Once again Serbitar started down. The steps ended in a long corridor, ankle-deep in water. They waded through to a final door, shaped like an oak-leaf and bearing a gold plaque with inscribed lettering in the Elder tongue.
‘What does it say?’ asked Rek.
‘It says: “To the worthy – welcome. Herein lies Egel’s secret, and the soul of the Earl of Bronze”.’
‘What does it mean?’
Serbitar tried the door handle but the door was locked, seemingly from within since no bolt, chain, or keyhole could be seen.
‘Do we break it down?’ said Rek.
‘No. You open it.’
‘It is locked. Is this a game?’
‘Try it.’
Rek turned the handle gently and the door swung open without a sound. Soft lights sprang up within the room, glowing globes of glass set in the recesses of the walls. The room was dry, though now the water from the corridor outside flowed in and spread across the richly carpeted floor.
At the centre of the room, on a wooden stand, was a suit of armour unlike anything Rek had ever seen. It was wonderfully crafted in bronze, the overlapping scales of metal glittering in the light. The breastplate carried a bronze eagle, with wings flaring out over the chest and up to the shoulders. Atop this was a helmet, winged and crested with an eagle’s head. Gauntlets there were, scaled and hinged, and greaves. Upon the table before the armour lay a bronze-ringed mail-shirt lined with softest leather, and mail leggings with bronze hinged kneecaps. But above all, Rek was drawn to the sword encased in a block of solid crystal. The blade was golden and over two feet in length; the hilt double-handed, the guard a pair of flaring wings.
‘It is the armour of Egel, the first Earl of Bronze,’ said Serbitar.
‘Why was it allowed to lie here?’
‘No one could open the door,’ answered the albino.
‘It was not locked,’ said Rek.
‘Not to you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The meaning is clear: you and no other were meant to open the door.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘Shall I fetch you the sword?’ asked Serbitar.
‘If you wish.’
Serbitar walked to the crystal cube, drew his own sword and hammered at the block. Nothing happened. His blade clanged back into the air, leaving no mark upon the crystal.
‘You try,’ said Serbitar.
‘May I borrow your sword?’
‘Just reach for the hilt.’
Rek moved forward and lowered his hand to the crystal, waiting for the cold touch of glass which never came. His hand sank into the block, his fingers curling round the hilt. Effortlessly he drew the blade forth.
‘Is it a trick?’ he asked.
‘Probably. But it is none of mine. Look!’ The albino put his hands on the now empty crystal and heaved himself up upon it. ‘Pass your hands below me,’ he said.
Rek obeyed – for him the crystal did not exist.
‘What does it mean?’
‘I do not know, my friend. Truly I do not.’
‘Then how did you know it was here?’
‘That is even more difficult to explain. Do you remember that day in the grove when I could not be awakened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I travelled far across the planet, and even beyond, but in my travels I breasted the currents of time and I visited Delnoch. It was night and I saw myself leading you through the hall and down to this room. I saw you take the sword and I heard you ask the question you have just asked. And then I heard my answer.’
‘So, at this moment you are hovering above us listening?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you well enough to believe you, but answer me this: that may explain how you are here now with me, but how did the first Serbitar know, the armour was here?’
‘I genuinely cannot explain it, Rek. It is like looking into the reflection of a mirror, and watching it go on and on into infinity. But I have found in my studies that often there is more to this life than we reckon with.’
‘Meaning?’
‘There is the power of the Source.’
‘I am in no mood for religion.’