‘I’ve just come from there – and I’m going back as soon as I have accomplished what I set out to do,’ she said, icily.
‘Then you’re an idiot,’ he said, lamely.
‘You were a soldier, weren’t you?’ she said.
‘What’s that to you?’
‘Why did you leave the army?’
‘None of your damned business.’ He paused. Then, to break the awkward silence, went on, ‘We should be at Glen Frenae by this afternoon; it’s only a small village, but they do sell horses.’
They finished their meal without speaking, Rek feeling angry and uncomfortable yet lacking the skill to pierce the gap between them. She cleared the platters and cleaned out the pan, awkward in her mail-shirt.
Virae was furious with herself. She had not meant to quarrel with him. For hours as he slept she had crept about the cabin so as not to disturb him. At first when she woke she had been angry and embarrassed by what he had done, but she knew enough about frostbite and exposure to realise he had saved her life. And he had not taken advantage. If he had done so, she would have killed him without regret or hesitation. She had studied him as he slept. In a strange way he was handsome, she thought, then decided that although he was good-looking after a fashion, it was some indefinable quality which made him attractive – a gentleness, perhaps? A certain sensitivity? It was hard to pinpoint.
Why should he be so attractive? It angered her, she had no time now for romance. Then a bitter thought struck her: she had never had time for romance. Or was it that romance had never had time for her? She was clumsy as a woman, unsure of herself in the company of men – unless in combat or comradeship. His words came again in her mind: ‘What do you know of “worthless”, prancing around dressed as a man?’
Twice he had saved her life. Why had she said she disliked him? Because she was frightened?
She heard him walk from the hut, and then a strange voice.
‘Regnak, my dear! Is it true you have a woman inside?’
She reached for her sword.
4
The Abbot placed his hands on the head of the young albino kneeling before him and closed his eyes. He spoke, mind to mind, in the manner of the Order.
‘Are you prepared?’
‘How can I tell?’ answered the albino.
‘Release your mind to me,’ said the Abbot. The young man relaxed his control; in his mind the image of the Abbot’s kindly face overlapped his thoughts. His thoughts swam, interweaving with the memories of the older man. The Abbot’s powerful personality covered his own like a comforting blanket and he slept.
Release was painful and his fears returned as the Abbot woke him. Once again he was Serbitar and his thoughts were his own.
‘Am I prepared?’ he asked.
‘You will be. The messenger comes.’
‘Is he worthy?’
‘Judge for yourself. Follow me to Graven.’
Their spirits soared, entwined, high above the monastery, free as the winter wind. Below them lay the snow-covered fields at the edge of the forest. The Abbot pulsed them onward, over the trees. In a clearing by a crofter’s hut stood a group of men, facing a doorway in which stood a tall young man and behind him was a woman, sword in hand.
‘Which is the messenger?’ asked the albino.
‘Observe,’ answered the Abbot.
*
Reinard had not had things going his way just recently. An attack on a caravan had been beaten off with heavy losses and then three more of his men had been found dead at dusk – among them his brother Erlik. A prisoner he had taken two days previously had died of fright long before the real entertainment could begin, and the weather had turned for the worse. Bad luck was haunting him and he was at a loss to understand why.
Damn the Speaker, he thought bitterly as he led his men towards the cabin. If he had not been in one of his three-day sleeps the attack on the caravan would have been avoided. Reinard had toyed with the idea of removing his feet as he slept, but good sense and greed had just held sway. Speaker was invaluable. He had come out of his trance as Reinard carried Erlik’s body back to the camp.