David Gemmell - The Ironhand's Daughter

'I'm anticipating that steak with great pleasure,' said Ironhand.

'And I can't wait to see their faces when they see what I have become,' said Ballistar happily.

Light grew around them and Sigarni felt dizziness swamp her. Then Taliesen appeared before her, and a cold winter breeze touched her face.

'Did you get it?' the wizard asked.

Sigarni did not answer. In her right hand lay the tiny bone fragment of Ironhand, while clinging to her left was Ballistar the Dwarf, tears flowing from his eyes as he stood, dressed in her outsize leggings.

Like all Highlanders, Gwalchmai loved the spring. Life in the mountains was always harsh, and people lived with the constant knowledge that death waited like a monster beyond the firelight.

Winter fell upon the mountains like a mythical beast, robbing the land of crops, of food, sucking the heat from the soil and from the bones of Man.

But spring, with her promise of sunshine and plenty, was a season to be loved. The burst of colour that appeared on the hillsides as the first flowers pushed their way through the cold earth, the singing of birds in the trees, the fragrant blossom on bush and branch - all these things spoke of life.

The ache in Gwalchmai's back had faded away in the morning sunlight, as he sat in the old chair on the porch of his cabin. I almost feel young again, he thought happily. A faint touch of regret whispered across his mind, and he opened the parchment he had held folded in his hand. It had been so long since he had written anything that the words seemed spidery and over-large, like a child's. Still, it was legible.

Time for the last of the mead, he thought. Leaning to his right, he lifted the jug and removed the stopper. Tipping it, he filled his mouth with the sweet liquor and rolled it over his tongue. He had hidden the mead the year Sigarni was brought to him, which had been a vintage year. Gwalchmai smiled at the memory. Taliesen had walked into the clearing, leading the child by the hand. In that moment Gwalchmai had seen the vision of his death. That night, as the child slept, he had taken two jugs and hidden them in the loft, ready for this day.

This day . ..

The old man pushed himself to his feet and stretched his back. The joints creaked and cracked like tinder twigs. Drawing in a deep breath, he swirled the last of the liquor in the jug. Less than half a cup left, he realized. Shall I save it until they come? He thought about it for a moment -

then drained the jug. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he sank back to the chair.

The sound of horses' hooves on the hard-packed ground made him start and panic flickered within his breast. He had waited so long for this moment - and now he was afraid, fearful of the long journey into the dark. His mouth was dry, and he regretted the last swallow of mead.

'Calm yourself, old fool,' he said, aloud. Rising, he strolled out into the wide yard and waited for the horsemen.

There were six scouts, clad in iron helms and baked leather breastplates. They saw him and drew their weapons, fanning out around him in a semi-circle. 'Good morning, my brave boys!' said Gwalchmai.

The riders edged their horses closer, while scanning the surrounding trees. 'I am alone, boys. I have been waiting for you. I have a message here that you may read,' he added, waving the scrap of parchment.

'Who are you, old man?' asked a rider, heeling his horse forward.

Gwalchmai chuckled. 'I am the reader of souls, the speaker of truths, the voice of the slain to come. They found the body, you know, back in your village. Upon your return they intend to hang you. But do not let it concern you - you will not return'

The man blanched, his jaw hanging slack.

'What's he talking about?' demanded another rider. 'What body?'

Gwalchmai swung to the speaker. 'Ah, Bello, what a delight to see you again! And you, Jeraime,' he added, smiling up at a third rider. 'Neither of you like each other, and yet, together you will stand back to back at the last, and you will die together, and take the long walk into Hell side by side. Is that a comforting thought? I hope not!'

'Give me the message, old man!' demanded the first rider, holding out his hand.

'Not yet, Gaele. There is much to say. You are all riding to your deaths. Sigarni will see you slain.'

'How is it you know my name?' demanded Gaele.

'I know all your names, and your sordid pasts,' sneered Gwalchmai. 'That is my Gift - though when I gaze upon your lives it becomes a curse. You buried her deep, Gaele, by the river bank - but you never thought that the old willow would one day fall ... and in so doing expose the grave. Worse yet, you left the ring upon her finger, the topaz ring you brought back from Kushir. All the village knows you killed her. Even now a message is on its way asking that you be returned for trial! Fear not, brave boy, for your belly will be opened at the Duane Pass. No hanging for you!'

'Shut up!' screamed Gaele, spurring his horse forward. His sword lashed down, striking the old man on the crown of his head and smashing him from his feet. Blood gushed from the wound but Gwalchmai struggled to his knees.

'You will all die!' he shouted. 'The whole army. And the crows will feast on your eyes!' The sword slashed down again and Gwalchmai fell to his face in the dirt. All tension eased from his frame, and he did not feel the blades lance into his body.

All these years, he thought, and at the last I lied. I do not know whether Sigarni will win or lose, but these cowards will carry the tale of my prophecy back to the army, and it will rage like a forest fire through their ranks.

As if from a great distance, Gwalchmai heard his name being called.

'I am coming,' he said.

Gaele dragged his sword clear of the old man's back, wiping the blade clean on the dead man's tunic. Stooping, he plucked the parchment from the dead fingers and opened it.

'What does it say?' asked Bello, as the others gathered round the corpse.

'You know I can't read,' snapped Gaele.

Jeraime stepped forward. 'Give it to me,' he said. Gaele passed it over and Jeraime scanned the spidery text.

'Well?' demanded Gaele.

Jeraime was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was trembling. 'It says, "There will be six. One of them a wife-killer. Gaele will strike me down. Jeraime will read my message. "

Jeraime let the parchment fall and backed away to his horse.

'He was a sorcerer,' whispered Bello. 'He said we were all going to die. The whole army! Dear God, why did we come here?'

The army made camp near the ruins of Cilfallen: seven thousand men, incorporating four thousand heavily armoured footsoldiers, fifteen hundred archers and slingers, five hundred assorted engineers, cooks, foragers and scouts, and a thousand cavalry. The Baron's long black tent was erected near the Cilfallen stream, while the cavalry camped to the north, the footsoldiers to the east and west and other personnel to the south. Leofric set sentry rotas and despatched scouts to the north; then he returned, weary, to his own tent.

Jakuta Khan was sitting on a canvas-backed chair, sipping fine wine. He smiled as Leofric entered the tent. 'Such a long face,' said the sorcerer, 'and here you are on the verge of a glorious expedition.'

'I dislike lying to the Baron,' said Leofric, opening a travel chair and seating himself opposite the red-clad man.

'I told you, it was not a lie. I aw a merchant - of sorts. Where do you think the first battle will be fought?'

'The Baron believes they will fortify the Duane Pass. We have several contingency plans for such an eventuality. Can you not tell me what they are planning? The fall of the forts has left me out of favour with the Baron. He blames me!'