‘And who does the priest fight?’
Decado turned to face the earnest young man. ‘The priest fights himself. He cannot look at a woman with honest lust without guilt burning into him. He cannot get drunk and forget. He cannot take a day just to soak in the glory of the world’s beauty, without wondering if he should be engaged on some worthy deed.’
‘For a priest, you have a low opinion of your brothers.’
‘On the contrary, I have a very high opinion of them,’ said Decado.
‘You were very hard on Acuas. He really believed he was rescuing Abaddon’s soul.’
‘I know that, Katan. I admire him for it – all of you, in fact. I was angry with myself. It was not easy for me, for I don’t have your faith. For me the Source is a mystery I cannot solve. And yet I promised Abaddon I would see his mission fulfilled. You are fine young men and I am merely an old warrior in love with death.’
‘Do not be too hard on yourself. You are chosen. It is a great honour.’
‘Happenstance! I came to the Temple and Abaddon read more into it than he should.’
‘No,’ said Katan. “Think on this: you came on the day when one of our brothers died. More than that – you are not just a warrior, you are possibly the greatest swordsman of the age. You defeated the Templars single-handed. Even more, you developed talents with which the rest of us were born. You came to our rescue in the Castle of the Void. How can you not be the natural leader? And if you are . . . what brought you to us?’
Decado leaned back, staring at the gathering clouds.
‘I think we are in for rain,’ he remarked.
‘Have you tried praying, Decado?’
‘It would still rain.’
‘Have you tried?’ persisted the priest.
Decado sat up and sighed deeply. ‘Of course I have tried. But I get no answers. I tried on the night you journeyed into the Void . . . but He would not answer me.’
‘How can you say that? Did you not learn to soar on that night? Did you not find us through the mists of non-time? You think you did that in your own strength?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Then you answered your own prayers?’
‘Yes.’
Katan smiled. ‘Then keep praying. Who knows the heights to which it will carry you?’
Now it was Decado’s turn to chuckle. ‘You mock me, young Katan! I will not have it. Just for that you can lead the prayers this evening – I think Acuas needs a rest.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’
Across the fields Ananais spurred his black gelding into a gallop. Bending low over the beast’s neck he urged it on, hooves drumming on the dry ground. For those few seconds of speed he forgot his problems, revelling in the freedom of the race. Behind him Galand and Thorn were neck and neck, but their mounts were no match for the gelding and Ananais reached the stream twenty lengths ahead. He leapt to the ground and patted the horse, keeping him from the water and walking him round to cool down. The others dismounted.
‘Unfair!’ said Galand. ‘Your mount is hands higher and bred for speed.’
‘But I weigh more than both of you together,’ said Ananais.
Thorn said nothing, merely grinned crookedly and shook his head. He liked Ananais and welcomed the change which had come over him since the fair-haired woman had moved into his hut. He seemed more alive – more in tune with the world.
Love was like that. Thorn had been in love many times, and even at sixty-two he hoped for at least another two or three romances. There was a widow woman who had a farm in the high, lonely country to the north; he stopped there often for breakfast. She hadn’t warmed to him yet, but she would -Thorn knew women. There was no point in rushing in … Gentle talk, that was the answer. Ask them questions about themselves … Be interested. Most men travelled through life determined to rut as swiftly as the woman would allow. Senseless! Talk first. Learn. Then touch, gently, lovingly. Care. Then love and linger. Thorn had learned early, for he had always been ugly. Other men disliked him for his success, but they could never be bothered to learn from it. Fools!