'Crimes? What crimes?' snorted Grame, moving alongside them. 'They raped her, for God's sake, and they hunted her down like an animal. Who do they think they are, these Outlanders? First the Baron tries to steal her hawk, then they rob her of her virtue ..."

'What virtue?' sneered Bakris. 'Hell's teeth, man, that was gone long ago. She's had more pricks than an archery target.'

'That's enough,' hissed Fell as he swung on Grame. 'Who do they think they are?

They are the conquerors, and they make the laws. You, me, the whole of the Highlands, are ruled at their whim.'

'There's supposed to be a leader coming,' said Tovi. 'I wish to God he would appear soon.'

'She already has,' said Fell. The other men looked at one another, then back at Fell. 'Aye, you'll think it nonsense,' he said. 'But an old sorcerer came to me, and told me to be at the Citadel town at dawn on a certain day. There I would see the Red worn again, and a sword held over the town. Well, my lads, I was there. And I saw Sigarni don the Red, and watched her kill an Outlander. She's the leader prophesied. I won't live to see it, but you will.'

'Have you gone mad, lad?' asked Grame.'What does she know of war and battles?

She's a child. Who'd follow her?'

'I would,' said Fell.

'If he would, so would I,' put in Gwyn.

112.

Bakris gave a sneering laugh. 'I'd follow her into the bedroom. Any time.'

'You will all see it come true,' said Fell. 'Now let's be moving on. I have a wish to be in Citadel town before dusk.'

Tovi put his broad hand on Fell's shoulder. 'I'm not stopping you boy,' he said, his voice thick with emotion. 'I'd do anything to bring my son home. Yet, even now, if you choose to take a different path I'll think none the worse of you. You understand?'

Fell nodded. 'I understand, Hunt Lord. But I killed an Outlander, and they want blood. If they don't get mine they will seek it elsewhere. It is their way. I would ask you this, though - look to Sigarni, and help her all you can. Both you and Grame are battle-hardened warriors. You have lived what the rest of us only hear stories of. You know how the heart feels before a battle, and how a man's courage can turn to water. You know what it takes to stand against a foe. That knowledge will be vital in the days ahead. My death may give you breathing space to plan.

But it will be no more than that.'

'It may not even give us that,' said Gwyn. 'They want Sigarni too. They may just take you, and keep the hostages.'

'I've thought of that,' said Fell. 'Let us hope there is a spark of honour in the Baron.'

'You're doing the right thing, Fell,' said Bakris. 'I'd do the same in your place.'

'Then let's move on,' said Fell. 'One more hill, lads, and we'll be home.'

The five men trudged up the hill, cresting it just as the sun was turning to blood over the western mountain peaks. In the distance they could see the line of the wall around Citadel town, and the tall ramparts of the keep beyond.

By the north gate, in cages outside the wall, hung four bodies, and crows were thick around them. At this distance it was impossible to recognize faces, but all knew the worn-out black dress worn by the Widow Maffrey. 'God's heart!'

whispered Grame. 'They've killed them already! But it has only been two days!

They promised a week.'

'A spark of honour, you said, Fell,' muttered Gwyn. 'Now we all see what Outland honour is worth.'

'They'll pay for this a thousandfold,' said Fell. 'I swear it!'

Sigarni, her red cloak wrapped around her shoulders, sat on the mock ramparts of Asmidir's castle home and stared out over the rolling hills and woodlands to the south. Asmidir stood alongside her, leaning on the crenellated grey stone parapet. 'You understand your purpose?' he asked her.

'Yes,' she said, her voice cold. 'I am to kill Outlanders.'

Angrily he swung on her. 'No! that is the first lesson you must learn. War is not just a game of killing. Any commander who thinks in this way will be destroyed, if not by the enemy then by his - or her - own troops.'

'Troops? Are you insane?' she stormed. 'There are no soldiers, there is no army.

There is only Sigarni. And all I live for now is to kill as many as I can.' Pushing herself to her feet she faced him, her own pale eyes locked to his dark orbs. 'You can have no understanding of what they did to me, or what they took from me.

You are a man. This whole world has been created for your pleasures, while women are here merely for sport - either that or to carry your brats for nine months, ready to feed more souls to your games of slaughter in years to come.

Well, Asmidir, Sigarni will carry no brats, but she mil play your game.'

He smiled ruefully. 'You cannot play until you know what you are playing for. You must have an objective, Sigarni. How else can you plan?'

'An objective?' she mocked. 'I am alone, Asmidir. What would you have me do?

Where is my army? You want an objective? To free the Highlands of Outland rule, to drive the enemy back into their own lands and beyond. To lead a hundred thousand men deep into their territory and sack their capital. Is that enough of an objective?'

