Ironhand's Daughter (14 page)

The red-cloaked officer was almost upon the fleeing woman. Fell saw her glance back once, then turn and leap at the grey horse, waving her arms and shouting loudly. The grey swerved to avoid her, pitching its rider to the left. Sigarni leaped at the man, a silver blade glinting in her right fist. Her left hand caught hold of his cloak, dragging him from the saddle. The knife rose and fell. Blood gouted from a wound in the man's neck and again and again the knife flashed.

Sigarni rose with the dead man's cloak in her hand. Fell watched as she gazed back at the Citadel town. Scores of people were lining the parapets now. Sigarni swirled the crimson cloak around her shoulders, retying the snapped neck cord. Then she raised the dead man's sword and pointed it at the spectators.

The sun finally rose and Sigarni was bathed in its golden light, the iron sword shining like a torch of silver to match her hair. For Fell it was as if time ceased to have meaning, and he knew that this scene would shine forever in his memory. The cloak wearer was Sigarni.
She
was the legend. Fell let out a long, slow breath.

Sigarni plunged the sword into the ground, then turned and slowly mounted the grey stallion. The third soldier was sitting on the ground nearby. Sigarni ignored him and urged the horse on toward the trees and the waiting Fell.

He saw the blood upon her shirt and leggings, the bruises and cuts on her face.

But more than this, he saw the crimson cloak around her slender shoulders.

“What now for us all, Sigarni?” he asked as she came closer. “What now?”

Her eyes seemed unfocused, and she did not appear to hear him. Her face was losing its color, the surface of the skin waxy and grey. The horse moved on, plodding into the trees. Fell ran after it, just in time to throw aside his bow and catch hold of Sigarni as she started to fall from the saddle. Pushing her foot clear of the stirrup, Fell levered himself to the stallion's back. With one arm holding the unconscious Sigarni to him, he took up the reins in his left hand and heeled the stallion forward.

The old wizard had urged him to take her to the falls, but if he did so now he would leave a clear trail behind him, the horse's hooves biting deeply into the damp earth.

The pursuit was probably already under way, and with little time to plan Fell urged the horse to greater speed and headed for the deeper forest. He rode for several miles, keeping to the deer trails, always climbing higher into the mountains. Glancing at the sky he saw thick clouds to the north, dark and angry, their tops flattened like an anvil. Fell breathed a prayer of thanks, for such clouds promised hail and thunder and powerful storms. Hauling on the reins he stepped down from the saddle, allowing Sigarni to fall into his arms and across his shoulder. The ground beneath his feet was rocky and firm, leaving no trace of his booted feet. He slapped the stallion firmly on the rump and the horse leaped forward in a run, heading on down the slope toward the valley below. Fell left the trail, forcing his way through deep undergrowth. The ground broke sharply to his right into a muddy slope; it was hard to keep his footing here, especially with the added burden of Sigarni. He moved on carefully, occasionally slithering and sliding, keeping close to the trees that grew on the hillside, using them as barriers to halt any out-of-control slide. He was halfway down the slope when he heard the sound of horsemen on the road above. Dropping to his knees behind a screen of bushes, he looked back and saw the soldiers galloping by. There were more than thirty in the group.

With a grunt Fell pushed himself to his feet and struggled on. By his own reckoning he was around four miles due east from the Alwen Falls. But that four miles would become at least six by the route he would be forced to travel, along winding trails, skirting the steeper slopes and the many acres of open grassland.

He was sweating heavily by the end of the first mile, and by the second he felt his legs trembling with the effort of carrying the unconscious woman. Sigarni had made no sound throughout and Fell paused by a stream, lowering her to the ground. Her color was not good, and her pulse was faint and erratic. Carefully he examined her, opening her torn shirt. There were bloody teeth marks on her breast, and a range of purple bruises on her rib cage and shoulders. But no deep wounds. She is in shock, he thought. It is vital to keep her warm; to find somewhere he could nurse her. Gently he stroked her bruised face. “You are safe, my love,” he said softly. “Hold on for me.” She did not stir as Fell wrapped the crimson cloak around her, then lifted her to his shoulders. Almost two hours had passed already since the fight above the town, and there were still four miles to go. Fell took a deep breath and struggled on, trying not to think of his aching muscles, the burning in his calves and thighs.

