81.

not, he thought? Everyone else has had their pleasure. Why not me?

Why shouldn't Owen Hunter have a little fun? His last sight was of the woman suddenly rearing up. His own hands were locked beneath her thighs, but he saw her right hand stab forward, felt the terrible pain as her first two fingers struck his eyes. Then all was pain and an explosion of light that was unbearable.

Sigarni dragged her fingers from the oozing sockets and groaned. Her ribs hurt, but that was as nothing compared with the pain within. She pushed the body of the guard from her, then rolled to her knees. Nausea rose in her throat and she vomited. Her head was pounding, her body begging her to lie down, to rest, to heal. Instead she forced herself to her feet. The guard began to moan. Dropping to her knees she pulled his dagger from his belt and plunged it through the nape of his neck. His legs spasmed, one foot striking the narrow cot. Blood filled the man's throat and he began to choke. Dragging the dagger clear she held the point over the centre of his back and threw her weight down upon it. The blade slid between his ribs, skewering the lungs. Now he was still. A pool of urine spread out from beneath him. Sigarni stood again, then sat on the cot looking round the cell, taking in every block and stone, every rat-hole. Her leggings had been thrown into a corner. Retrieving them, she dressed. The cord of the waist had been cut. Dragging the guard's belt clear, she pierced a new buckle hole in the leather and strapped it to her waist.

Everything hurt. Her lips were swollen, her cheek cut and bruised. There was a knife-cut in her right buttock and another on her left thigh. The guard moaned again. Sigarni could not believe the man could still be alive. Taking hold of the jutting knife with both hands she wrenched it clear of his back, then knelt forward to slice the razor-sharp blade across his throat. Blood gushed to the stone floor. Grabbing him by the shoulders she rolled him to his back, slashing the sharp blade again and again across his lower body. At last, exhausted, she stopped, her hands drenched in blood.

'You've got to get out of here,' she told herself. 'You've got to find them.' She had feigned unconsciousness at the end, even when two of them had stood and urinated over her. She had heard the small man, Relph, talking about the Blue Duck tavern. She knew it - it was close to Market Street.

Knife in hand, Sigarni walked from the cell and out into the dungeon corridor.

Her legs had no strength, and she fell to her knees and vomited once more. 'Don't be weak,' she scolded herself. 'You are Sigarni the Huntress. You are strong.'

Rising unsteadily, she managed to reach the stairs and started to climb up into the darkness. Half-way up she heard footfalls. Pushing herself back against the wall she waited. Then a man called out from some distance above, 'Hey Owen, I was on my way home when I thought it would be worth a second tilt at the bitch.

You fancy a double, eh?'

From out of the darkness he appeared, a looming shape with a protruding belly.

Sigarni rammed the blade into that belly, ripping it up towards the heart. He grunted and fell back to the stairs. 'Oh God! Oh God!' he screamed. Sigarni pulled the blade clear and stepped in close.

'You want to ride double with me, Outlander? You want to enjoy Sigarni?'

'Oh, please! Don't kill me!'

'You left teeth marks in my breast, you fat bastard. Now bite on this!' The knife slid between his teeth and Sigarni slammed ithome to the hilt. His fat arms began to flail, but she knelt on his chest and cut his throat. Only when he was still did she mutilate him in the same way she had the first guard. Slowly she climbed the stairs, pushing open the door at the top. The courtyard was moonlit and deserted, save for a sentry sitting under the arch. He was facing out into the town. Sigarni stepped into the open air and walked across to the arch.

The sentry was not even aware of dying...

Blood-drenched and weak, Sigarni moved on into the silent town.

Abby was dead - killed trying to save her. And I am dead, she thought. They will kill me, for I have not the strength to find them all. Somehow the thought of dying held no fear for her. All that kept her moving on tottering feet was the need for vengence, a need as old as the Highlands themselves. Clan laws were not subtle, precedents were rarely cited, and there were no glib-tongued lawyers to represent the factions. Wrongdoers were punished by those they had wronged, or in the case of murder were hunted down by clan warriors selected by the Hunt Lord. Justice was sudden, harsh and final.

But Sigarni had no family, save old Gwal who had raised her after the Slaughter.

There were no men to seek blood revenge.

Only me, she thought. Only Sigarni. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the street. Stopping, she picked it up, then fell heavily.

