David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

Holding her hair, he led her past the bodies and out to the plain.

Sigarni was seated on a high-backed saddle placed before a small fire. She was drinking wine from a copper goblet and chatting to three of her lancers. She glanced up as Obrin hurled the woman to the ground at her feet.

‘A surprise, my Lady,’ said Obrin. ‘She was with the Aenir, I’m told.’

Sigarni stood and pulled her gently to her feet. ‘How are you, Morgase?’ she asked.

The raven-haired woman shrugged. ‘As you see me. Alone.’

‘I know how that feels,’ said Sigarni. ‘Accept that the war is over, and you may return with us. I shall restore you to your father’s lands.’

‘In return for what? My promise of allegiance? My mother’s soul would scream out against it. You saw my father slain, my mother raped. Kill me, Sigarni – or I will haunt you to your grave!”

Obrin’s sword hissed from its scabbard. ‘This once I’ll agree with the bitch!’ he said. ‘Give the word, my Lady.’

Sigarni shook her head. ‘Fetch her a horse. Let her ride where she will.’

Two soldiers took hold of Morgase and led her away. Twisting in their grip, she shouted out, ‘I will find a way back, Sigarni. And then you will pay!”

‘Your decision burdens my spirit,’ said Obrin. ‘She is evil, Sigarni. There is no good in her.’

‘There is little good in any of us. We live and we die by the grace of God. A great wrong was done to her. It twisted her mind – as once such a deed twisted mine.’

By dusk the druids had come out from hiding in the woods around the Folly and had begun to administer to the wounded clansmen. Maggrig, ten stitches in his side and twelve more in his thigh, sat on a boulder staring at the fluttering crows who were leaping and squawking over the stripped bodies of the slain.

The clan dead had been carried out of the Folly and laid together on the plain. A cairn would be built tomorrow. So many dead. Of the eight hundred Pallides only two hundred survived, many of these with grievous wounds. More than a thousand Farlain warriors had died, and another four hundred from the Loda and Dunilds. By a twist of fate both leaders had survived, fighting at the last back to back.

Maggrig sighed. The place looked like a charnel-house.

Leofas, his wounds stitched and bandaged, joined him at the boulder. ‘Well, we won,’ he said.

‘Yes. And we old ones survive. So many young men gone to dust, and we old bulls sit here and breathe free air.’

Leofas shrugged. ‘Aye, but we are a canny pair.’

Maggrig grinned. ‘Have you seen Caswallon?’

‘No. Come on, let’s seek out the Queen. The least we can do is thank her.’

Leofas helped Maggrig to his feet and the two made their way through the bodies. The crows, bellies full and heavy with meat, hopped out of their way, too laden to fly.

At the mouth of the pass, beyond the tethered mounts, were the camp-fires of Sigarni’s lancers, set in a circle at the centre of which sat the Queen and her captains.

Sigarni rose as the clansmen approached. ‘Pour wine for them, Obrin,’ she told her captain.

Maggrig thrust out his hand. ‘Thank you, my Lady. You have saved my people.’

‘I am glad we were here in time. I owe much to Redhawk, and it was a relief to part-settle the score.’

‘Where is Caswallon?’ asked Maggrig.

‘I know not,’ said the Queen. ‘He asked us to meet him at the island of Vallon.’

Two riders brought high-backed saddles which they placed on the ground for the clansmen. ‘Be seated,’ said Sigarni. ‘I wish to meet one of your clansmen; he saved my life today.’

‘I think it will be hard to find one clansman,’ said Leofas.

‘Not this one. He has a blaze of white hair above his left eye and the eye itself is full of blood.’

‘I know him,’ said Leofas. ‘If he lives I will send him to you.’

Obrin brought mulled wine and they drank in silence for a while.

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