The two men battled on.
‘Rek, listen to me!’ she shouted. ‘It’s only a test. He’s not trying to kill you.’
Her voice came to Rek as from a great distance, piercing the red mist before his eyes. Stepping back, he felt rather than saw the relief in the other man; then he took a deep breath and relaxed, his legs shaky, his hands trembling.
‘You entered my mind,’ he accused the warrior, fixing the man’s dark eyes in a cold gaze. ‘I don’t know how. But if you ever do it again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand,’ Menahem told him softly, his voice muffled within his helm. Rek sheathed his blade at the second attempt and turned to Virae who was looking at him strangely.
‘It wasn’t really me,’ he said. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Virae.’
‘Oh Rek, I’m sorry,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
A new kind of fear hit him as she turned her face away. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he said. ‘It rarely happens and I would never turn on you. Never! Believe me.’ She turned to face him, throwing her arms about his neck.
‘Leave you? What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter to me, you fool. I was just sorry for you. Oh, Rek – you’re such an idiot. I’m not some tavern girl who squeals at the sight of a rat. I’m a woman who has grown up alongside men. Soldiers. Fighting men. Warriors. You think I would leave you because you are baresark?’
‘I can control it,’ he said, holding her tightly to him.
‘Where we are going, Rek, you will not have to,’ she said.
Serbitar left the monastery balcony and poured a goblet of spring water from a stone jug.
‘How did he do it?’
Vintar sat back on a leather chair. ‘There is a well of courage within him, fuelled by many things of which we can only guess. But when Menahem fed him fear, he responded with violence. Because what Menahem could not have understood is that the man fears fear itself. Did you glimpse that memory of his childhood during Menahem’s probe?’
‘The tunnels, you mean?’
‘Yes. What do you make of a child who fears the dark and yet seeks out dark tunnels to travel through?’
‘He tried to end his fears by facing them,’ said Serbitar.
‘He still does. And that’s why Menahem almost died.’
‘He will be useful at Dros Delnoch,’ said Serbitar, smiling.
‘More than you know,’ said Vintar. ‘More than you know.’
*
‘Yes,’ Serbitar told Rek as they sat within the oak-panelled study overlooking the courtyard. ‘Yes, we can read minds. But I assure you we will not again attempt to read yours – or that of your companion.’
‘Why did he do that to me?’ asked Rek.
‘Menahem is the Eyes of The Thirty. He had to see that you were worthy to ask of us . . . the service. You expect us to fight with your forces, to analyse enemy tactics and to use our skills in defence of a fortress about which we care nothing. The messenger has to be worthy.’
‘But I am not the messenger, I am merely a companion.’
‘We shall see . . . How long have you known of your . . . affliction?’
Rek turned his gaze to the window and the balcony beyond. A wren landed on the railing, sharpened his beak on the stone and then flew off. Light clouds were forming, fleece islands in the clear blue of the sky.
‘It has happened only twice. Both times in the Sathuli wars. Once when we were surrounded after a dawn raid on a village, and the second time when I was part of a guard unit for a spices caravan.’
‘It is common among warriors,’ said Serbitar. ‘It is a gift of fear.’
‘It saved my life both times, but it scares me,’ said Rek. ‘It is as if someone else takes over my mind and body.’
‘But that is not so, I assure you. It is you alone.
Do not fear what you are, Rek – may I call you Rek?’