‘It is all hard to explain. Fetch Calvar Syn. I will wait here with Virae.’
A dream of Vintar’s – what could it mean? The albino had said there were many tomorrows and that no one could ever tell which would come to pass. But he had obviously seen one in which Virae lived and had ordered her body to be preserved. And somehow the wound had been healed inside the crystal. But did that mean she would live?
Virae alive!
His mind reeled. He could neither think nor feel and his body seemed numb. Her death had all but destroyed him, yet now, with her here once more, he was afraid to hope. If life had taught him anything, it had shown him that every man has a breaking point. He knew he was now facing his. He sat by the bed and lifted her cold hand, his own hand shaking with tension, and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Crossing the room, he fetched another blanket and covered her, then went to work building a fire in the hearth.
It was nearly an hour before he heard Calvar Syn on the stairs outside. The man was cursing Arshin loudly. Wearing a stained blue tunic and a blood-covered leather apron, the surgeon stepped into the room.
‘What fool nonsense is this, Earl?’ he thundered. ‘I have men who are dying for want of my skills? What. . .’ He stammered to silence as he saw the girl in the bed. ‘So, the old man was not lying. Why, Rek? Why have you brought her body back?’
‘I don’t know. Truly. Serbitar came to me in a dream and told me he had left a gift for me. This is what I found. I don’t know what’s happening – is she dead?’
‘Of course, she’s dead. The arrow pierced her lung.’
‘Look at her, will you? There’s no wound.’
The surgeon pulled back the sheet and lifted her wrist. For several moments he stood in silence. ‘There is a pulse,’ he whispered, ‘but it is faint – and very, very slow. I cannot wait with you – there are men dying. But I will return in the morning. Keep her warm, that’s all you can do.’
Rek sat beside the bed, holding her hand. Sometime, though he knew not when, he fell asleep beside her. The dawn broke bright and clear and the rising sun’s light entered the eastern window, bathing the bed in golden light. At its touch Virae’s cheeks gained colour and her breathing deepened. A soft moan came from her lips and Rek was instantly awake.
‘Virae? Virae, can you hear me?’ Her eyes opened, then closed again, her lashes fluttering.
‘Virae!’ Once more her eyes opened, and she smiled.
‘Serbitar brought me back,’ she said. ‘So tired . . . Must sleep.’ She turned over, hugged the pillow and fell asleep, just as the door opened and Bowman stepped inside.
‘Gods, it’s true then,’ he said.
Rek ushered him from the room into the corridor.
‘Yes. Somehow Serbitar saved her, I cannot explain it. I don’t even care how it happened. What is going on outside?’
‘They’ve gone! All of them – every damned one of them, old horse. The camp is deserted; Orrin and I have been there. All that’s left is a Wolfshead standard and the body of that Burgher Bricklyn. Can you make any sense out of it?’
‘No,’ said Rek. ‘That standard means that Ulric will return. The body? I can’t say. I sent him to them – he was a traitor and obviously they had no more use for him.’
A young officer came running up the spiral stairs. ‘My lord! There is a Nadir rider waiting at Eldibar.’
Rek and Bowman walked together to Wall One. Below them on a grey steppe pony sat Ulric, Lord of the Nadir, dressed in fur-rimmed helmet, woollen jerkin and goatskin boots. He looked up as Rek leaned over the ramparts. ‘You fought well, Earl of Bronze,’ he shouted. ‘I came to bid you farewell. There is civil war in my own kingdom and I must leave you for a while. I wanted you to know that I shall return.’