Ironhand's Daughter

by David Gemmell

  “Yes, you have,” he told her, reddening. “But we are friends, Sigarni. We always will be. I don’t want you to feel there are words you cannot say in my presence. When is the wizard due?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I wish he’d chosen a more hospitable meeting place.”

  “It had to be here,” she said. “He knew what the Pallides would ask of me.”

  “Madness!” snapped Ballistar. “Who do they think they are? Here we sit on the verge of war and they play games. Do they believe they can win without us?”

  “No, my friend, they don’t think that. Their Dreamers have told them that the leader will wear the Crown of Alwen. If that is true, then I must find it. Taliesen will have a plan.”

  “I don’t like wizards,” said the dwarf.

  “I remember you saying that about Asmidir. A black sorcerer, you called him.”

  “I still don’t like him. Are you still lovers?”

  “No!” Her voice was sharper than she intended and Ballistar gazed at her quizzically.

  “Did he wrong you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want your help before dusk. I want you to come with me to the far side of the pool and break the ice.”

  “Why?” he asked, mystified.

  “I need to swim.”

  “That’s ridiculous! The cold will kill you.”

  “You can wait for me with a blanket,” she said.

  “There’s something you are not telling me. What are you looking for?”

  Sigarni stretched out her hand to the fire. The cave was glowing now in the firelight, and the sounds of winter outside only served to make it seem more cozy within. “I am going to find a small bone,” she said. “A talisman if you like, a good-luck charm.”

  “Whose bones?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “Ironhand.”

  Ballistar’s jaw dropped. “You found his bones? He didn’t pass over the Gateway?”

  “No. He died here fighting his enemies.”

  “How will a bone help you?”

  “Enough questions, Balli. Come on, we’re warm enough now.”

  Together they left the cave and trudged across the snow-covered ice of the pool. Sigarni found the boulder under which the bones lay, and she and Ballistar began to chip away at the surrounding ice with their knives. It was slow work and Ballistar lost his patience. Climbing to the top of the jutting boulder he jumped to the ice, landing hard. Four times more he did so, then on the fifth a large crack appeared. “Almost there,” he said. Suddenly the ice gave and he fell through into the dark water beneath. Sigarni dived across the ice, her hand snaking out to grab his collar just as he was about to sink. With a great effort she hauled him back.

  “You’d better get back to the cave,” she said.

  “No, no, I’m all right,” he said, shivering. “Can you reach the bones from here?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to be fast.” Slipping out of her clothes, she slithered into the water.

  “Be careful, there’s an undertow,” warned Ballistar.

  The cold chilled her to the bone, and all was darkness. Holding to the boulder, she released some air and dived deeper. Her hand touched the bottom and she scrabbled around, but could feel nothing but stones. Something sharp cut the palm of her hand. The sudden shock caused her to breathe out and, her lungs aching, she rose toward the surface. Her head thumped against ice.

  She had missed the opening.

  Holding down panic she rolled to her back, pushing her face toward the ice. There was always a tiny gap between ice and water, and she breathed in deeply. The cold was bitter now and she could not feel her fingers.

  You stupid woman! she thought. To come so far and die so stupidly.

  A faint glow surrounded her. “Why do you never call for me, child?” asked Ironhand. “Dive to the bottom and collect what you came for, then follow me to the surface.”

  Filling her lungs with air she rolled and dived, kicking out against the ice to propel herself down. In the glow she saw Ironhand sitting on the pool floor; beside him was a human head but she did not recognize the face. On the other side of the ghostly giant lay his bones. Swiftly she grabbed a finger bone and rose toward the surface.

  As she broke clear Ballistar took hold of her arm and dragged her onto the ice.

  “I was worried near to death,” complained the dwarf. Sigarni could not speak; she had begun to shake uncontrollably. “And look, you’ve cut your hand,” he said, pointing to the trickle of blood on her palm.

  Ballistar took up her clothes and led her back to the cave, where she sat wrapped in a blanket, her face and hands blue. “I hope that bone was worth it,” he said.

  “It . . . was,” she told him. “He . . . is . . . here.”

  “Who is?”

