Garvis scrambled to his feet and ran forward as the man lowered the warrior woman to the ground. Her face was grey, and blood had stained her silver hair. Garvis gazed down upon her. Old she was, but once she had been beautiful.
‘Where is Taliesen?’ asked the warrior.
‘Back at the Falls, sir.’
‘We must take her to shelter. You understand, boy?”
‘Shelter. Yes.’
The woman stirred. Reaching up, she gripped the warrior’s arm. ‘You must go back. It is not over. Leave me with the boy. I will… be fine.’
‘I shall not leave you, my Lady. I have served you these thirty years. I cannot go now.’ Reaching up, he made to remove his helm.
‘Leave it,’ she said, her voice ringing with authority. ‘Listen to me, my dear friend. You must go back, or all may be lost. You are my heir; you are the son I never had; you are the light in my life. Go back. Set a lantern for me in the window.’
‘We should have killed the bitch all those years ago,’ he said bitterly. ‘She was warped beyond evil.’
‘No regrets, my general. Not ever. We win, we lose. The mountains do not care. Go now, for I can feel the air of the Enchanted Realm healing my wounds even as we speak. Go!’
Taking her hand, he kissed it. Rising, he gazed around at the mountains. With a sigh he drew his sword and ran back to the stones. Lightning flickered once more. Then he was gone.
Garvis ran into Taliesen’s chambers, his face flushed, eyes wide with excitement. ‘A warrior woman has appeared by the Ancient Gate,” he said. ‘She is wounded, and nigh to death.’
The old man rose and gathered up his cloak of feathers. The Ancient Gate, you say?’
‘Yes, Lord Taliesen.’
‘Where have you taken her?’
‘I helped her to the supply cave on High Druin. It was the closest shelter I could find. Metas was there and he has stitched her wounds, but I fear there is internal bleeding.’
Taliesen took a deep breath. ‘Has she spoken of herself?’
‘Not a word, Lord. Metas is still with her.’
‘That is as it should be. Go now and rest. Make sure that not one word is spoken of this – not even to a brother druid. You understand me?’
‘Of course, Lord.’
‘Be sure that you do, for if I hear any whisper of it I shall turn your bones to stone, your blood to dust.’
Taliesen swung the cloak of feathers about his skinny shoulders and strode from his rooms.
Two hours later, having activated one of the Lesser Gates, he was climbing the eastern face of High Druin and feeling the bitter wind biting through his cloak. The cave was deep, and stacked with supplies to help wandering clansmen through the worst of the winter – sacks of dried oats and dried fruit, salt and sugar, salted meat and even a barrel of smoked fish. It was a haven for crofters and other travellers who needed to tackle the high passes in the winter months. There was a man-made hearth in the far corner, and two pallet beds; also a bench table, rudely fashioned from a split log, and two log rounds which served as seats.
The druid Metas was seated upon one of the rounds, which he had placed beside a pallet bed. Upon it lay an old woman, bandages encasing her chest and shoulder. As Taliesen approached the bed, Metas rose and bowed. Talisen praised him for his skill in administering to the woman, then repeated the warning he had given to the young druid when in his chambers.
‘All will be as you order, Lord,’ said Metas, bowing once more. Taliesen sent him back to Vallon and seated himself beside the sleeping woman.
Even now, so close to death, her face radiated strength of purpose. ‘You were a queen without peer, Sigarni,’ whispered Taliesen, taking hold of her hand and squeezing the fingers. ‘But are you the one who will save my people?’
Her eyes opened. They were the grey of a winter sky, and the look she gave him was piercing. ‘Again we meet,’ she whispered, with a smile. The smile changed her face, returning to it the memory of youth and beauty he recalled so well. ‘I fought the last battle, Taliesen …’ He held up his hand.