‘Yes, yes, I need no instruction. Are there more?’
‘We will see,’ said Ballistar. The cave was no more than forty feet away, yet it took the two men almost half an hour to reach it. Taliesen was the first inside, where Sigarni was sleeping by a dying fire. The wizard sat down beside her.
Satisfied that she was alive, Ballistar walked away. ‘Where are you going?’
‘There may be more traps. I don’t want some unsuspecting traveller to spring one.’
Outside the dwarf took several deep breaths. His relief was almost palpable: Sigarni was alive! Ballistar stood for a moment scanning the area. To the right he could see a huge grey corpse, two arrows in its chest and three stakes in its back. One trap. On the hillside there was another body.
Ballistar trudged out towards it.
For two hours he searched the land around the pool. There were no more traps. Returning to the cave he found Sigarni still asleep, with the wizard dozing beside her. Taliesen awoke as he entered. ”Four creatures were killed,’ said the dwarf, squatting by the fire and extending his hands to the heat. One had a dagger in its heart, one was slain by a pig spear-trap, the third by a lance-arrow. There was no mark on the fourth.’
‘She did well,’ agreed the sorcerer.
‘How did she pierce their skin?’ asked Ballistar. ‘I could not pull her dagger free. It was as if it was embedded in stone.’
‘It was,’ said Taliesen. ‘You have seen the corpses of men stiffen in death?’ Ballistar nodded. ‘With the Atrolls it is many times as powerful. The corpses turn grey, like rocks, then within a few days they putrefy and disappear. Even the bones rot.”
‘Will more come?’
‘It is unlikely, though not impossible. Jakuta pursued Sigarni through the Gateways of Time. He had to, for his soul was pledged against her death. I know of no other sorcerer hunting her.’
‘Why did he seek her?’
‘Perhaps she will tell you that when she wakes,’ said Taliesen. ‘And now I am tired. I shall sleep. Be so kind as to fetch wood and keep the fire blazing.’
Sigarni stood on the battlements, staring out over the flanks of the mountains and the distant peak of High Druin. Ironhand stood beside her, his huge hand on her shoulder. Moonlight glistened on his braided silver beard, and shone from his silver chain-mail and breastplate. She felt power radiating from him, encompassing her, bathing her in its warmth. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘You mean you don’t recognize it?’ he said, mystified. ‘I’m sure that I have created it perfectly. Perhaps you need to see it from the outside?’
‘I know this area,’ she told him. ‘There is nothing here save a few wooded hills.’
‘That cannot be!’ he said, his hand of red iron sweeping out to encompass the hills. ‘This is my stronghold of AJ-Druin. It was here that I fought the Four Armies, and slew their champion, Grayle.’ Sigarni saw the sadness in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Ironhand. I have travelled these hills all my life. There are some broken stones that show there was once a large dwelling place here. But it is long gone. And not even the eldest of the Loda know what stood here.’
‘Ah well,’ he said, turning from the parapet, ‘it is… was… merely stone. And at least you can see it now. Come inside and we will talk. I have a fire prepared; it will offer no heat, but is pretty to look upon.’ The scene shimmered and Sigarni found herself in a rectangular room, velvet curtains covering the high windows. A log fire blazed in the hearth but, as Ironhand predicted, it burned without heat.
‘How is it done?’ she asked, running her hand through the flames.
‘Here all is illusion. We are spirits, you and I.’ The giant warrior, clad now in a simple tunic of green, with soft leather troos, sat himself down in a deep chair. Sigarni seated herself on the bearskin rug before the fire. ‘It took a long rime to learn how to do all this,’ he said, waving his hand to encompass the room. ‘I do not know how long, for there is no sense of the passage of time. To me it was an eternity. Now it is the only home I know – save for the pool by the Falls where my body lies.’ Sigarni sat silently, aware that his sorrow was great. ‘Ironhand’s Falls. It is a beautiful place,’ he continued, forcing a smile. ‘A man could choose far worse for his death. During the centuries I have watched the trees grow and die in that wondrous cycle of birth, growth and death. People too – hunters, wanderers, tinkers, clansmen, foreign soldiers. And I saw you, Sigarni, diving from the edge of the Falls, straight as an arrow. I was there when you found my bones. But I could not speak, for you were not ready to listen. You can have no idea how good it is to speak to another soul.’