Ironhand's Daughter by David Gemmell Page B

are so deliciously impertinent.”
    â€œI don’t remember it.”
    â€œIt was the night of the twin moons. I had another man with me; he was tall and recklessly handsome, and he wore a shirt of buckskin emblazoned with a red hawk motif.”
    â€œI do remember,” said Fell, surprised. “His name was Caswallon and he sat with me and taught me how to whistle through my teeth.”
    The old man’s face showed a look of exasperation. He shook his head and whispered something that sounded to Fell like a curse. Then he looked up. “It was a night when two moons appeared in the sky, and the Gateways of time shimmered open causing a minor earthquake and several avalanches. But you remember it because you learned to whistle. Ah well, such, I fear, is the way of things. Do you intend to share that porridge?”
    â€œSuch was not my intention,” said Fell testily, “but since you remind me of my manners I am obliged to offer you some.”
    â€œIt never does a man harm to be reminded of his manners,” said Taliesen. Fell rose and fetched two wooden bowls from the cupboard. There was only one spoon, which he offered to the old man. Taliesen ate slowly, then put aside his bowl half finished. “I see you’ve lost the art of porridge in this time,” he said. “Still, it will suffice to put a little energy into this old frame. Now . . . to the matter at hand. How is Sigarni?”
    â€œShe is well, old man. How do you know her?”
    Taliesen smiled. “I don’t. Well, not exactly. My friend with the hawk shirt brought her to the people who raised her. He risked much to do so, but then he was an incautious man, and one ruled by an iron morality. Such men are dangerous friends, but they make even more deadly enemies. Thankfully he was always more of a friend.”
    â€œWhat do you mean
brought
her? She lived with her father and mother until . . .”
    â€œThe night of the Slaughter . . . yes, yes, I know. But they were not her parents. Their child died in her cot. Sigarni was a . . . changeling. But that is all beside the point. I take it the invasion is not under way yet? No, of course it isn’t. I may be getting old, but I still have a certain Talent when it comes to Gateways. It is now six days from the end of summer, yes?”
    â€œFour days, but you make no sense, old man,” said Fell, adding more wood to the fire. “What invasion?”
    â€œFour days? Mmmmm. Ah well, close enough,” said the old man, looking down at his gnarled hand and tapping his thumb to each of the fingers, as if working on some simple calculation. He stood and wandered to the doorway, pulling back the flap and looking up at the sky, scanning the bright stars. “Ah yes,” he said, returning to the fire. “Four days. Quite right. Now, what was your question? The invasion. Mmmm. Where to begin? The descendants of the Aenir, the conquerors of the Lowlands. What do you call them . . . Outlanders? Yes, Outlanders. They will come in the spring with fire and sword. I know you suspect this already, young Fell. Still, that is not important at this moment, for we were speaking of Sigarni. Is she strong? Is she willful and obstinate? Does she have a piercing stare that strikes fear into the hearts of strong men?”
    Fell laughed suddenly. “Yes, all of those.” His smile faded. “But speak plainly, old man, for I wish to hear more of this invasion you speak of. Why would they invade?”
    â€œWhy indeed? What motivates the minds of evil men? Who can truly know, save another evil man. And, testy though I have been throughout my long life, I have never been evil, and therefore cannot answer your questions with any guarantee of accuracy. I can hazard a guess, however.”
    â€œI never knew a man who could talk so long and say so little,” snapped Fell.
    â€œYouth was always impatient,” Taliesen rebuked him mildly. “There are