‘It’s one way to find out if they’re human,’ she said, sitting up. Rek tore his eyes from her body.
‘You have the strangest effect on me,’ he said, gazing into her eyes. ‘You always make me think of love-making at the wrong times. Now get dressed.’
In the courtyard Serbitar led the men in prayer, a silent joining of minds. Vintar watched the young albino fondly, pleased with his swift adjustment to the responsibility of leadership.
Serbitar ended the prayer and returned to the tower. He was uneasy – out of harmony. He mounted the circular stone steps to the tower bedroom, smiling as he remembered his promise to the tall Drenai and his woman. It would have been so much easier to Speak than to mount these stairs to check if they were ready.
He knocked on the iron-studded door. Rek opened it, beckoning him in.
‘I see you are ready,’ he said. ‘We won’t be long.’
Serbitar nodded. ‘The Drenai have met the Nadir,’ he said.
‘They are already at Delnoch?’ asked Rek, alarmed.
‘No, no,’ answered Serbitar. “The Legion met them in the outlands. They did well. Their leader is called Hogun. He, at least, is quality.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Your powers again?’
‘Yes. Does it distress you?’
‘It makes me uncomfortable. But only because I do not share the talent.’
‘A wise observation, Rek. It will come to be more acceptable, believe me.’ Serbitar bowed as Virae entered from the rear wash-room.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she said. Dressed in her armour, silver mail-shirt, with bronze shoulder pads, she now also sported a silver helm, raven-winged, and a white cloak – gifts from Vintar. Her fair hair was braided on either side of her face.
‘You look like a goddess,’ Rek told her.
They joined The Thirty in the courtyard, checked their mounts and rode alongside Serbitar and Men-ahem, heading for the Drum estuary.
‘Once there,’ Menahem told them, ‘we will book passage on a Lentrian ship to Dros Purdol. It will save two weeks of travel. From Purdol we travel by river and road and should reach Delnoch in four weeks at the outside. I fear battle will be joined before we arrive.’
As the hours passed the ride became a personal nightmare for Rek. His back was bruised and his buttocks numb before Serbitar called for a noon break. It was a short one, and the pain had become intense by dusk.
They camped in a small grove of trees near a stream. Virae almost fell from the saddle, fatigue -deep and numbing – showing in her every movement. But she was enough of a horsewoman to tend her mount before slumping to the ground, her back against a tree. Rek took more time wiping the lather from Lancer’s back and shoulders. He didn’t need to sit! He covered the horse with a blanket, then walked to the stream. Lancer was bearing up as well as the priests’ mounts, Rek thought with pride.
But he was still wary around the gelding. It had a tendency to snap at him even now. Rek smiled, thinking back.
‘A fine mount,’ Serbitar had said that morning, stepping forward to stroke the mane. Lancer snapped and Serbitar leapt backwards. ‘May I Speak with him?’ Serbitar had asked.
‘With a horse?’
‘It is more an empathic bond. I shall tell him I mean no harm.’
‘Go ahead.’
After a little while Serbitar smiled. ‘He is being very friendly, but he is waiting to snap at me again. That, my friend, is a cantankerous animal.’
Rek walked back to the camp-site to find four fires glowing merrily and the riders eating their oatcakes. Virae was asleep beneath a tree, wrapped in a red blanket, her head resting on her white cloak. He joined Serbitar, Vintar and Menahem at their fire. Arbedark was talking softly to a nearby group.
‘We’re pushing hard,’ said Rek. ‘The horses won’t last.’
‘We can rest aboard ship,’ said Serbitar. ‘And we will be aboard the Lentrian vessel Wastrel early tomorrow. It sails with the morning tide, hence the urgency.’
‘Even my bones are tired,’ said Rek. ‘Is there any more news from Delnoch?’