by Legend [lit]
The captain came forward from the shadows by the mast.
'What was it?' he asked.
Vintar joined him, placing a hand gently on the man's shoulder.
'We have many enemies,' he said. 'They have great powers. But fear not, we are not powerless and no harm will befall the ship again. I promise you.'
'And what of his soul?' asked the captain, wandering to the rail. 'Have they taken it?'
'It is free,' said Vintar. 'Believe me.'
'We will all be free,' said Rek, 'if someone doesn't turn the ship away from those rocks.'
*
In the darkened tent of Nosta Khan the acolytes silently backed out, leaving him sitting in the centre of the circle chalked on the dirt floor. Lost in thought, Nosta Khan ignored them - he was drained and angry.
For they had bested him and he was a man unused to defeat. It tasted bitter in his mouth.
He smiled.
There would be another time . . .
16
Blessed by a following wind, Wastrel sped north until at last the silver grey towers of Dros Purdol broke the line of the horizon. The ship entered the harbour a little before noon, piloting past the Drenai war triremes and the merchant vessels anchored in the bay.
On the milling docks street traders sold charms, ornaments, weapons and blankets to mariners, while burly dockers carried provisions up swaying gangplanks, stacking cargo and checking loads. All was noise and apparent confusion.
The harbour-side was rich in colour and the hectic pace of city life and Rek felt a pang of regret to be leaving the ship. As Serbitar led The Thirty ashore, Rek and Virae said their goodbyes to the captain.
'With one exception, it has been a more than pleasant voyage,' Virae told him. 'I thank you for your courtesy.'
'I was glad to be of service, my lady. I will forward the marriage papers to Drenan on my return. It was a "first" for me. I have never taken part in the wedding of an earl's daughter - much less conducted one. I wish you well.' Bending forward he kissed her hand.
He wanted to add, 'Long life and happiness,' but he knew their destination.
Virae strode down the gangplank as Rek gripped the captain's hand. He was surprised when the man embraced him.
'May your sword arm be strong, your spirit lucky and your horse swift when the time comes,' he said.
Rek grinned. 'The first two I will need. As to the horse, do you believe that lady will consider flight?'
'No, she's a wonderful lass. Be lucky.'
'I will try hard,' said Rek.
At the quayside a young red-caped officer eased his way through the crowd to confront Serbitar.
'Your business in Dros Purdol?' he asked.
'We are travelling to Delnoch as soon as we can obtain horses,' answered the albino.
'The fortress will soon be under siege, sir. Are you aware of the coming war?'
'We are. We travel with the Lady Virae, daughter of Earl Delnar, and her husband Regnak.'
Seeing Virae, the officer bowed: 'A pleasure, my lady. We met at your eighteenth birthday celebration last year. You probably won't remember me.'
'On the contrary, Dun Degas! We danced and I trod on your foot. You were most kind and took the blame.'
Degas smiled and bowed again. How she had changed, he thought! Where was the clumsy girl who had contrived to trip on the hem of her skirt? Who had blushed as red as the wine when, during a heated conversation, she had crushed a crystal goblet, drenching the woman to her right. What had changed? She was the same woman-girl he remembered - her hair mousy blonde, her mouth too wide, her brows thunder-dark over deep set eyes. He saw her smile as Rek stepped forward and his question was answered. She had become desirable.
'What are you thinking, Degas?' she asked. 'You look far away.'
'My apologies, my lady. I was thinking Earl Pindak will be delighted to receive you.'
'You will have to convey my regrets,' said Virae, 'for we must leave as soon as possible. Where can we purchase mounts?'
'I am sure we can find you good horses,' said Degas. 'It is a shame you did not arrive sooner, since four days ago we sent three hundred men to Delnoch to aid the defence. You could have travelled with them - it would have been safer. The Sathuli have grown bold since the Nadir threat.'
'We shall get there,' said the tall man with Virae. Degas's eyes measured him: a soldier, he thought, or has been at some time. Carries himself well. Degas directed the party to a large inn, promising to supply the horses within two hours.
