Ari shuffled through the maps. ‘With five hundred? Nowhere.’
‘Precisely my thoughts. And the Baron is no fool, he will know our approximate number. Son of a whore!’ Lifting a detailed sketch of an Outland fort, he passed it to Ari. ‘What if we took it before they arrived? They’d have no supplies. How long could we hold them?’
‘Four or five days. But they have three supply forts, not one. They will merely send a force around us. And then there would be no escape for the defenders. No prospect of victory either.’
Asmidir pushed himself to his feet and wandered to the window. The snow was falling thick and fast, piling against the base of the leaded panes. ‘My head is spinning,’ he said. ‘Tell me something good. Anything.’
Ari chuckled. ‘Our enemy is the Baron. He is hot-headed and reckless. Better yet, he is impatient and will not give us respect in the first battle. That is an advantage.’
‘That is true,’ agreed Asmidir. ‘But it is not enough to give him a bloody nose. The first battle must be decisive.’
‘And that means Duane Pass,’ said Ari.
‘Which the Baron will also be aware of.’ Asmidir shook his head and laughed. ‘Are we being fools, Ari? Have we waited this long merely to stand and die on a foreign mountain?’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed the warrior. ‘Yet a man has to die somewhere.’
‘I’m not ready to die yet. I swore an oath to make the Outlanders pay for the rape of Kushir. I must honour it — or my spirit will walk forever through the Valley of Desolation and Despair.’
‘I also swore that oath, lord,’ said Ari. ‘We all did. Now our hopes rest with the silver woman.’
Asmidir returned to the table and stared into the dark eyes of the man opposite. ‘What do you think of her, Ari? Could she truly be the One?’
The warrior shrugged. ‘I do not know the answer to the second question. As to the first – I admire her. That is all I can say.’
‘It does not bother you that this Chosen One is a woman?’
‘Kalia is a woman – and she has fought in many wars. And Sigarni’s battle plan at Cilfallen was inspired. Fraught with peril – but inspired.’
Asmidir gathered up the maps and sketches. ‘I must be heading back to the mountains tomorrow. I need to see her.’
‘It will take around four days now,’ said Ari. ‘The snows have blocked many passes. Perhaps you should wait for more clement weather.’
‘These mountains do not know the meaning of clement weather,’ said Asmidir, with a wry smile. ‘Even in summer the wind can chill a man to the bone.’
‘It is a hard land,’ agreed Ari, ‘and it breeds hard men. That is another advantage.’
Another warrior entered and bowed. ‘There is a man to see you, lord,’ he said. ‘He came out of the snow.’
‘Do we know him?’ Asmidir asked.
‘I have not seen him before, lord. He is very old, and wears a cloak of feathers.’
‘Bring him in.’
The warrior stepped aside and Taliesen entered. He did not pause or bow but strode straight to the table. Snow had gathered on his feathered cloak and his eyebrows and eyelids were tinged with ice.
‘She is gone,’ he said. ‘The demons are coming – and she has gone!’
The blizzard came suddenly, fierce winds slashing across the mountains, sending up flurries of ground snow to mix with biting sleet. Sigarni was on open ground with the temperature dropping fast. Shielding her eyes with a gloved hand, she looked for shelter. Nothing could be seen. To be caught outside was to die, she knew, for already the sleet was penetrating her leggings and soaking into the sheepskin coat she wore; her fur-lined hood was white with ice and her face was burning with pain.
There was no panic in her, and in the distance she saw a huge fir tree, part buried in the snow. Striking out for it she waded through a thick drift, half climbing and half crawling until she reached the lee side of the tree. The branches of such a fir would spread in a radius of at least ten feet from the trunk, she knew, and that meant there was likely to be a natural cave below the buried branches. Lying on her belly, Sigarni began to dig with her hands and arms pushing aside the freezing snow, burrowing down beneath the boughs. Her pack snagged against a branch, and snow cascaded down on her. Digging deeper, she squeezed herself under the bough. Suddenly the snow beneath her gave way and she slid head first into the natural pocket below. The snow cave was around seven feet deep and eight feet across, the fir branches above forming the roof. Out of the biting wind, Sigarni shivered with pleasure. From the side pocket of her pack she took a small tinder-box and the stub of a thick candle. Striking the flint, she ignited the dried bark scrapings, gently blowing them to life, before holding the candle wick over the tiny flames. With the candle lit, she set it on the ground beside her and leaned back against the trunk of the fir.