’
‘Yes, sergeant.’
Obrin’s foul mood darkened further. It had started already. Word of his temporary promotion had spread fast and the men thought it
humorous, but nothing could be further from the truth. As they were leaving the Citadel barracks Obrin had seen several officers watching him. They were laughing. One of them, Lieutenant Masrick – a potbellied second cousin of the Baron – cracked a joke, his thin voice carrying to the mounted soldiers waiting for Obrin: Tut a pig in silk and it is still a pig, eh, my friends?’
Obrin pretended not to hear. It was the best policy. His short-lived appointment would soon be forgotten, but the emnity of a man like Masrick could see him humbled – or worse. Obrin pushed thoughts of Masrick from his mind.
He had camped his men in a hollow beside a stream. From here the camp-fires could be seen over no great distance and, with a sentry posted on the closest hill, they could have ample warning of any hostile approach. Not that Obrin expected an attempt to rescue the prisoner. However regulations demanded that, in the absence of a fortified camp, the officer in charge observed the proper precautions. The ground was rocky, but sheltered, and two camp-fires had already been lit. Cooking pots were in place above them and the smell of stew was beginning to fill the air. Obrin walked to the brow of a hill overlooking the camp-site and sat down on a rock. From here he could see Kollarin sitting beside the stream, and the other men moving about their chores. The prisoner was seated by a slender elm at the edge of the camp, his hands and feet tied. There was blood on his face, and his left eye was blackened and swollen.
Obrin felt uncomfortable. He had known Fell for almost four years and he liked the man. A good judge of character, Obrin knew the clansman to be strong, proud and honest. He was no murderer, of that Obrin was sure. What difference does it make what you think, he asked himself? Who cares? You had a job to do and you did it. That’s all that matters. Fell had said nothing since the capture. Kollarin had led them to a cave, in which Fell was sleeping. They had rushed him and overpowered him. But not before Fell had smashed Bakker’s nose and broken the jaw of the new recruit, Klebb. Obrin grinned at the memory. There was little to like about Bakker, a loud, greasy whoreson with shifty eyes. The flattened nose had improved his looks tenfold!