True to his word, he returned with a troop of Drenai cavalrymen riding thirty-two horses. They were not of the pedigree of the mounts left behind in Lentria, being mustangs bred for mountain work, but they were sturdy animals. When the horses had been allocated and the provisions packed, Degas approached Rek.
'There is no charge for these mounts, but I would be obliged if you could deliver these despatches to the Earl. They came by sea from Drenan yesterday and missed our force. The one with the red seal is from Abalayn.'
'The Earl will receive them,' said Rek. 'Thank you for your help.'
'It is nothing. Good luck!' The officer moved on to make his farewells to Virae. Pushing the letters into the saddle-bag of his roan mare, Rek mounted and led the party west from Purdol along the line of the Delnoch mountains. Serbitar cantered alongside him as they entered the first of the deep woods beyond the town.
'You look troubled,' said Rek.
'Yes. There will be outlaws, renegades, perhaps deserters, and certainly Sathuli tribesmen along our route.'
'But that is not what troubles you?'
'You are perceptive,' said Serbitar.
'How true. But then I saw the corpse walk.'
'Indeed you did,' said Serbitar.
'You have hedged about that night for long enough,' said Rek. 'Now give me the truth of it. Do you know what it was?'
'Vintar believes it to be a demon summoned by Nosta Khan. He is the head shaman to Ulric's Wolfs-head tribe - and therefore Lord of all Nadir shaman. He is old and it is said he first served Ulric's greatgrandfather. He is a man steeped in evil.'
'And his powers are greater than yours?'
'Individually, yes. Collectively? I don't think so. We are presently stopping him from entering Delnoch, but he in turn has cast a veil over the fortress and we cannot enter.'
'Will he attack us again?' asked Rek.
'Assuredly. The question is what method he will choose.'
'I think I will leave you to worry about that,' said Rek. 'I can only take in so much gloom in one day.'
Serbitar did not answer him. Rek reined his mount and waited for Virae.
That night they camped by a mountain stream, but lit no fires. In the early evening Vintar recited poetry, his voice soft and melodious, his words evocative.
'They are his own work,' Serbitar whispered to Virae, 'though he will not own to them. I know not why. He is a fine poet.'
'But they are so sad,' she said.
'All beauty is sad,' replied the albino. 'For it fades.'
He left her and retreated to a nearby willow, sitting with his back to the tree, a silver ghost in the moonlight.
Arbedark joined Rek and Virae, handing them honey cakes he had purchased at the port. Rek glanced over at the lonely figure of the albino.
'He travels,' said Arbedark. 'Alone.'
*
As the dawn bird-song began, Rek groaned and eased his aching body away from the probing tree roots which were denting his side. His eyes opened. Most of The Thirty were still asleep, though tall Antaheim stood sentry by the stream. At the willow Serbitar remained where he had been during the recital.
Rek sat up and stretched, his mouth dry. Pushing back his blanket he walked to the horses, removed his pack, rinsed his mouth with water from his canteen and went to the stream. Taking out a bar of soap, he stripped the shirt from his chest and knelt by the swift rushing water.
'Please don't do that,' said Antaheim.
&n
bsp; 'What?'
The tall warrior walked across to him, squatting by his side. 'The soap bubbles will carry on downstream. It is not wise thus to announce our movements.'
Rek cursed himself for a fool and apologised swiftly.
'That is not necessary. I am sorry to have intruded. Do you see that plant there, by the lichen rock?'
Rek twisted, then nodded. 'It is a lemon mint. Wash in the water, then crush some of the leaves and clean your body. It will refresh you and create . . . a more pleasant aroma.'
'Thank you. Is Serbitar still travelling?'
'He should not be. I will seek him.' Antaheim closed his eyes for several seconds. When they opened again, Rek recognised panic and the warrior ran from the stream. In that moment all members of The Thirty surged from their blankets and raced to Serbitar by the willow.