For three more painful hours Fell carried Sigarni through the forest. In all that time she made no sound.

At last they arrived at Alwen Falls.

There was no sign of the wizard.

In a shallow cave, a little way back from the pool, Fell built a fire. Removing his own sheepskin cloak he covered Sigarni with it and, holding her hand, talked to her as she slept. “Well,” he said, squeezing her limp fingers, “this is a sorry mess and no mistake. We're wolves' heads now, my love. I wish I knew why. Why were they chasing you? Who wounded you? Ah, well, I expect you'll tell me in your own good time. Shame about the bow, though. Best I ever had. But I couldn't carry it, hold you, and guide the horse at the same time.” Leaning forward, he stroked her brow. “You are the most beautiful woman, Sigarni. I never saw the like. Was that what caused your pain? Did some Outland noble desire you so badly he felt compelled to take you by force? Was it the red-bearded man whose throat you slashed to red ribbons?” Releasing her hand, he fed wood to the fire and rose, walking to the cave mouth.

What now? he wondered. Where will we go?

He had relatives among the Wingoras and the Farlain, but with a price on his head he would only endanger them by seeking their aid. No, Fell, he told himself, you are a man alone now, friendless and hunted. You have killed an Outlander and they will hunt you to your dying day. A roll of thunder boomed across the sky and lightning forked across the heavens. Fell shivered and watched as the rain hammered down on the surface of the pool, falling in sheets, thick and impenetrable. Stepping back from the cave mouth, he returned to the fire and the sleeping Sigarni.

“We will cross the sea, my love,” he said, “and I'll do what I should have done. We'll marry and build a home in distant mountains.”

“No, you won't,” said Taliesen from the cave mouth. Fell smiled and swung to see the old man, his feather cloak dripping water, his wispy hair plastered to his skull. In his hands he carried a long staff, wrapped in sacking cloth.

“That's a more pleasing entrance,” said the forester. “
Now
I believe you are flesh and blood.” Taliesen removed his cloak and draped it over a rock. Squatting by the fire, he held out his ancient hands to the flames.

“You did well, boy,” he said. “You have evaded the first hunters. But they will send more, canny men, skilled in tracking. And with them will be a Finder, a seeker of souls, a reader of thoughts. If you survive this, which is doubtful at best, they will send the night-stalkers, creatures from the pit.”

“No, no,” said Fell, “seek not to cheer me, old man, with your boundless optimism. I am a grown man, tell it to me straight.”

Taliesen hawked and spat. “I have no time for your humor. We must protect her, Fell. Her importance cannot be overstated. You must go from here to her cabin. Gather her weapons and some spare clothes; give them to the dwarf. Tell him, and the others there, what has occurred. Then you must find the hunters and lead them deep into the mountains.”

Fell took a deep breath, fighting for calm. It didn't work. “Find the hunters? Lead them? What say you I just attack the Citadel town single-handed and raze it to the ground? Or perhaps I could borrow your feather cloak and fly south, invading the Outland cities and slaying the King? Are you insane, old man? What do you expect me to do against thirty soldiers?”

“Whatever you can.” The old man looked into Fell's eyes, his expression as cold as ice on flint. “You are dispensable, Fell,” said Taliesen. “Your death will matter only to you. You can be replaced. Everything can be replaced, save Sigarni. You understand? You must earn her time, time to recover, time to learn. She is the leader your people have yearned for. Only she has the power to win freedom for the clans.”

“They'll never follow a woman! That much I know.”

Taliesen shook his head. “They followed the Witch Queen four hundred years ago. They crossed the Gateways and died for her. They stood firm against the enemy, though they were outnumbered and faced slaughter. They will follow her, Fell.”

“The Witch Queen was a sorceress. Sigarni is merely a woman.”

“How blind you are,” said the old man, “and rich indeed is your male conceit. This woman was dragged to a cell and raped, sodomized, and beaten senseless by four men. Like animals they fell upon her . . .”