  “Ironhand.”

  “Ironhand?” he repeated. “In the cave? With us?” Ballistar gazed around fearfully. “I don’t see him.”

  Sigarni shrugged off the blanket and moved a little way from the fire. “Come and rub my skin,” she said. Ballistar put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage the flesh.

  “So now we are dealing with wizards and ghosts,” he said.

  “Lower. On my back,” she ordered.

  Ballistar knelt behind her and rubbed gently at the cold skin. “You should sit closer to the fire.”

  “No. It would do more harm than good. When I am a little warmer . . . That is nice. Now my arms.”

  He sat beside her, kneading her flesh, encouraging the blood to flow. He tried not to stare at her breasts, but failed. Sigarni did not seem to notice. Of course she doesn’t, he thought. I am not a man to her.

  “I am going to sleep now, Balli. Watch over me, and keep the fire going.”

  Holding fast to the bone, she lay down by the fire. Ballistar covered her with two blankets. As she closed her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “What was that for?” she asked sleepily.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too,” she whispered. And slept.

  The fire burned low and Ballistar added the last of the wood. Sigarni’s flesh was still cool and the dwarf wandered out into the cold of the night to gather deadwood. The carcasses of the demons still lay where Sigarni had slain them, but they were not rotting; it was too cold for that. They’ll smell bad come spring, thought Ballistar as he wandered beneath the trees, kicking at the snow and seeking fuel.

  “Over there,” said a voice. “Beneath the oaks.”

  Ballister leaped, turned, and fell over. Standing beside him was a glowing figure in ancient armor, his white beard braided into forks. He wore a long, double-handed broadsword in a scabbard of embossed silver—and the hand resting on it was made of red iron. “By Heaven, you are skittish,” said the ghost. “Are you going to fetch the wood or not?”

  “Yes, lord,” answered Ballistar.

  “I’m not your lord, dwarf. I am merely a spirit. Now fetch the wood before she freezes to death.”

  Ballistar nodded, and dug around in the snow beneath the oaks, gathering deadwood, then returning to the cave. The glowing figure stayed by him, watching his efforts. “It cannot be easy to live in such a body,” he said.

  “A choice would be pleasant,” muttered Ballistar.

  “You’ve a handsome face, lad. Be thankful for small gifts.”

  “All my gifts are small—bar one. And I’ll never get to use that,” answered Ballistar, kneeling by the fire and placing two long sticks upon it.

  The ghost assumed a sitting position by the fire. “You can never be sure,” he said. “I had two dwarfs at my court and they were always in demand. Once I had to adjudicate in a very delicate matter, where a knight cited one of my dwarfs as his wife’s secret lover. He wanted the dwarf hanged and his wife burned at the stake.”

  “What did you do? Did you kill them?”

  “Do I look like a barbarian? I told the knight tha
t he would be laughed out of the kingdom if he sought a public trial. The wife was sent back to her family in disgrace. I had the dwarf castrated. However, that is not the point. Never lose faith, little man.”

  “Well, thank you for your advice,” snapped Ballistar. “However, I have not yet met a woman who would wish to have me clamber all over her.” He told the spirit of Bakris’s jest and Ironhand laughed.

  “Nose to nose . . . yes, that’s very good. How did you respond?”

  “I laughed with them—though it broke my heart.”

  “Aye, it’s the best way.” He leaned forward, peering at Sigarni. “Is she warming up?” he asked.

  Ballistar moved alongside the sleeping woman and touched the flesh of her arm. “A little. She was seeking your bones. Damn near died for it.”

  “I know, I was there. Willful child.” The ghost smiled. “She can’t help it, it is in her blood. I was willful myself. How is the war progressing?”

  “I would have thought you’d know more about that than a mere dwarf,” said Ballistar. “Can spirits not fly around the world?”

  “I don’t know any spirits,” said Ironhand. “But I cannot. I’m trapped here, where I died. Well, until now. Wherever Sigarni goes, I shall go too.”

  “That’s a comforting thought. I think you’ll cause a certain amount of panic back at the encampment.”

  Ironhand shook his head. “No one will see me, boy—not even you. I only showed myself to you since Sigarni was foolish enough to tell you about me. So, what is happening?”

