The Oltor Prime sighed. ‘And here I stand – without purpose, or reason for being. Locked in my hearts are the histories of my people, each one of them. What am I to do?’
‘You could help us fight the Daroth,’ said Tarantio.
‘I cannot fight.’
‘Even after they destroyed all your people?’
‘Even so. I am a Healer. It is not what I do, Tarantio; it is what I am. If I saw a wounded Daroth, I would heal
it without a moment’s hesitation. In that way I feed the land with magic. I create harmony.’
‘I call that the coward’s way,’ said Dace aloud. ‘Life is a struggle, from the agonies of birth to the railing against death. Devour or be devoured. The law of the wild.’
‘This land was not wild until the Daroth came,’ said the Oltor.
‘Did the lion not hunt the deer, leaping upon it, tearing out its throat?’
‘Yes, Dace, the lion did that, for that is the lion’s nature. But at no time did the deer develop fangs and claws and rend the lion.’
Dace was stunned by the use of his name. ‘You can see the difference in us? You can tell us apart?’
‘I can. You were born in that terrible moment when a child, Tarantio, saw his father hanging from a beam. He could not face the sight, and in his terror he created a brother who could – a brother who could survive all the terrors the world could hurl at a child. You saved him, Dace. Saved him from madness and despair. Now he saves you.’
‘I need no-one to save me. I am Dace. I am the best there is, the best there ever was. Hell’s teeth, I am the best there ever will be! I am not weak. When an enemy comes for me I slay him – human or Daroth, lion or wolf.’
‘And yet you wept when Sigellus was cut down. You tried to stop him duelling; he was drunk, his powers fading. You almost begged him to let you fight in his place. But he was proud. When he died, you felt as though a hot knife was being dragged across your soul.’
Dace’s hand flashed for the dagger at his belt. He staggered. ‘I did not know that,’ said Tarantio, his hand dropping to his side.
‘He lies!’ shouted Dace.
‘There was never a need for lies in a culture that knew no violence, no anger, no despair,’ said the Oltor. ‘That is why the Daroth fooled us. They are telepaths, and they presented a mental wall through which we did not pass. It would have been discourteous to try.’
‘We are now facing the Daroth,’ said Tarantio. ‘Your help would be appreciated.’
‘I will heal your wounded, but more than that I cannot offer. I will rest now. Perhaps you would like to speak with Brune?’ The Oltor closed his eyes. Brune opened them. ‘He is very sad,’ said Brune. ‘He wants to die.’
Moving to his clothes, Brune dressed himself. His leggings were too short now, and his clothes hung upon his slender frame. He sat down by the window. ‘Can you do nothing for him?’ he asked Tarantio.
‘What can I do? He is the last of a dead race.’
‘But he’s so sad,’ said Brune. ‘And he’s my friend.’
‘Yesterday you were frightened,’ said Tarantio, ‘and rightly so. Can you not see that he is taking over your body?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Brune. ‘All my life I’ve been frightened. Never knowing what to do, what to say. So many things I couldn’t understand. People. Wars. I couldn’t remember things. Places. I used to get lost. I’m not lost now. He teaches me things, he looks after me.’
Tarantio smiled, and patted Brune’s shoulder. ‘We all look after you, my friend. That is why we are concerned.’
‘I’ll be all right, honestly I will. You won’t let no-one hurt him, will you? He’s not like us. He won’t fight.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ Tarantio promised.
‘He has knowledge that could end disease and famine,’ said Brune. ‘The Oltor may be gone, but we humans could learn so much from him.’