‘This is not the time, Mereth,’ said Loran softly, laying his hand on the giant’s shoulder.
‘I heard the Loda Gifted One named her Queen. I was only asking.’
‘The Loda Gifted One is a drunkard. Now look after the lady’s horse and I will see you at Fyon’s house when you have stabled the mount.’
Mereth smiled. T can fight too,’ he told Sigarni. T fear nothing.’
Loran and Sigarni walked on into the town. ‘Poor vision is not his only weakness,’ she said, when Mereth was out of earshot.
‘Do not misjudge him, Sigarni. I admit he is not the most intelligent of men, but he is no simpleton. It just takes him a long time to work through a problem.’
Fyon Sharp-axe entertained her at his home in the Larn Valley. It was a fine old house, built of stone with a roof of carefully carved slate. Fyon, Loran and Mereth sat around the long table and listened intently as Sigarni told them of the events that had led to the battle of Cilfallen. The Hunt Lord, a squat powerfully built warrior with a square-cut black beard, forked with silver, had waited courteously until she finished her tale. As she concluded he raised a wine cup and toasted her. ‘You did well, Sigarni,’ he said. ‘I applaud you for the way you saved the people of your clan. But I do not yet know if you are the leader who was prophesied. Our Gifted Ones say one is coming who will lead us, but they cannot name him. I know we have no choice now, save to battle for our lives. I will not relinquish this battle to you, for despite your victory at Cilfallen you are untried. And you are a woman. It is not a woman’s place to lead men into battle. I do not say this slightingly, Sigarni, for I admire your courage. It is merely common sense. Men are ultimately dispensable. If, in a war, all but ten of a clan’s warriors are killed, but the women remain, the clan would survive. But if only ten of the clan women were left it would die. Men are made for hunting and battle, women for gathering and childbirth. This is the way of the world. I cannot see Pallides warriors fighting for a woman – even one as spirited as you.’
Sigarni nodded. ‘I understand your fears, Fyon,’ she said. ‘But I would like to hear the thoughts of Loran.’
The blond warrior leaned back in his chair. He glanced at Sigarni. ‘I have waited for a leader – as have we all. And I was surprised when I heard that Gwalchmai had named you. We all here know that you are of the blood of Gandarin, and that he was directly descended from Ironhand. And a boy child of yours would have first claim to the throne. Yet there is no boy child, and never have the clans been led by a woman.’
‘What of the Witch Queen?’ countered Sigarni.
‘Aye, I’ll grant that,’ admitted Loran, ‘but she was from beyond the old Gateways, drawn to our aid by sorcery. And she did not stay to rule, but returned to her own land when the war was won.’
‘As I shall,’ said Sigarni.
‘Be that as it may,’ continued Loran, ‘I cannot as yet make a judgement. I echo the Hunt Lord’s praise for your victory at Cilfallen, and I deplore the treatment of you by the Farlain. Even so, I do not believe we should commit ourselves to you at this time. I ask that you do not judge us too harshly.’
Sigarni rose. ‘I do not judge you harshly, Loran. You came to Tovi and warned him of invasion. Because of your arguments he sent enough supplies back into Pallides lands to ensure survival for the people of Loda during the winter. You have given us land, built us homes. For this I am grateful. And I understand your concerns. I did not ask for this role, and would be more than happy to surrender it. But I know now that I am the one prophesied. I know it. What I need to know is what can be done to convince the Pallides. What do you require of me?’