Obrin and Fell rose together. ‘Thank you lad,’ said the soldier. ‘You’ll not regret it.’
‘I believe that,’ Fell told him. ‘But will you? How will you feel when your countrymen face you sword to sword? It is no small matter.’
Obrin shook his head. ‘Put your mind at rest, Fell. To you we are all Outlanders, yet we come from many parts of the realm. My people were mountain folk, conquered a hundred years ago. And I am the only one from my tribe at Citadel. Even that, though, misses the point. There are some things a man must fight for. That, I believe, is what Kollarin was trying to tell me. Is that not so?’ he asked the man in green.
‘Indeed it was,’ said Kollarin, crossing the room and stepping over the corpses of the soldiers. ‘I always wondered what it would be like to be a hero.’
Behind them the twelve silent Al-jiin gathered up the bodies and left the hall.
Sigarni felt gripped by a sense of unreality as she climbed the carpeted steps to the upper balcony, and the room where An had shown her the armour. Beside her Asmidir said nothing as they walked. The room was small, fifteen feet by twenty, with one large window looking out over High Druin. Sigarni had donned the silver chain-mail top coat, the armoured leggings and the boots, but the sword, breastplate and helm remained. The breastplate had been sculpted to resemble the athletic chest and belly of a young warrior, while the helm was too large for the silver-haired woman.
Sigarni walked to the window, pushing it open to allow the cool, yet gentle autumn breeze to whisper into the room. Abby was dead, and this she found almost as hurtful as the abuse she had endured. But more than this Sigarni felt a weight of sorrow for the life she would never know again, the quiet solitude of her mountain cabin, the morning hunt, and the silent nights. Grame had warned her of the Baron, and she wished now that she had heeded him. A few pennies lost and her life would have remained free. Now she was embarked on a course that could lead only to death and ruin for the people of the mountains. What are we, she thought? And the picture came to her mind of a mighty stag at bay in the Highlands, with the wolves closing in. We can run and live for a little longer, or we can fight and be dragged down.
Clouds were gathering above High Druin like a crown of grey above the white snow-capped peaks.
‘Speak your thoughts, my lady,’ said Asmidir.
‘You don’t need to give me pretty tides here,’ she told him, still staring from the window. ‘There is no one to hear them.’
‘It has begun, Sigarni,’ he said sofdy. ‘It is time to make plans.’
‘I know. What do you suggest?’
He shook his head. ‘I will offer my advice in a moment,’ he told her. ‘First I would like to hear your views.’
Anger almost swamped her, but she fought it back. ‘You are the warrior and the strategist – or so you tell me. What would you have me say, Asmidir?’
‘Do not misunderstand me, Sigarni. This is not a game we are playing. You are the one the seer spoke of. Unless the gods are capricious – and perhaps they are – then you must have some special skill. If we are to form an army, if we are to defy the most brilliant military nation of the world, it will be because of you – you understand? At the moment you are full of bitterness and righteous rage. You must conquer that, you must reach inside yourself and find the Battle Queen. Without her we are lost even before we begin.’
Sigarni turned from the window and moved to a high-backed chair. ‘I don’t know what to say or where to begin,’ she said.’If there is a skill it is lost to me. I do not believe I am given to panic, Asmidir, but when I try to think of the way ahead my heart beats faster and I find myself short of breath. I look inside, but there is nothing there save regret and remembered pain.’