Rek dropped his shirt and soap on the bank and moved to join them. Vintar was bending over the albino's still form; he closed his eyes and placed his hands on the young leader's slender face. For long moments he remained thus. Sweat broke out upon his forehead and he began to sway. When he lifted a hand, Menahem joined him instantly, raising Serbitar's head. The swarthy warrior lifted the albino's right eyelid: the iris was red as blood.
Virae dropped to her knees beside Rek. 'His eyes are green normally,' she said. 'What is happening?'
'I don't know,' said Rek.
Antaheim rose from the group and sprinted for the undergrowth, returning minutes later with what appeared to be an armful of vine leaves which he tipped to the ground. Gathering dried twigs, he fashioned a small fire; then, setting up a tripod of branches, he hung a pot above the flames, filled it with water and crushed the leaves between his palms, dropping them into the pot. Soon the water began to bubble and a sweet aroma filled the air. Antaheim lifted the pan from the flames, adding cold water from his canteen, then transferred the green liquid to a leather-covered pottery mug which he passed to Menahem. Slowly they opened Serbitar's mouth and, while Vintar held the albino's nostrils, they poured in the liquid. Serbitar gagged and swallowed and Vintar released his nose. Menahem laid his head back on the grass and Antaheim swiftly killed the fire. There had been no smoke.
'What's going on?' asked Rek as Vintar approached him.
'We will talk later,' said Vintar. 'Now I must rest.' He stumbled to his blankets and lay down, slipping instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
'I feel like a one-legged man in a foot race,' said Rek.
Menahem joined them, his dark face grey with exhaustion as he sipped water from a leather canteen. He stretched his long legs out on the grass and lay on his side, supporting himself on his elbow. He turned towards Rek.
'I didn't mean to eavesdrop,' he said, 'but I did overhear you. You must forgive Vintar. He is older than the rest of us and the strain of the hunt proved too much for him.'
"The hunt? What hunt?' asked Virae.
'We sought Serbitar. He had journeyed far and the path was sundered. He could not return and we had to find him. Vintar guessed rightly that he had retreated into the mists and taken his chances. He had to seek him.'
'I'm sorry, Menahem. You look worn out,' said Rek, 'but try to remember that we do not know what you are talking about. Into the mists? What the devil does that mean?'
Menahem sighed. 'How can one explain colours to a blind man?'
'One says,' snapped Rek, 'that red is like silk, blue is like cool water, and yellow is like sunshine on the face.'
'Forgive me, Rek. I am tired, I did not mean to be rude,' said Menahem. 'I cannot explain the mists to you as I understand them. But I will try to give you some idea.
'There are many futures but only one past. When we travel beyond ourselves we walk a straight path, journeying much as we are doing now. We direct ourselves over vast distances. But the path back remains solid, for it is locked in our memories. Do you understand?'
'So far,' said Rek. 'Virae?'
'I'm not an idiot, Rek.'
'Sorry. Go on, Menahem.'
'Now try to imagine there are other paths. Not just from, say, Drenan to Delnoch, but from today into tomorrow. Tomorrow has not yet happened and the possibilities for it are endless. Each one of us makes a decision that will affect tomorrow. But let us say we do travel into tomorrow. Then we are faced with a multitude of paths, gossamer-thin and shifting. In one tomorrow Dros Delnoch has already fallen, in another it has been saved, or is about to fall or about to be saved. Already we have four paths. Which is true? And when we tread the path, how do we return to today, which from where we are standing is a multitude of yesterdays? To which do we return? Serbitar journeyed far beyond tomorrow. And Vintar found him as we held the path in sight.'
'You used the wrong analogy,' said Rek. 'It is nothing like explaining colours 'to a blind man. Rather is it more like teaching archery to a rock. I haven't the remotest idea what you are talking about. Will Serbitar be all right?'
'We don't know yet. If he lives, he will have information of great value.'
'What happened to his eyes? How did they change colour?' asked Virae.
