Ironhand's Daughter by David Gemmell Page A

up. He smiled amiably, then dismounted. Draping the reins over the gelding’s head, he climbed the three steps to the porch.
    â€œYou are too prickly, Sigarni. I need to speak with you. Shall we go inside? Your northern weather plays havoc with my equatorial bones.”
    â€œI’m not sure you are welcome,” she told him, rising to stand before him in the doorway.
    â€œAh, but I am, for friends are rare in life, and not to be idly tossed aside. Also I can see from your eyes that you are pleased to see me, and I sense in you a tension only sex will resolve. Am I at fault in any of these observations?”
    â€œNot so far,” she agreed, stepping aside and ushering him into the room. Once inside he stopped and sniffed.
    â€œYou have been having a feast,” he said, nostrils flaring. “The aroma makes my mouth water. Duck, was it?”
    â€œYes. Ballistar cooked it for me. Now, he is a true sorcerer when it comes to food. You should employ him.”
    â€œI’ll think on it,” he said, removing his cloak and laying it over the back of the chair. Sitting down by the fire he sat for a moment in silence staring into the flames. Sigarni sat on his lap, leaning to kiss his cheek.
    â€œI’m glad you came,” she said. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through her silver hair and drew her close. Pushing one arm under her thighs, he stood and carried her through to the back bedroom.
    For more than an hour they made love, but skilled as he was, Sigarni could feel a different tension within him. After her second orgasm she stopped him, pushing him gently to his back. “What is wrong, my friend?” she asked him, rising up on her elbow and stroking the sleek dark skin of his chest. He closed his eyes.
    â€œEverything,” he said. He reached for her, but she resisted him.
    â€œTell me,” she commanded.
    â€œI would have thought,” he said, forcing a smile, “that you would have the good grace to let me achieve my own climax before entering into a dialogue.”
    She chuckled and bit his ear. “Then be quick,” she told him, “for I have other matters to attend to!”
    â€œYour wish shall be obeyed, mistress!” he said, rolling over and pinning her shoulders.
    Sigarni felt loose-limbed and wonderfully relaxed as she sat by the fire and sipped her mead. Relaxed in the chair, Asmidir sat naked, save for his cloak, which he had wrapped about his shoulders against the draft from the warped wood of the door.
    â€œNow tell me,” she said.
    â€œThere is a war coming,” he told her.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œHere, Sigarni. I was at the Citadel a few days ago. I saw the mercenaries arriving, and I know the Baron is studying maps of all the lands around High Druin. It is my belief that he intends to bring an army into the mountains.”
    â€œThat cannot be,” she said. “There is no one to fight him.”
    â€œThat is largely immaterial. He hates his position here, and probably sees a Highland war as his best chance of being recalled south in triumph. It does not matter that he will face a rabble of poorly armed villagers. Who will know? He has his own historian. His army will be able to pillage and plunder the Highlands, and he will gather to himself a force to make him a power in the land. He may even be looking ahead and planning a civil war. It doesn’t matter what his motives are.”
    â€œAnd how does this concern you, Asmidir? You are not of this land, and you are a friend to the Outland King.”
    â€œI served him, but he has no friends. The King is a hard, ruthless man, much like the Baron. No, for me it is . . . personal.” He smiled thinly. “I came here because of a prophecy. It has not been fulfilled. Now I am lost.”
    â€œWhat prophecy?”
    He shrugged. “It does not matter, does it? Even shaman can make mistakes, it seems. But I have grown to love this harsh, cold land with a