there she and her father had seen a rugged horizon across the sea. Now, looking at the map, she could see how that coastline extended south, making a long shore on the other side of the White Bear Sea.
One more question occurred to her. “What of monsters called dragons?” she asked. “Are they known to you?”
The king looked surprised, shaking his head. “Do you not know the legend of Huma and the banishing of dragons? That happened four centuries ago, so my teachers claim. I have no reason to dispute them.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
Moreen did not want the conversation to turn toward legendary Brackenrock, so she merely shrugged and pretended to study the gold inlays, each of which, the king quickly explained, symbolized one of the many clanholds of Highlanders.
“Come-I have much more to show you,” Strongwind said, again extending an arm. Once more she walked at his side.
Next they arrived at a large courtyard, where dozens of young men were launching arrows at targets across a wide space. “These are the new recruits of my archer regiment,” the king boasted. “Young men, all. By the time they are finished with their training they will be able to hit the target with ten out of ten shots.”
“Impressive,” Moreen murmured. That was no greater accuracy than Tildey could claim, but she was keenly aware that her tribe had but one Tildey, while the Highlanders were training numerous archers-and these would swell the ranks of a band that already counted only Chislev knew how many trained bowmen. How weak the Arktos were by comparison!
“What is that across the way-that image of a bear?” Moreen gestured to a statue, taller than life, of a great bear rearing onto its hind legs.
Strongwind’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do not know Kradok, the Wild One, god of all Icereach?”
Moreen’s jaw clenched stubbornly. “We give proper worship to Chislev Wilder, and she sees to our lives with good care!”
“Please, I did not mean to offend.” From somewhere the king had picked up another glass of warqat, and he casually tilted that into his mouth. “There are gods-and problems-enough for all people,” he said with a reassuring laugh.
She was offered a look into the royal armory, a vault with walls lined with spears, wooden shields, axes, and hammers. A few of the hammerheads were dark and exceptionally hard, made from the metal called iron which Moreen had seen only a few times in her life. There was one man on guard at the door of the armory, and on the way out the king paused to introduce him to Moreen.
“This is Randall Graywool,” Strongwind said. “I present Moreen Bayguard, chiefwoman of the Arktos.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” declared Randall. He was smaller than most of the Highlanders she had seen, and his beard was trimmed neatly short. He smiled bowed to kiss Moreen’s outstretched hand. “I hope we will all be seeing much more of you.”
“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally, unsettled by something about the man’s dark, flashing eyes.
As they continued on, the king leaned over as soon as they were out of earshot. “He’s called Mad Randall,” Strongwind said. “Believe it or not, he is the most fearsome berserker among all the clans.”
“Berserker?” she asked, again confused-and angry with herself for her lack of sophistication.
The king seemed only too glad to explain. “When he goes into battle he … well, he ‘loses himself in the fight’, as we say. He shows no fear and has the strength of ten men. I myself would not care to fight him-and you should know that Strongwind Whalebone fears neither man nor ogre!”
“I well believe you,” Moreen replied, casting a glance back. Randall was leaning against the armory door, his eyes on the drifting clouds, whistling.
Next they passed a great smoking shed from which the alluring odor of roasting beef reached her nostrils and provoked an unintended growl from her belly. If the king heard, he was polite enough to make no comment.
“That is my royal smokehouse,” he pointed out. “Many kinds of beef and mutton are brought here for preservation. Of course, the best cuts are fresh. I trust you will come to enjoy the taste of steak. I know that it is not a staple of the Arktos diet.”
“No, we are fishers and hunters of seals.” She wanted to add that her people gathered clams and crabs and lobsters and other delicacies along the beaches, but suddenly the memory of those long days of foraging seemed somehow embarrassing when contrasted against the industry and productivity so obvious around here.
“Sometimes we will take a whale,” she added tentatively, “harpooning from our kayaks.”
“That must be a cause for feasting,” Strongwind said politely, although his tone caused her to bristle.
She was thinking now, and as they climbed the steps to a tower parapet she stopped and disentangled her hand from the king’s arm. “What did you mean-I will ‘come to enjoy the taste of steak’? And why did Randall sound as if he expected to see a lot more of me?”
Strongwind Whalebone took a step away from her, so that he came to the battlement at the edge of the tower. He raised his eyes and looked into the distance, toward the fertile valley, over the Scarred Rocks, onto the craggy mountains that formed a bowl around this citadel of Guilderglow. When he turned back to her his blue eyes were soft, and strangely penetrating.
“Guilderglow is the heart of my kingdom,” he began, “and my kingdom is destined to be the greatest realm in all Icereach. I know there is an ogre stronghold, far away from here, where the brute ruler fancies himself a king in his own right.”
“King Grimtruth Bane in Winterheim,” Moreen supplied, strangely anxious to display that she had
“Yes. He raided the whole coast of the Ice Gulf, over the last few summers. Every one of the Arktos villages was struck, destroyed, the people slain or carried into slavery.”
“Every … one?” asked Moreen. She had never imagined the devastation was so extreme, and yet somehow she believed-she
“A few escaped, like yourselves,” the Highlander said. “Not many, and hardly a warrior among them. The Arktos survivors are women, for the most part. That is why I was so anxious to meet you again and to have you see, with your own eyes, the glories of my realm.”
“What do you mean, again?” Moreen’s voice was calm, but she felt violent emotions rising in her heart, her mind.
“I saw you once, when you were hunting, and I was doing the same!” Strongwind forged ahead in a torrent of words. “I tried to talk to you, but you jumped into your kayak and paddled away.”
“That was
“Of course, it was easy to find which village you came from-my scouts simply observed your boat from land. When they summoned me to Bayguard, I could see that you dwelled in the great hut in the center of the village. Obviously, you were daughter of the chief!”
“But, why? Why would you go to all this trouble?” Moreen wondered how often these shaggy men had observed her surreptitiously, spying from the surrounding hilltops.
“Because I could see right away that you are different, different from the wenches around here, from any woman I have ever seen. You are strong and proud … and so beautiful!”
Moreen shook her head, angry and a little afraid. “Why are you saying this?” she demanded.
“I mean to say, that you should come to Guilderglow-you
Moreen stepped backward, felt the cold stone of the parapet meet her back. She gaped at the king, felt the flush of humiliation wash over her face. Apparently Strongwind Whalebone did not recognize the signs, for he advanced, hands outstretched.
“Think of it, Moreen Chieftain’s Daughter! You have seen the wealth of my realm-there will be homes here for all of your people. Many of my men will be eager to take a second wife! Within two years our children will be crowding under our feet!”
