‘And outlaws,’ said Finnigal. ‘Murderous cut-throats who will prey on the weak.’
‘That too,’ she agreed.
Finnigal stood silently, and Vorna knew he was calculating the amount of time it would take a rider to reach Old Oaks, gather reinforcements and head back. More than a week. And only then if there were reinforcements to be had, considering that the king and his main force had left for Seven Willows, to confront Shard and his fifteen thousand Vars. Finnigal turned his gaze to the south. His father would be a hundred miles away by now, preparing to defend against the armies of Stone. Fear tightened his belly, and he licked his lips nervously.
‘I do not like the choices,’ he said, softly. ‘To leave will mean deaths from the cold and the destruction of Three Streams. To stay will bring great slaughter to those I am pledged to protect.’
Vorna saw the torment in his eyes. ‘I know this is hard for you, Finnigal. This is your first command, and it calls for great strength. You have that strength. I know this.’
He smiled at the compliment, but his face was pale and strained. Time, I think, to call the village elders together.’
Within the hour the thirty elected elders were seated in the great Roundhouse built by Braefar. They listened in stunned silence when Finnigal told them word had reached him of a Vars force to the east. But the silence ended when he suggested an evacuation. The first to voice a protest was Nanncumal the Smith. ‘If they are sixty miles away, what makes you think they are coming here?’ he asked.
Finnigal glanced to where Vorna was seated at the back. ‘It is my belief, he said at last, ‘that we are in great danger. I believe they plan to sack the settlement.’
‘You believe?’ put in the black-bearded forester Adlin. ‘No disrespect to you, Finnigal, but you are young and inexperienced. Why should we risk the lives of our people because you believe they may be coming? There are at least five other settlements closer to the coast.’
‘Yes there are,’ agreed Finnigal, ‘but this is the richest, and the Vars will know there are few troops left to guard the area. Added to which, Three Streams is the birthplace of the king, and as such is a place dear to his heart. Yes, there are risks in leaving. I know this and it grieves me. The risks if we stay are far greater.’
‘You say that,’ put in Neruman the Tanner, a skinny, round-shouldered man, ‘but what of Lorca and his outlaws? Lorca is a vile creature who lives for rape and pillage. You are suggesting we walk blithely into his domain.’
Others of the elders began to shout questions. Lady Meria stepped into the centre of the circle, raising her hands for silence. ‘I would like to know’, she said, ‘how this word reached you, Captain Finnigal. What was the source, and how reliable the information?’
Vorna could see the young man was taken aback by the question. He had not mentioned Vorna’s vision, and she was grateful for his effort to maintain her secret. But now Vorna rose from her seat. ‘I told him,’ she said. Heads turned towards her.
‘Ah,’ said Meria, ‘and how, pray, did you come by the news?’
‘In a vision,’ said the former witch.
‘I see,’ said Meria, with a sneer. ‘You have a bad dream and the whole of the settlement must rush out to die in the snow, or be slain by outlaws? Your powers were lost years ago.’
‘Aye, they were,’ said Vorna, her anger rising. ‘Lost to save your son, you ungrateful bitch!’ She strode through the seated elders until she stood no more than a few feet from Meria and Finnigal. ‘You all know me,’ she continued. ‘I have healed your wives, your husbands and your children. I have delivered your babes. I am Vorna and I do not lie. Nor do I have bad dreams. I tell you that the Sea Wolves are coming. I urge you to evacuate this settlement.’
‘And I say’, stormed Meria, ‘that she is deluded. And I, for one, have no intention of quitting my home on a madwoman’s fancy.’