Ironhand's Daughter Read Free Page A

ears.
    â€œI was told that you were a sorcerer, and that I must beware of you.”
    â€œYou should always heed the warnings of dwarves,” he said. “Or any creature of legend.”
    â€œHow did you know it was Ballistar?”
    â€œBecause I am a sorcerer, my dear. We are expected to know things like that.”
    â€œYou always pause at my bear,” said Asmidir, gazing fondly at the silver-haired girl as Sigarni reached out and touched the fur of the beast’s belly. It was a huge creature, its paws outstretched, talons bared, mouth open in a silent roar. “It is wonderful,” she said. “How is it done?”
    â€œYou do not believe it is a spell then?” he asked, smiling.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin, “if it is not a spell, then it must be a stuffed bear. There are craftsmen in my land who work on carcasses, stripping away the inner meat, which can rot, and rebuilding the dead beasts with clay before wrapping them once more in their skins or fur. The results are remarkably lifelike.”
    â€œAnd this then is a stuffed bear?”
    â€œI did not say that,” he reminded her. “Come, let us eat.”
    Asmidir led her through the hallway and into the main hall. A log fire was burning merrily in the hearth and two servants were laying platters of meat and bread on the table. Both were tall, dark-skinned men who worked silently, never once looking at their master or his guest. With the table laid, they silently withdrew.
    â€œYour servants are not friendly,” commented Sigarni.
    â€œThey are efficient,” said Asmidir, seating himself at the table and filling a goblet with wine.
    â€œDo they fear you?”
    â€œA little fear is good for a servant.”
    â€œDo they love you?”
    â€œI am not a man easy to love. My servants are content. They are free to leave my service whenever it pleases them to do so; they are not slaves.” He offered Sigarni some wine, but she refused and he poured water into a glazed goblet that he passed to her. They ate in silence, then Asmidir moved to the fireside, beckoning Sigarni to join him.
    â€œDo you have no fear?” the black man asked as she sat cross-legged before him.
    â€œOf what?” she countered.
    â€œOf life. Of death. Of me.”
    â€œWhy would I fear you?”
    â€œWhy would you not? When we met last year I was a stranger in your land. Black and fearsome,” he said, widening his eyes and mimicking a snarl.
    She laughed at him. “You were never fearsome,” she said. “Dangerous, yes. But never fearsome.”
    â€œThere is a difference?”
    â€œOf course,” she told him, cocking her head to one side. “I
like
dangerous men.”
    He shook his head. “You are incorrigible, Sigarni. The body of an angel and the mind of a whore. Usually that is considered a wonderful combination. That is, if you are contemplating the life of a courtesan, a prostitute, or a slut. Is that your ambition?”
    Sigarni yawned theatrically. “I think it is time to go home,” she said, rising smoothly.
    â€œAh, I have offended you,” he said.
    â€œNot at all,” she told him. “But I expected better of you, Asmidir.”
    â€œYou should expect better of yourself, Sigarni. There are dark days looming. A leader is coming—a leader of noble blood. You will probably be called upon in those days to aid him. For you also boast the blood of Gandarin. Men will follow an angel or a saint, they will follow a despot and a villain. But they will follow a whore only to the bedchamber.”
    Her face flushed with anger. “I’ll take sermons from a priest—not from a man who was happy to cavort with me throughout the spring and summer, and now seeks to belittle me. I am not some milkmaid or tavern wench. I am Sigarni of the Mountains. What I do is my affair. I used you for pleasure, I admit it freely. You