Ironhand's Daughter by David Gemmell

lover, no more than that. And now he is part of my past. He has no place in the present. Is that clear?”
    â€œOh, it is clear, princess. Callous, unkind, unfeeling. But very
clear
. And of course it would be so time-consuming for you to walk to the oak grove. After all, it is more than a mile from here.”
    She leaned back and looked into his face. “Now we are both angry, little man. And for what? Bernt is a dolt. I have no need of fools around me. But since it is a favor to you, I shall grant it. I shall go to Bernt, and I shall tell him good-bye. Does that satisfy you?”
    He grinned and nodded. “And as a reward I shall prepare you a meal. What provisions do you have?”
    â€œAbby killed a duck this morning.”
    â€œI shall cook it with a berry sauce,” he said.
    They ate well, the duck being young and plump. Ballister cooked it to perfection; the skin was crisp and dark, the flesh moist, the red berry sauce complementing the flavor. Sigarni pushed aside her plate and licked her fingers. “If I had an ounce of common sense I’d marry you,” she told the dwarf. “I never knew a man who could make food taste so fine.”
    Ballistar was sitting in the hide chair, his little legs jutting out. He nodded sagely. “Well,” he said at last, “you could
ask
me. But I would only say no.”
    Sigarni smiled. “Not good enough for you, dwarf?”
    â€œToo good, probably. Though that is not the reason. There is something about you, Sigarni. Like the Crown of Alwen— all men can see it, but none can touch it.”
    â€œNonsense. Men can touch me. I like men to touch me.”
    â€œNo, you don’t,” he argued. “I don’t think you have ever allowed a man to touch your heart. No man has ever opened the window of your soul.”
    She laughed at him then. “The heart is a pump for moving blood around the body, and as to the soul . . . what is that exactly?” She held up her hand. “No, don’t try to explain it. Let it lie. The meal was too fine to finish on an argument. And you had better go, or you’ll be walking back in the dark.”
    The dwarf scrambled down from the chair, and gathered up the plates. “Leave them,” said Sigarni. “Be off with you, Ballistar. I have a need to be alone.”
    â€œDon’t be too hard on Bernt,” said Ballistar from the doorway.
    â€œI’ll treat him like an injured puppy,” she promised.
    After the dwarf had gone Sigarni cleaned the plates and built up the fire. She did not relish seeing the young cattle herder, for she was determined never to renew their relationship. It was not that he was a poor lover, nor even that he was dull. In the early days, last autumn, she had enjoyed his quiet company. However, during the spring he had become like a weight around her neck, following her everywhere, declaring his love, sitting and staring at her, begging for love like a dog begs for scraps. She shuddered. Why could he not enjoy what they had? Why did he need more than she was prepared to give? Idiot!
    Pouring herself a goblet of honey mead from a flagon that Gwalch had given her, she moved to the doorway and sat down beside Lady. The hound looked up, but did not move. Idly Sigarni stroked the soft fur behind the beast’s ears. Lady lay still, enjoying the sensation for several minutes, then her head came up and she stared intently toward the tree line. “What is it, girl?” whispered Sigarni.
    As horse and rider emerged from the trees, Sigarni swore softly. It was Asmidir. He was dressed now in clothes of black and riding a tall black gelding. His burnoose of black silk was held in place by a dark band of leather, with an opal set at the center. The horse advanced into the yard. Abby spread her wings and let out a screech on her bow perch. Lady merely stood, alert and waiting.
    â€œCome to see your whore?” asked Sigarni as the black man rode