'It is,' he said. 'Now examine how you will plan for this objective.'

Sigarni rose and faced him. 'I have no time for worthless games. There is no army.'

'Then build one,' he said, sternly.

Spinning on her heel Sigarni strode along the rampart, climbing down the stone stairway to the courtyard. A servant bowed as she passed him. Moving on, she entered the house where Ballistar was standing before the stuffed bear, staring up at it. 'It's so lifelike,' said the dwarf. 'Don't you think?'

Ignoring him, she walked into the hall and seated herself in a wide leather armchair set before the log fire. Asmidir followed her, with Ballistar just behind.

'Why are they bowing to me?' demanded Sigarni. 'All of them. They don't speak ...

but they bow.'

'I ordered them to,' said Asmidir. 'You must become familiar with such treatment.

From now to the end of your life you will be separated from the common man.

You will become a queen, Sigarni.'

'The Whore Queen, is that it? Is that how you see me, Asmidir? Or was it some other black bastard who named me a harlot?'

Asmidir pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. 'Your anger is justified,' he said. 'I did not know then that you were the leader the prophecy spoke of. I ask your forgiveness for that. But I also ask that you focus your rage, and do not allow it to swamp your reason. If the prophecy was true - and I believe it to be so - then you must be ready to act. A wise general knows that men can be replaced, weapons can be replenished. But lost time cannot be regained.'

'And who will follow me, Asmidir?' she asked. 'Who will follow the whore, Sigarni?'

Ballistar moved between them and gave a low bow. 'I will follow you, Sigarni,' he said. 'Will you let me be the first?' Dropping to one knee he gazed up at her.

Sigarni felt her anger drain away. 'You are my friend,' she said wearily. 'Is that not enough?'

'No. I believe what he says. The wizard said the same. I know I am not built to be a warrior, or to lead men into battle. I can serve you, though. I can cook, and I can think. I am not a fool, Sigarni, though nature has gifted me the appearance of one. Other men will kneel before you, and you will gather an army from among the clans. And if we are all to die, let it be while fighting a vile enemy. For from now until then, at least we will live with pride.'

Sigarni stood and took his arms, helping him to his feet. 'You shall be the first, Ballistar,' she said. Seizing her hand he kissed it, then stepped back, blushing.

'I'll leave you now,' he said. 'I'll prepare breakfast. Planning should never be attempted on an empty stomach.'

As the dwarf departed Asmidir leaned forward. 'His words had great wisdom, Sigarni.'

She said nothing, but sat silently for a while staring into the flames, seeing again the sword that crushed the life from Abby, and then the terrible ordeal in the dungeon.

'What kind of army can we raise?' she asked.

Asmidir smiled. 'That is more like it! the Loda number less than two thousand people, of which no more than six hundred could fight, and only then for a short space of time, for the fields would have to be tilled and planted, crops gathered and so on. Realistically we could raise three hundred fighting men. The Pallides number more than six thousand, with approximately two thousand men between the ages of fifteen and sixty. I have no detailed information as yet about the Farlain, but judging by the areas they inhabit, there should be at least four thousand of them. The Wingoras are the smallest clan, but even they could put two hundred fighting men on the field of battle. All in all, perhaps four thousand in total.'

'Such a total could not be reached,' she said. 'You could not assemble all the clan's fighting men in one place. If the enemy were to avoid a confrontation, or slip by, all the villages and towns would be undefended.'

Asmidir clapped his hands together. 'Good!' he said. 'Now you are thinking! Tell me then, what is the most important matter to be studied first?'

'The enemy leader,' she said, without hesitation. Then she faltered, her brow furrowing.

'What is it?' he asked. 'Are you in pain again?'

'No. I am... remembering. How strange. It is like looking through a window and seeing myself from afar. And he is with me. Talking. Teaching. He is saying, Know the enemy general for he is the heart and mind of the foe. The body may be of great power, and almost invincible, hut if the heart and mind are not sound he will face defeat.'

She saw that Asmidir was surprised. 'Who is saying this? And when?'

'The King who was,' she told him, 'and he spoke to me while I slept in the cave.'

'Now you are speaking in riddles.'

'Not at all, Asmidir, but let us leave it there, as a mystery for you. He also said there were five fundamentals to analyse before war was undertaken: moral influence, weather, terrain, command, and doctrine.'

Asmidir's surprise turned to astonishment. His eyes narrowed and he smiled.

'Did he also mention the seven elements?'

'No. He said he would leave that to you.'

'Are you making mock of me, woman?' he asked, his expression softening.

116.

She shook her head. 'I am speaking the truth.' Rising smoothly she stood before him. 'And woman is no way to address a leader,' she said, smiling.