  Ballistar told the King of the Pallides’ request that Sigarni should find the lost Crown. “We are waiting for Taliesen,” he concluded. “He’ll show us where it is.”

  “Oh, I know where it is,” said Ironhand. “That won’t be the problem. Getting there and out again alive is the issue.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a dying world of sorcery, a dark malevolent place. Even the air is poisonous with magick. No true man can live there for more than a few months. He would sicken and die. One of my wizards tracked it down and passed through a Gateway to retrieve it; we never saw him again. A second followed him; he came back broken and diseased, not all our medicines and charms could heal him. But while he lived he told us of the world, its beasts, and its wars. I decided then to send no more of my people in search of the Crown.”

  “But Sigarni must go there,” said Ballistar. “Without the Crown the Pallides will not accept her leadership. They might believe you, though. You could appear to Fyon Sharp-axe and tell him Sigarni is the chosen one.”

  The ghost shook his head. “It might work, but then Sigarni would rule only through a long-dead king. No, Ballistar, she must win the right for herself. When my wizard returned he told me the Crown was in a temple, at the center of a city at war. He saw it, was even allowed to touch it. I think he believed that to do so would heal him of his afflictions in that world. It didn’t.”

  “You say allowed to touch it. There are people there?”

  “Aye, there are people. They cling to life in a world of death.”

  “What is killing them?”

  “There is no sun to bring life to the land. The city was built inside a forest of dead trees. There is no grass, and no crops grow. The land is in perpetual twilight. The mountains there spew fire and ash, and occasionally rip themselves apart with sounds like a thousand thunders. You can see why I forbade any further ventures into that land.”

  “But without cattle and crops, how do they survive?” asked Ballistar.

  “On war,” the King told him.

  “That makes no sense,” said the dwarf.

  “It does, lad, if you have a mind dark enough to examine it.”

  Ballistar awoke with a start and sat up blinking and afraid. He had failed Sigarni and slept. Swiftly he rushed to her side. She was warm to the touch and sleeping deeply. Relieved, the dwarf knelt by the fire and blew the coals to glowing life, adding shreds of bark to feed the tiny flames. Once it had flared he placed two small logs atop the coals.

  From Sigarni’s pack he took a flat-bottomed pot and a sack of dried oats. Filling the pot with snow, he stood it upon the fire. Despite being full of snow it melted to only a tiny amount of water and Ballistar spent some time moving back and forth bringing handfuls of snow from outside the cave. When the pot was half full of water he added oats and a pinch of salt.

  The sun was up, the cave mouth lit with golden light. Birdsong could be heard from the trees outside and the air was fresh with the promise of the coming spring.

  Sigarni awoke and stretched. The blanket slid from her naked body. “Ah, breakfast,” she said. “What a fine companion you are, Ballistar.”

  “I live to serve, my Queen,” he said, making an elaborate bow.

  “No sign of Taliesen?”

  “Not yet, but the dawn has only just arrived.” Using two long sticks, Ballistar lifted the pot from the fire and stirred the contents, which had thickened considerably. “You brought no honey,” he chided her. “Porridge is bland and tasteless without it.”

  “I had to carry enough food for two. Come to think of it, I had to carry you as well for a while. There was no room for honey. Have you slept?”

  “A little,” he admitted.

  She smiled. “The next time I suggest a swim under the ice, be so kind as to remind me of my previous stupidity.”

  “I will. How are you feeling?”

  “Rested, and at peace for the first time in weeks. No plans to study, no quarrels to adjudicate, no ruffled feathers to smooth. Just breakfast at dawn in a peaceful cave, enjoying good company.”

  “I trust you include me in that description?” said Taliesen, stepping into the cave and brushing snow from his tattered cloak of feathers. Sigarni nodded, but her smile had faded.

  “Welcome, Taliesen.”

  The old man made his way to the fire and sat. “You have a beautiful body, Sigarni. Fifty years ago it would have inspired me to carnal thoughts. Now, however, I can appreciate its beauty on an entirely different level. I take it the Pallides asked for the Crown?” Sigarni nodded and rose from bed, dressing swiftly. “It will not be easy—and yet you must not dally,” continued Taliesen. “I will send you through the Gateway as soon as you are dressed.”