'Serbitar is an albino - a true albino. He needs certain herbs in order to maintain his strength. Last night he journeyed too far and lost his way. It was foolhardy. But his heartbeat is strong and he is now resting.'
'Then he won't die?' said Rek.
'That we cannot say. He travelled a path which stretched his mind. It could be he will suffer the Pull; this happens sometimes to Travellers. They move so far from themselves that they just drift, like smoke. If his spirit is broken, it will pass from him and return to the mist.'
'Can't you do anything?'
'We have done all we can. We cannot hold him forever.'
'When will we know?' asked Rek.
'When he awakes. If he awakes.'
*
The long morning wore on and Serbitar still lay unmoving. The Thirty volunteered no conversation and Virae had walked upstream to bathe. Bored and tired, Rek took the despatches from his pouch. The bulky scroll sealed in red wax was addressed to Earl Delnar. Rek broke the seal and spread the letter wide. In flowing script the message read:
My dear friend,
Even as you read this, our intelligence is that Nadir will be upon you. We have tried repeatedly to secure peace, having offered all that we have save the right to govern ourselves as a free people. Ulric will have none of this - he wishes to secure for himself a kingdom stretching between the northern and southern seas.
I know the Dros cannot hold and I therefore rescind my order that you fight to the last. It will be a battle without profit and without hope.
Woundweaver is - needless to say - against this policy, and has made it clear that he will take his army into the hills as a raiding force should the Nadir be allowed to pass to the Sentran Plain.
You are an old soldier and the decision must be yours.
Pin the blame for surrender upon me. It is mine by right, since I have brought the Drenai people to this parlous state.
Do not think of me unkindly. I have always tried to do that which was best for my people.
But perhaps the years have told more heavily upon me than I realised, for my wisdom has been lacking in my dealings with Ulric.
It was signed simply 'Abalayn', and below the signature was the red seal of the Drenai dragon.
Rek re-folded the scroll and returned it to his saddle bag.
Surrender . . . A helping hand at the brink of the abyss.
Virae returned from the stream, her hair dripping and her features flushed.
'Ye gods, that was good!' she said, sitting beside him. 'Why the long face? Serbitar not awake yet?'
'No. Tell me, what would your father have done if Abalayn had told him to surrender the Dros?'
'He would never have given that order to my father.'
'But if he had?' insisted Rek.
'The point does not arise. Why do you always ask questions that have no relevance?'
He put a ha
nd on her shoulder. 'Listen to me. What would he have done?'
'He would have refused. Abalayn would know that my father is the lord of Dros Delnoch, the High Warden of the North. He can be relieved of command - but not ordered to give up the fortress.'
'Suppose Abalayn had then left the choice to Delnar. What then?'
'He would have fought to the last; it was his way. Now will you tell me what all this is about?'
'The despatch Degas gave me for your father. It is a letter from Abalayn withdrawing his "fight to the last" order.'
'How dare you open that?' stormed Virae. 'It was addressed to my father and should have been given to me. How dare you!' Her face red with fury, she suddenly struck out at him. When he parried the blow, she launched another and without thinking he struck her, flat-handed, sprawling her to the grass.
She lay there, eyes blazing.
'I'll tell you how I dare,' he said, suppressing his anger with great effort. 'Because I am the Earl. And if Delnar is dead, then it was addressed to me. Which means that the decision to fight is mine. As is the decision to open the gates to the Nadir.'
'That's what you want, isn't it? A way out?' She rose to her feet, snatching up her leather jerkin.
'Think what you like,' he said. 'It doesn't matter to me. Anyway, I should have known better than to talk to you about the letter. I'd forgotten how much this war means to you. You can't wait to see the crows feast, can you? Can't wait for the bodies to start swelling and rotting! You hear me?' he shouted at her back as she walked away.
'Trouble, my friend?' asked Vintar as he sat down opposite the angry Rek.
'Nothing whatsoever to do with you,' snapped the new Earl.
'Of that I don't doubt,' said Vintar calmly. 'But I might be able to help. After all, I've known Virae for many years.'
