Free Mask of Swords by Jonathan Moeller Page A

her.”
    “Within the village,” said Sigaldra. “She does not issue forth to greet every passing brigand.” 
    “Nevertheless, bring her out to me,” said Earnachar. “I wish to speak with her. She should meet the prominent men of the land.”
    “Should one appear, I will summon her,” said Sigaldra. “Until then, you may be on your way.”
    Earnachar walked his horse a step closer to her, and the spearthains bristled. “I must insist.” 
    “And I must be blunt,” said Sigaldra. “I know what you want, Earnachar son of Balnachar. You want our lands. You want to make the Jutai into your slaves.”
    His smirk did not waver. “So perceptive for one so young.”
    “You will never marry either me or my sister,” said Sigaldra.
    Earnachar threw back his head and roared with laughter. 
    “Truly?” said Earnachar. “You think I wish to wed you, Sigaldra of the Jutai? I would not even take you as a concubine. A man wants strong sons from his women, and you are a withered, skinny thing. One pregnancy would rip you open like a dry husk.” 
    It should not have hurt her, but the words stung nonetheless.
    “You’ll watch your tongue, Tervingi,” said Talchar, his voice cold and flat. 
    “Your sister, though,” said Earnachar, “is pretty enough, and young enough to be pliable. Quite insane, of course, but a woman needs good hips and a strong back, not wits. After a few beatings she will learn her place.” 
    “I doubt that,” said Sigaldra, glaring up at him. “Given how old and fat you are, Earnachar son of Balnachar, I expect your heart shall give out on the wedding night.”
    “As if a termagant like you would know of such things,” said Earnachar. “I could ride and fight all day, and still have the strength to take your sister and then you.” He looked her up and down and laughed. “Assuming I was desperate enough, of course.”
    Vorgaric started to lift his hammer, and the spearthains their weapons, and it might have gone further, but a calm voice stopped them.
    “This is a waste of time.” 
    It was a woman’s voice, soft and gentle. Sigaldra turned as one of the three robed women rode forward. The rider reached up and drew back her black cowl, revealing a face of remarkable beauty. She had pale, clear skin, large green eyes, and red hair that hung about her face and neck, swaying in the breeze blowing across the plains. Sigaldra could not guess her age. One moment she seemed old, and the next she looked younger than Liane. Certainly she was attractive. Earnachar and most of the other men were staring at her. 
    “Who are you?” said Sigaldra. 
    “I am merely the messenger,” said the red-haired woman, and the other two robed women shifted. “I am the herald. I am the preparer of the way for the new age to come.”
    Sigaldra felt her eyes narrow. “You are the woman they call the Prophetess.” 
    “Some give me that title,” said the woman, “and it serves. I cannot see the future, not the way your sister can. I simply know what the future shall bring.”
    Sigaldra frowned. “What do you know about my sister?” 
    “I know that she is special,” said the Prophetess. “I know that she has the potential within her for greatness.” The pale woman held out a hand. “You should join with us voluntarily, Sigaldra, last holdmistress of the Jutai.”
    Sigaldra let out a scornful laugh. “And just why should I do that?”
    Unlike Earnachar, the Prophetess’s calm did not waver beneath Sigaldra’s mockery. “Because the headman is correct about one thing. The Urdmoloch did indeed perish at Knightcastle, overthrown in the very moment of his ultimate triumph. With his death, a great evil was defeated at last…but he held many lesser evils in check, lest they challenge him. Now that the Urdmoloch is dead, those lesser evils are free to do as they please, for they believe there is no one left strong enough to defeat them.” Her soft voice grew urgent. “The Jutai will perish in