Asmidir did not return the smile. Instead he moved to his knees before her and bowed his head. 'I ask your forgiveness, my lady,' he said, 'and I further request that you allow me to be the second man to pledge his loyalty to you.'

'Now you are mocking me, Asmidir,' she admonished him.

He glanced up, his face set. 'I have never been more serious, Sigarni. I offer you my sword, my experience, and - if necessary - my life. All that I have is yours ...

now and for ever.'

'It shall be so,' she heard herself say.

At that moment a servant entered. He bowed low. 'Soldiers approaching, lord.

Some thirty in number. With them rides the man you spoke of, dressed all in green.'

Asmidir swore softly. 'Remain in your room, Sigarni. This situation may become delicate.'

'Who is the man in green?' she asked.

'A Seeker, a Finder. His powers are strong, and he will sense your spirit. One of my servants will come to you. Follow where he leads, my lady, and I will come to you when I can.'

Obrin removed his iron helm and pushed back his chain-mail head-and shoulder- guard, allowing the mountain breeze to cool his face and blow through his short- cropped hair. Resting the helm on a flat stone beside the stream, he pulled off his riding gauntlets and laid them atop the helm. 'A beautiful land,' observed the Finder Kollarin, moving alongside him and splashing water to his face.

'Like my homeland,' replied the sergeant, scanning the mountains. Obrin said nothing more and moved away to check the horses. They had been picketed a little way upstream and a sentry was standing by them. 'Give them a while to cool down, then take them to water,' he told the young man.

'Yes, sir.'

'Yes, sergeant!' snapped Obrin. 'I'm not a bloody officer.'

'Yes, sergeant.'

Obrin's foul mood darkened further. It had started already. Word of his temporary promotion had spread fast and the men thought it humorous, but nothing could be further from the truth. As they were leaving the Citadel barracks Obrin had seen several officers watching him. They were laughing. One of them, Lieutenant Masrick - a potbellied second cousin of the Baron - cracked a joke, his thin voice carrying to the mounted soldiers waiting for Obrin: Tut a pig in silk and it is still a pig, eh, my friends?'

Obrin pretended not to hear. It was the best policy. His short-lived appointment would soon be forgotten, but the emnity of a man like Masrick could see him humbled - or worse. Obrin pushed thoughts of Masrick from his mind.

He had camped his men in a hollow beside a stream. From here the camp-fires could be seen over no great distance and, with a sentry posted on the closest hill, they could have ample warning of any hostile approach. Not that Obrin expected an attempt to rescue the prisoner. However regulations demanded that, in the absence of a fortified camp, the officer in charge observed the proper precautions.

The ground was rocky, but sheltered, and two camp-fires had already been lit.

Cooking pots were in place above them and the smell of stew was beginning to fill the air. Obrin walked to the brow of a hill overlooking the camp-site and sat down on a rock. From here he could see Kollarin sitting beside the stream, and the other men moving about their chores. The prisoner was seated by a slender elm at the edge of the camp, his hands and feet tied. There was blood on his face, and his left eye was blackened and swollen.

Obrin felt uncomfortable. He had known Fell for almost four years and he liked the man. A good judge of character, Obrin knew the clansman to be strong, proud and honest. He was no murderer, of that Obrin was sure. What difference does it make what you think, he asked himself? Who cares? You had a job to do and you did it. That's all that matters. Fell had said nothing since the capture. Kollarin had led them to a cave, in which Fell was sleeping. They had rushed him and overpowered him. But not before Fell had smashed Bakker's nose and broken the jaw of the new recruit, Klebb. Obrin grinned at the memory. There was little to like about Bakker, a loud, greasy whoreson with shifty eyes. The flattened nose had improved his looks tenfold!

Obrin saw Kollarin rise and begin to walk up the hill. He cursed inwardly for the man unnerved him. The sergeant did not care for magickers. Obrin made the Sign of the Protective Horn as the man a8 approached. He did not do it covertly, but allowed Kollarin to see the gesture.

The man in green smiled and nodded. 'I only read minds when I am paid,' he said. 'Your secrets are quite safe.'

'I have no secrets, Finder. I tell no lies. I deceive no one - least of all myself.'

'Then why make the sign?' asked Kollarin, sitting alongside the soldier.

'A casual insult,' admitted Obrin, unconcerned over any possible reaction.

'You do not like me, sergeant.'You believe Fell should have been given the chance to fight like a man, and not be taken in his sleep. You are probably right. I would go further, though. We are all reared on stories of heroes, great warriors, or poets, or philosophers. We are told that we must aspire to be just like these heroes, for only by so doing can we ensure the survival of civilization. It is very noble. Indeed it is laudable.' Kollarin chuckled. 'And then we become men, and we realize that it is all a nonsense.'