‘Once,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you would have died of the cold, you’re too tough. And Grussin saved us both. But, yes, I would like to stay just for today. Mind you, I don’t fancy sleeping on the floor again.’
‘You won’t have to,’ she said.
*
The Abbot smiled at the young albino’s embarrassment. He released his hands from the mind hold and walked back to his desk. ‘Join me, Serbitar,’ he said, aloud. ‘Do you regret your oath of celibacy?’
‘Sometimes,’ said the young man, rising from his knees. He brushed dust from his white cassock and seated himself opposite the Abbot.
‘The girl is worthy,’ Serbitar replied. ‘The man is an enigma. Will their force be lessened by their lovemaking?’
‘Strengthened,’ said the Abbot. ‘They need each other. Together they are complete, as in the Sacred Book. Tell me of her.’
‘What can I tell?’
‘You entered her mind. Tell me of her.’
‘She is an earl’s daughter. She lacks confidence in herself as a woman and she is a victim of mixed desires.’
‘Why?’
‘She doesn’t know why,’ he hedged.
‘Of that I am aware. Do you know why?’
‘No.’
‘What of the man?’
‘I did not enter his mind.’
‘No. But what of the man?’
‘He has great fears. He fears to die.’
‘Is this a weakness?’ asked the Abbot.
‘It will be at Dros Delnoch. Death is almost certain there.’
‘Yes. Can it be a strength?’
‘I do not see how,’ said Serbitar.
‘What does the philosopher say of cowards and heroes?’
‘The prophet says, “By nature of definition only the coward is capable of the highest heroism”.’
‘You must convene The Thirty, Serbitar.’
‘I am to lead?’
‘Yes. You shall be the Voice of The Thirty.’
‘But who shall my brothers be?’
The Abbot leaned back in his chair. ‘Arbedark will be the Heart. He is strong, fearless and true; there could be none other. Menahem shall be the Eyes, for he is gifted. I shall be the Soul.’
‘No!’ said the albino. ‘It cannot be, master. I cannot lead you.’
‘But you must. You will decide the other Numbers. I shall await your decision.’
‘Why me? Why must I lead? I should be the Eyes. Arbedark should lead.’
‘Trust me. All will be revealed.’
*
‘I was raised at Dros Delnoch,’ Virae told Rek as they lay before the blazing fire. His head rested on his rolled cloak, her head nestled on his chest. He stroked her hair, saying nothing. ‘It’s a majestic place. Have you ever been there?’
‘No. Tell me about it.’ He didn’t really want to hear, but neither did he wish to speak.
‘It has six outer walls, each of them twenty feet thick. The first three were built by Egel, the Earl of Bronze. But then the town expanded and gradually they built three more. The whole fortress spans the Delnoch Pass. With the exception of Dros Purdol to the west and Corteswain to the east, it is the only route for an army to pass through the mountains. My father converted the old keep and made it his home. The view is beautiful from the upper turrets. To the south in summer the whole of the Sentran Plain is golden with corn. And to the north you can see for ever. Are you listening to me?’
‘Yes. Golden views. You can see for ever,’ he said, softly.
‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
‘Yes. Tell me about the walls again.’
‘What about them?’
‘How thick are they?’
‘They are also up to sixty feet high, with jutting towers every fifty paces. Any army attacking the Dros would suffer fearful losses.’
‘What about the gates?’ he asked. ‘A wall is only as strong as the gate it shields.’
‘The Earl of Bronze thought of that. Each gate is set behind an iron portcullis and built of layered bronze, iron and oak. Beyond the gates are tunnels which narrow at the centre before opening out on to the level between walls. You could hold the tunnels against an enormous number of men. The whole of the Dros was beautifully designed; it’s only the town which spoils it.’