'Damn!' she whispered. Twisting round, she sat for a while with her back against a cool stone wall. The stars were bright, the night cool with the promise of autumn. Some distance away she could hear the sound of revellers, and knew she was close to the Blue Duck tavern. What will you do, she wondered? Walk in, covered in blood, and move from table to table until you see them? What kind of a plan is that? And if you wait past the dawn they will find you anyway, and drag you back to that cell, and who knows what torture. Are you mad, girl? Leave this place. Get back into the Highlands were you can gather your strength.

Two of them are dead, she told herself. One more, at least, is in the tavern.

One more ...

Forcing herself to her feet Sigarni groaned. Blood was trickling down her leg. She licked her lips with a dry tongue and tried to blank out the pain.

Women are made for sport.

The words flashed back into her memory. The short soldier had said them at some point during her ordeal. Laughter had followed his words, then more pain.

Suddenly she remembered the little Census Taker and his revulsion and fear as Abby pecked at him. What was it he had said: 'I prefer the hares'? Hares are made for sport, Sigarni had told him.

Everything is made for sport, she realized, in a world ruled by Outlanders.

The rest had given her fresh strength and she walked on.

The Blue Duck tavern was an old building with frayed timbers and white walls.

There were four windows on the ground floor, two either side of the old oak door.One of the windows was open and through it she could hear the sounds of the drinkers. Moving to the wall beside it, she glanced in. The place was packed and her keen eyes scanned the faces within. There were none she recognized, but then she could see only a section of the crowd. Dropping to her knees she crawled under the window, then rose and glanced in from the new angle. Two men were walking towards the door. Her heart, and her anger, lifted. Transferring the knife to her left hand, she wiped the sweat from her right, rubbing the palm down her leggings.

The door opened. 'That's it, Will, one foot in front of the other. That's the way to go, son.'

'Shut the bloody door!' said someone inside. Relph pulled shut the door as Will Stamper leaned against the wall.

'Be right with you, mate, but I've got to piss,' said Relph, opening the front of his leggings and urinating against the wall. Sigarni moved silently alongside the drunken Will and sliced the knife back across his throat. The skin flapped open, blood bubbling clear. Then she ran forward and plunged the blade into Relph's back. He reared up and grabbing his hair, she rammed his head against the wall.

Falling to his knees Relph struggled to turn. Wrenching the knife clear Sigarni, still holding to his hair, dragged his head back to expose his throat. 'Women are made for sport,' said Sigarni, slashing open his jugular. Relph fell back, his arms and legs thrashing. Sigarni stepped clear and moved to where Will stood leaning against the wall, his blood gushing over the front of his tunic. Slowly he toppled to his knees and looked up at her. There was no hatred in his gaze, and no fear.

He tried to speak, but could only mouth two words. Sigarni almost laughed. Then she leaned back and kicked him in the head and his body fell to the stones.

Only one more now, she thought. The captain.

But where would he be?

Are you insane, woman! came a voice inside her mind. Leave now!

'No!' she said aloud. 'I'il find him.'

'Leave and he 'II find you. I promise you! Stay and you will die and he will live. I promise you that too!'

'Who are you? Where are you?' she asked, spinning round and scanning the shadows.

7 am with you, girl, and I want your trust. Leave now. Believe me, you won't like being dead. I know, I've tried it. Now go!'

Confused, Sigarni obeyed, cutting down through an alley towards the North Gate.

The bastards have unhinged my mind, she thought. Now I am hearing ghost voices.

From the citadel keep came the sound of clanging alarm bells.

I'll never get out now, she thought.

'Yes, you will' said the voice. 'Your people need you.'

Baron Ranulph Gottasson groaned. The pain had moved beyond pleasure to a burning point of agony that bordered on the exquisite.

Narcotics flowed in his blood, and his waking dreams were vivid. He saw again the fall of the Kushite cities, refugees running panic-stricken from their burning homes, heard again the wailing of the soon-to-die, the piercing screams of city dwellers staring into the brutal faces of the conquering soldiers, feeling the cold bite of their blades into soft, yielding flesh.

Days of blood and glory, marching his men across inhospitable deserts, iron mountains and lush foreign plains.

And then it was over. No one left to conquer.

< At first it had not seemed so onerous: the triumphant return to the capital, the cheering crowds choking the streets, the nights of celebration at the palace, the orgies... The Baron groaned again. He felt someone lift his head, and a cold metal goblet was placed against his lips. He swallowed and sank back.

Then had come the day when the organization of the empire was re-shaped.