“I don't want to hear this!” roared Fell, half rising.

“But you shall!” stormed the wizard. “They struck her with their fists, and they bit her. They cut her buttocks with their sharp knives, and forced her to unspeakable acts. Then they left her upon the floor of the cell, to lie on the cold stone floor in a pool of her own vomit and blood. Aye, well might you look shocked, for this was men at play, Fell. She lay there and after an hour or so a new guard came into the cell. He too wanted his piece of her flesh. She killed him, Fell. Then she hunted down the others. One she slew upon the dungeon stair. She killed a sentry in the courtyard and two more outside a tavern. And the last? You saw him, in his fine red cloak of wool. Him she tore the throat from. Just a woman? By all the Gods of the Nine Worlds, boy, in her tortured condition she killed six strong men!”

Fell said nothing, and transferred his gaze to the sleeping woman. “Aye, she's a Highlander,” he said with pride. “But even that will not make men follow her.”

“We will see,” said Taliesen. “Now go to her cabin before the hunters reach it. Send the dwarf with weapons and clothes.”

“You will stay with her?”

“Indeed I will.”

Fell rose and swung his quiver over his shoulder, then gazed down at the unconscious Sigarni. “I will keep her warm,” said Taliesen. “Oh, and I retrieved your bow.” Lifting what Fell had believed to be a staff covered in sacking, Taliesen passed the weapon to the surprised forester.

“You even kept it dry. My thanks to you, wizard. I feel a whole man again.”

Taliesen ignored him and turned to the sleeping Sigarni, taking her long, slim hand into his own.

Swirling his cloak around his shoulders, Fell stepped out into the rain-drenched night.

Sigarni stood silently by the grey cave wall and listened as Fell and the old man spoke. She could hear their words, see their faces, and even—though she knew not how—feel their emotions. Fell was frightened and yet trying to maintain an air of male confidence. The old man—Taliesen?—was tired, yet filled with a barely suppressed excitement. And lying by the fire, looking so sad and used, she could see herself, wrapped in the rapist's red cloak, her face bruised and swollen.
I am dying
, she thought.
My spirit has left my body
and now only the Void awaits
. There was no panic in her, no fear, only a sadness built of dreams never to be realized.

Fell took his bow from the old man and walked from the cave. Sigarni tried to call out to him but he did not hear her. No one could hear her, save maybe the dead.

But she was wrong. As soon as Fell walked out into the rain the old man looked up at her, his button-bright eyes focusing on her face. “Well, now we can talk,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Sigarni was both surprised and confused. The old man was holding the hand of her body, yet looking directly into the eyes of her spirit. It was disconcerting.

“I feel . . . nothing,” she said. “Is this what death is like?”

He gave a dry chuckle, like the whispering of the wind across dead leaves. “You are talking to a man who has fought back death for many centuries. I do not even wish to speculate on what death is like. Do you remember the waking of your spirit?”

“Yes, someone called me, but when I opened my eyes he was not here. How is this happening, old one?”

“I fear the answer may be too complicated for an untutored Highlander to understand. Essentially your body has been so brutalized that your mind has reeled from thoughts of it. You have entered a dream state which has freed your . . . soul, if you will. Now you feel no pain, no shame, no guilt. And while we talk your body is healing. I have, through my skill, increased the speed of the process. Even so, when you do return to the prison of flesh you will feel— shall we say—considerable discomfort.”

“Do I know you?” asked Sigarni.

“Do you think that you do?” he countered.

“I can remember being held close to your chest. You have a small mole under the chin; I know this. And in looking at you I can see another man, enormously tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a buckskin shirt with a red wingspread hawk silhouette upon the breast.”

Taliesen nodded. Childhood memories. Yes, you know me, child. The other man was Caswallon. One day, if God is kind, you will meet him again.”

“You both saved me from the demons—out there by the pool. Gwalchmai told me. Who are you, Taliesen? Why have you helped me?”

“I am merely a man—a great man, mind! And my reasons for helping you are utterly selfish. But now is not the time to speak of things past. The days of magick and power are upon us, Sigarni, the days of blood and death are coming.”