  “The world beyond is poisonous,” said Ballistar coldly. “She could die there.”

  Taliesen swung to him. “It is very rare that I am surprised, dwarf. Yet you have accomplished it. How is it that you know of Yur-vale?”

  “I am a creature of legend,” said Ballistar with a wide grin. “I know many things.”

  “Then perhaps you would like to continue my story?”

  “Gladly,” said Ballistar, who then told Sigarni all that Ironhand had confided to him the night before. The dwarf took great pleasure in the look of amazement that Taliesen sought to disguise. When he had finished Ballistar moved to Sigarni’s pack, pulling out two shallow bowls. Ladling porridge into each, he passed one to Sigarni. “You are welcome to eat from the pot,” he told Taliesen.

  “I am not hungry!” snapped the wizard. “Is there anything else you wish to add about Yur-vale?”

  “No,” said Ballistar happily. “Do continue.”

  The wizard cast him a baleful glance. “Yur-vale was once a paradise. There was no physical ugliness there, and no natural disease—at least no disease that affects the inhabitants. It was a land of beauty and light. Now it is the opposite. It is an ocean world, with a very small land mass at the equator. The land mass has two great cities, and these are in a perpetual state of war. The war is necessary, for reasons we do not need to trouble ourselves with. The Crown is in a temple at the center of the city of Zir-vak. It is a city under siege and you will need to enter it by means of a black river which flows through it. Do not drink the water; it has been polluted by volcanic ash. The city’s inhabitants have a way of purifying the water, involving filters. Once inside the city, the water you find will be good to drink. Take food with you, and
eat nothing offered to you during your stay—no matter how appetizing it looks.”

  “How do I get there?” asked Sigarni.

  “There is a Gateway close to the Falls. I will send you through and you will arrive at a point some seven miles south of the city. Since you will not see the sun, you must head for a set of twin peaks you will see to the north. When you return to the Gateway you will make a cut upon your arm and allow blood to drop on each of the six standing stones that make up the circle. I will then bring you back.”

  “Bring us back,” put in Ballistar.

  “I go alone,” said Sigarni. Ballistar was about to argue when Taliesen cut in.

  “I agree with him,” said Taliesen with a rare smile. “Take the dwarf. He will be of use.”

  Ballistar was surprised. “Why do you support me, wizard? I know you have no love for me.”

  “Perhaps that is why I support you,” said Taliesen. “Have you brought weapons?”

  “Yes,” said Sigarni. “Bows, knives, and my saber.”

  “Good. Now, if you are both ready, we should depart.”

  Sigarni took a small pouch from her pack and dropped the finger bone of Ironhand into it. Looping a thong through the pouch, she tied it around her neck.

  “What is that?” asked Taliesen.

  “A talisman,” she told him.

  Ballistar thought he was about to speak, but Taliesen said nothing. The wizard rose. “When you have cleaned and stowed your pots, I will be waiting for you on the other side of the pool,” he said, and padded out of the cave.

  “Are you sure you want to come with me, Balli?” asked Sigarni.

  “Always,” he said.

  They found Taliesen waiting by a cliff face some two hundred yards from Ironhand’s burial place. Sigarni had played there as a child, and she and her friends had often debated the meaning of the strange symbols carved on the rocks. The area was flat, as if smoothed by man, and deep grooves had been chiseled from the rock in the shape of a tall rectangular door. There was also evidence of an inscription, though wind and rain, snow and hail, had long since eroded the greater part of it.

  “This is one of the Lesser Gateways,” said Taliesen. “It does not allow movement through our time, but does serve to open time doorways to other realities. Now remember what I said. Do not drink of the water of the black river, nor eat any meat offered to you. This is vital. I knew a sorcerer once who went there and ate a little pork; it swelled inside him and ripped him apart. Yur-vale is a world of great magic, and you are strangers to it. Because of your very strangeness its power will be many times greater around you. Bear this in mind. Now, you know where you are heading?”