Asmidir seated himself before her. He reached out, but she instinctively drew back her hand; his face showed his hurt. ‘Let us examine then the immediate priorities,’ he said. ‘My men have been scouting the valleys and passes south of here. The Baron has ordered campaign fortifications built. These are vital for an invading army. Stores and supplies will be left at these forts so that when the invasion force moves in they will have bases from which to sally forth into the mountains. The first is being constructed no more than ten miles from here, in the Dunach Valley. It could be argued that our first task should be to halt their work, to harry them. For that we will need men. We have already discussed where to find warriors. You must seek the aid of the Pallides Hunt Lord, Fyon Sharp-axe.’
Sigarni rose and returned to the window. Sunlight shone brilliantly through gaps in the distant storm-clouds, and the muted sound of far-off thunder rippled across the land. She shivered. ‘No,’ she said, at last. ‘The fortifications must wait. If I were Fyon Sharp-axe I would
not turn over my men to an untried woman from another clan. Send Fell to me.’
‘What are you planning?’ he asked.
‘We will discuss it later,’ she told him. Asmidir smiled and rose, bowing deeply. After he had gone Sigarni drew the sword from its silver scabbard. It was a sabre, thirty inches long, the blade highly polished and razor-sharp, the hilt bound with strips of dark grey speckled skin, reinforced by silver wire. It was surprisingly light in her hand, and perfectly balanced. She swung the sword to the left. It sliced through the air, creating a low hissing sound. Hearing Fell approach she moved to the chair, laying the naked blade upon the table before her. The forester entered and bowed clumsily.
‘A surprising turn of events,’ she said. He grinned and nodded. His face was bruised and swollen, but as he smiled she saw again the handsome clansman she had loved. Motioning him to a seat she looked away, gathering her thoughts. ‘How many of the foresters could you gather to us?’ she asked.
‘Not many,’ he said. ‘Perhaps six of the fifty. You have to understand, Sigarni, that they are men of family. They know a war against the Outlanders can end only one way. Most would therefore do anything to avoid such a war. Even after the murders.’
‘What murders?’
Fell told her of the taking of hostages, and his decision to give himself up to the authorities. ‘But they did not wait the promised four days. By the following morning all four were hanging from the walls of Citadel. I believe Tovi and Grame would join us, and perhaps half of the men of Cilfallen. What are you planning?’
‘I want you to go from here. Now. Find the six men, and any others you trust. We will meet at my cabin in four days. Is that enough time for you?’
‘Barely. But I will be there.’
‘Go now,’ she ordered him. ‘And send the Outlander to me.’
Gwalchmai lifted his jug from the dog-cart and stared out over the hills towards Citadel town. The two hounds, Shamol and Cabris, were asleep in the sunshine. Gwalch pulled the cork from the jug and sat beside Tovi. The baker was silent, lost hi thought. The sun was bright in a clear sky, the mountains shining in splendour, but Tovi was
oblivious to the beauty and Gwalchmai felt for him. ‘Your son was a fine boy,’ said Gwalch, lifting the jug to his lips and taking three long swallows.
‘You didn’t know him,’ said Tovi, tonelessly.
‘I know you. And I can see him in your mind. You were proud of him – and rightly so.’
‘None of that matters now, does it? His mother weeps all the time, and his brothers and sisters walk silently around the house. What manner of men are these, Gwalch, who could hang an innocent boy? Are they monsters? Demon-driven?’
The old man shook his head. ‘All it takes is a monster in charge, Tovi. Like a pinch of poison in a jug of wine. Suddenly the wine is deadly. You want a drink?’