Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller Page B

it?” said Mazael. 
    “Lady Molly asks that you join her, my lord,” said the squire. “The Guardian has…had a vision of some kind. He needs to speak with you at once.” 

Chapter 5: The Sight
     
    Sigaldra stood alone in the heart of the camp, not far from where the great black banner with the three crossed swords of the Cravenlocks flew from its staff. Night had fallen, and the light of a hundred campfires threw back the darkness. She knew that the lords and knights would gather for their dinners, and part of her realized that it would be wise to speak with them. The Jutai had a powerful protector in Lord Mazael, but it would be a good idea to befriend as many of the lords and knights as possible, to make allies against the Tervingi headmen if they decided to make war against the Jutai as Earnachar had done.
    Yet Sigaldra could not make herself do it. Her father Theodoric and her brothers had been good at making friends, especially among warriors. If they had been set loose among the lords of the Grim Marches with a few jugs of wine, by dawn they would have been fast friends with every lord and knight sworn to Mazael. Sigaldra did not have that gift. She was too prickly, too irritable, and had too much responsibility to find that sort of thing enjoyable. 
    After Earnachar’s attack upon Greatheart Keep, she had even started wondering if she ought to find a husband among the lords of the Grim Marches, a man who could act as a protector for the Jutai. The thought of taking a husband not of Jutai blood displeased her, but she realized it may be necessary. She had seen some of the lords watching her, and knew that if she wished it, she could have been betrothed by dawn. 
    Yet she could not think of the future now. Not until they had rescued Liane. 
    Not until they had made those responsible for her kidnapping pay for their crimes. 
    She stared at the tent, her right hand opening and closing, as if her fingers yearned to grasp a sword hilt. 
    Two Tervingi spearthains stood guard outside the tent. It was small and unremarkable, and it could have been any of the countless tents that had filled the camp. Yet that tent currently held Earnachar son of Balnachar, headman of the hold of Banner Hill…and the man who had allied with the Prophetess to attack Greatheart Keep and wipe out the Jutai. 
    He had not been responsible for his actions. Not completely. Earnachar was a venal, grasping ass…but he had not marched to war against the Jutai until the Prophetess had taken control of him with a heart spider. Sigaldra’s mind recited the facts, over and over again, a bulwark against her rage.
    The bulwark was crumbling. 
    She wanted to find a way into the tent and kill him. It would be so easy. She could distract the guards, slip into the tent, and cut Earnachar’s lying throat. The smug expression would vanish from his ugly face then.
    Her hands clenched against, the fingers of her left hand brushing against the short sword that hung from her belt. Yes. A few moments to distract the guards, and she would slip into Earnachar’s tent and gut him like a fish…
    A boot crunched against the ground.
    Sigaldra whirled, her heart leaping into her throat as Adalar stepped out of the shadows, still wearing his armor, the hilt of his greatsword rising over his shoulder. For an awful moment she thought that he had guessed her intentions, that he had come to stop her. A deep stab of shame went through her, much to her surprise. Why should she care what Adalar Greatheart thought of her? He was not Jutai. 
    But he had fought to defend the Jutai from the Skuldari. He had saved her life from the Prophetess, and promised to help her get Liane back. 
    And he understood what it was like to have one’s entire world destroyed. 
    “Lord Adalar,” said Sigaldra. Her voice only quavered a little. 
    “Lady Sigaldra,” said Adalar. “Talchar wondered where you had gone. He thought you might wish to dine with the