‘It is not that. There is an arrogance about him that slips under my skin like a barbed thorn. Look at the way he walks… as if he is a king and all around him are serfs and vassals.’
Grame chuckled. ‘You are seeing too much. Fell walks like that. Sigarni too.’
‘Aye, but they’re Highlanders.’
Grame’s chuckle became a full-blooded laugh as he clapped his hand on Tovi’s shoulder. ‘Listen to yourself! Is that not arrogance? Anyway Obrin is a Highlander – Fell’s son.’
‘Pah! Put a wolf in a kilt and it is still a wolf!’
Grame shook his head. ‘You are not good company today, Hunt Lord,’ he said. Tovi watched him stride away through the snow.
He’s right, thought Tovi, with a stab of guilt. I am the Hunt Lord and I should be lifting the hearts of my people. He sighed and trudged off towards Obrin. The warrior had removed his shirt and was kneeling and rubbing snow over his upper body. As Tovi came closer he saw the web of scars on Obrin’s chest and upper arms. The man looked up at him, his eyes cold.
‘Good morning, Hunt Lord.’
‘And to you, Obrin. How is the training progressing?’
Obrin rose and pulled on his shirt and tunic. ‘Six of the groups are proving adequate. No more than that. The others …’ he shrugged. ‘If they don’t want to learn, then I cannot force them.’
‘You don’t need to teach a Highlander to fight,’ said Tovi. Obrin gave a rare smile but it did not soften his face. If anything, Tovi realized, it made him look more deadly.
‘That is true, Hunt Lord. They know how to fight, and they know how to die. What they don’t comprehend is that war is not about fighting and dying. It is about winning. And no army can win without discipline. A general must know that when he – or in our case she – gives an order it will be obeyed without question. We don’t have that here. What we have is five hundred arrogant warriors who, upon seeing the enemy, will brandish their claymores and rush down to die. Just like the Farlain.’
Tovi’s first response was one of anger, but he swallowed it down. What would this Outlander understand of Highland pride, of the warrior’s code? Fighting involved honour and couage. These Outlanders treated it as a trade. Even so, he knew that the man was speaking honestly. Worse, he was not wrong. ‘Try to understand, Obrin,’ he said, softly. ‘Here each man is an individual. Wars between clans always come down to man against man. There was never any question of tactics. Even when we fought… your people … we did not learn. We charged. We died. You are dealing with a people who have fought this way for generations. I don’t even know whether the older warriors can absorb these new ideas. So be patient. Try to find some way to appeal to the younger men. Convince them.’
‘I have already told them what is real,’ said Obrin stubbornly. ‘And if that wasn’t enough they have the example of the Farlain.’
‘We are a proud people, Obrin. We can be led to the borders of Hell itself, but we cannot be driven. Can you understand that?”
‘I’ll think on it,’ said the Outlander. ‘But I never was an officer, and I’m no leader. All I know is what I’ve learned through seventeen years of bloody war. But I’ll think on it.’
A young woman approached them, a heavy woollen shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders. ‘By your leave, Hunt Lord,’ she said, with a curtsey. ‘My grandfather is sick and cannot rise from his bed. Can you come?’
‘Aye, lass,’ said Tovi wearily.
Obrin watched the Hunt Lord trudge off through the snow, saw the weariness in the man. He wears defeat like a cloak, thought the warrior. The former Outlander wandered away from the camp, climbing high on to the mountainside to the meeting cave. Three men were already present, and they had lit a fire. Their conversation faded away as Obrin entered. He walked slowly to the far side of the fire and sat, glancing down at the two bundles he had left there earlier; they were untouched. Obrin waited in silence until others arrived, some singly, some in pairs, others in small groups until twenty-five were assembled. Obrin rose and looked at their faces. Many of them were scarce more than children. They waited, sullen and wary.