‘Is this a promotion or a punishment?’ he asked. ‘Hand to hand against the Daroth? Not a thrilling prospect.’
‘It is a promotion. You will be paid well.’
He stood silently for a moment. ‘Why did you leave the other night?’
‘I had matters to attend to,’ she said, keeping her voice cool.
‘And I had served my purpose? Ah well, I have used many as you used me. I have no complaint. I will find you your fifty men.’ He turned away and strolled back across the field.
Karis swore softly, then leapt from the fence and strode back towards the palace.
‘How are you feeling today, Brune?’ asked Tarantio.
‘Better, thank you,’ replied the golden-eyed young man. ‘I slept well.’ His voice too had changed, becoming more gentle, almost melodious.
Tarantio sat down beside the bed. ‘I have been concerned about you, my friend.’
‘You are a kind man, Tarantio, and I am in your debt.’
‘It is not him,’ said Dace.
‘I know.’
The sun was high in a cold, clear sky, and the bedroom was bright and warm. The fire still burned in the hearth, and the pale golden figure lay back with his head on the pillow, his body relaxed. ‘Where is Brune?’ asked Tarantio.
‘He is here with me. He is not frightened, Tarantio. Not any more. We are friends, he and I. I will take care of him.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Not an easy question to answer. I am the Oltor Prime, the last of my race. Does this mean anything to you?’
‘The Oltor were destroyed by the Daroth,’ said Tarantio. ‘Perhaps a thousand years ago.’
‘At least. Do not ask me how I came to be here, for I do not know. If I could leave I would. If I could surrender this body to Brune, I would. I have no purpose any longer.’
The figure rose from the bed and stood, naked, in the sunlight streaming through the window. He was thin and tall, his six-fingered hands long and delicate. His eyes were larger than human and semi-protruding, his nose small with the nostrils widely flared. ‘I stood in the forest on that last day,’ he said sadly, ‘and I watched my people die. I surrendered myself to the land. And I died too.’
‘Did you have no magic to use against the Daroth? Could you not fight?’ asked Tarantio.
‘We were not death dealers, my friend. We killed nothing. We were not a violent people, we had no understanding of its nature. We tried to befriend the Daroth, helping them through the Curtain, giving them land that was rich and green and full of magic. They dug into it for iron, tore at it for food, and drowned the magic with their hatred. When we closed the Curtain on them, preventing more from joining them, they turned on us with fire and sword. They devoured our young ones, and slew the old. In despair we tried to run, to open the Curtain on another world. But the magic was gone, and before we could find new, virgin land they were upon us. I was not the Oltor Prime then. I was a young Singer, wed to a beautiful maiden.’
‘What does this title mean? What is the Oltor Prime?’
‘It is a difficult concept to verbalize in a tongue that is new to me. He – sometimes she – is the spiritual leader of the Oltor, possessing great power. When he died in the forest he turned and pointed at me. I felt his power course through my veins. But I surrendered it and died. Or so I thought. Somehow the magicker who tried to heal Brune brought me back. The “how” is a mystery.’
‘You say you surrendered your life. Did the Daroth not kill you?’
‘Yes, they pierced my hearts with harsh swords, pinning me to the ground. Then they struck off my head.’
‘I believe I know the answer,’ said the voice of Duvodas, and Tarantio turned to see the Singer standing in the doorway. Dressed now in a tunic of green silk, his blond hair held in place by a gold circlet, Duvodas entered the room and bowed to the Oltor Prime. ‘Your blood soaked into the earth: the blood of the Oltor Prime. It lay in the stones. The Eldarin found them and took them back to Eldarisa, and they lay in the Oltor Temple for generations. Forty years ago one of the humans – allowed into the city for a special meeting – stole one red stone. It was for this reason that no human was ever allowed to enter again. I have spoken to some of the people cured by Ardlin, and they claim he held a block of red coral over their wounds. Used carefully, the magic would have no ill-effect on the patients. However, Tarantio told me of Brune’s healing. It seems that Ardlin lied – he told them he had a magic orb to replace the injured eye, but there was no orb. What he cast was a spell of disguise – of changing! In his haste he made an error – and released the essence that had remained in the stone for generations. He released you, Lord of the Oltors.’