Plessius was made Governor General of Kushir and the east - a bumbling fool of a man with not an ounce of ambition in his fat head. A hardly surprising choice to rule a land three thousand leagues from the capital. The King had chosen wisely; there would be no rebellion from that quarter. Ranulph had let it be known he desired the north. There was nothing here of any worth, save cattle and timber.

The climate was harsh in winter, perversely changeable in what passed for summer. A little coal was being mined, but there were no deposits of gold or silver, nor even iron. The people were poor and defeated.

Ranulph had waited for his appointment, sure in the knowledge that he would be offered anything but the north. The King possessed a mind of astonishing cunning, and would never offer any general the true object of his desires.

Ranulph's mind swam on a sea of delicious pain ...

He had a spy in Jastey's household, and knew well that the Earl desired the west.

Seventeen rich cities, scores of mines, seven ports, and a thriving commercial network. Together they created the perfect foundation for an assault on the King.

Wealth to buy mercenaries, ships to ferry armies and keep them supplied.

Oh, how Ranulph had laughed when Jastey had been made High Sheriff of the Capital. Despite being a position of great influence, bringing immense wealth, it meant that Jastey was always at court and close to the King.

86.

But Jastey's handsome face had worn a smile the following day, when Ranulph had been summoned to the palace. The memory brought a fresh spasm of agony.

Ranulph had walked down the long aisle in the Chapel of the Blessed Blade, to where the King waited with his courtiers around him, Jastey at his right hand.

Ranulph knelt before his sovereign, then gazed up into the dark, reptilian eyes.

'It is reported to me that you desire to govern the north, my good and dear friend,' said the King. 'Your services to the kingdom merit great rewards, and I can think of no greater reward than to bestow upon you that which you most desire. Rise, Baron Ranulph Gottasson, Earl of the North, Governor General of the Highlands.'

To his amazement Ranulph had managed a smile. It did not match the grin on Jastey's face. The west had gone to the King's new favourite, Estelm.

The feast which followed had been bitter hard for the new Baron. The King seated him next to Jastey, and that alone made the food taste of bile and ash."

'My congratulations, Ranulph,' said the Earl. 'I know we do not see eye to eye on many issues, but I would like you to know that I argued most strongly for you to be given the north. I thought it would perhaps ease the animosity between us.'

Ranulph looked into the man's dark eyes and saw the humour glinting there.

'Animosity, cousin? Surely not. Friendly rivalry would be more apt, I believe?'

'Perhaps,' agreed Jastey. 'However, that should now be behind us. You have your own kingdom, as it were, while I must remain in the capital making laws, sitting in judgement, surrounded by clerics. Ah, how I envy you!'

Ranulph smiled, and pictured sliding a red-hot dagger into Jastey's belly.

Returning to his town house he had walked into his library and stood gazing at the map stretched out on the far wall. The empire filled it, from ocean to ocean.

Ranulph's mouth was dry, his hands trembling with suppressed tension. The skin of his back and buttocks was still tender, but he knew that he needed the release of the whip. Summoning a servant, he ordered him to fetch Koris.

The man's face paled. 'I am sorry, my lord, but Koris packed his belongings and left this morning.'

'Left? What do you mean left?'

The servant swallowed hard. 'He has taken up a new ... appointment... lord.'

The shock hit him like ice upon hot skin. Koris, whom he had trusted above all men, and loved better than any woman. And he knew, without a shred of doubt, where the boy's appointment had taken him.

Jastey!

Dismissing the servant, the Baron moved to the window, opening it wide and breathing in the cold night air.

7 don't want to go north, Ranulph. It's cold there - and there are no amusements.'

' We mill not be going north, sweet bay.'

'But isn't that what you want?'

'Be patient and all mil be revealed.'

'You don't trust me!'

'Of course I trust you. Now don't sulk! I hate that.'

And he had explained his plans, talked of his dreams, secure in the knowledge that he was with the one person in all the empire who loved him.

Two nights later, bound, gagged and hooded, Koris had been carried down to the secret room below the town house. Ranulph had his arms tied to posts, his legs chained to the wall. Dismissing the soldiers who had brought him, he pulled the hood clear of the boy's beautiful face.

'Oh, Ranulph, please God, don't hurt me!'

The Baron drew his dagger and pushed the blade into a brazier of hot coals.

'While the blade heats,' he said softly, "we will talk of love and trust.'

Semi-conscious now, the Baron felt the terrible stabs of fire in his eye socket, lancing their way through the opiates in his blood. Koris had been allowed no opiates throughout that long, long night.