‘I suggest we write to Abalayn and urge him to reconsider this war.’
Orrin shot Druss a warning glance.
‘Very well put, Beric,’ he said. ‘Obviously Druss and I, as loyal military men, must vote against; however, feel free to write and I will see the petition is forwarded with the first available rider.’
‘Thank you, Orrin. That is very civilised of you,’ said Beric. ‘Now can we move on to the subject of the demolished homes?’
*
Ulric sat before the brazier, a sheepskin cloak draped over his naked torso. Before him squatted the skeletal figure of his shaman, Nosta Khan.
‘What do you mean?’ Ulric asked him.
‘As I said, I can no longer travel over the fortress. There is a barrier to my power. Last night as I floated above Deathwalker I felt a force, like a storm wind. It pushed me back beyond the outer wall.’
‘And you saw nothing?’
‘No. But I sensed . . . felt . . .’
‘Speak!’
‘It is difficult. In my mind I could feel the sea and a slender ship. It was a fragment only. Also there was a mystic with white hair. I have puzzled long over this. I believe Deathwalker has called upon a white temple.’
‘And their power is greater than yours?’ said Ulric.
‘Merely different,’ hedged the shaman.
‘If they are coming by sea, then they will make for Dros Purdol,’ said Ulric, staring into the glimmering coals. ‘Seek them out.’
The shaman closed his eyes, freed the chains of his spirit and soared free of his body. Formless he raced high above the plain, over hills and rivers, mountains and streams, skirting the Delnoch range until at last the sea lay below him, shimmering beneath the stars. Far he roved before sighting Wastrel, picking out the tiny glint of her aft lantern,
Swiftly he dropped from the sky to hover by the mast. By the port rail stood a man and a woman. Gently he probed their minds, then drifted down through the wooden deck, beyond the hold and on to the cabins. These he could not enter, however. As lightly as the whisper of a sea breeze, he touched the edge of the invisible barrier. It hardened before him, and he recoiled. He floated to the deck, closing on the mariner at the stern, smiled, then raced back towards the waiting Nadir warlord.
Nosta Khan’s body trembled and his eyes opened.
‘Well?’ asked Ulric.
‘I found them.’
‘Can you destroy them?’
‘I believe so. I must gather my acolytes.’
On Wastrel Vintar rose from his bed, his eyes troubled, his mind uneasy. He stretched.
‘You felt it too,’ pulsed Serbitar, swinging his long legs clear of the second bed.
‘Yes. We must be wary.’
‘He did not try to breach the shield,’ said Serbitar. ‘Was that a sign of weakness or confidence?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered the Abbot.
Above them at the stern the second mate rubbed his tired eyes, slipped a looped rope over the wheel and transferred his gaze to the stars. He had always been fascinated by these flickering, far-off candles. Tonight they were brighter than usual, like gems strewn on a velvet cloak. A priest had once told him they were holes in the universe, through which the bright eyes of the gods gazed down on the peoples of the earth. It was a pretty nonsense, but he had enjoyed listening.
Suddenly he shivered. Turning, he lifted his cloak from the aft rail and slung it about his shoulders. He rubbed his hands.
Floating behind him, the spirit of Nosta Khan lifted its hands, focusing power upon the long fingers. Talons grew, glinting like steel, serrated and sharp. Satisfied, he closed in on the mariner, plunging his hands into the man’s head.
Searing agony blanketed the brain within as the man staggered and fell, blood pouring from his mouth and ears and seeping from his eyes. Without a sound he died. Nosta Khan loosened his grip. Drawing on the power of his acolytes, he willed the body to rise, whispering words of obscenity in a language long erased from the minds of ordinary men. Darkness swelled around the corpse, shifting like black smoke to be drawn in through the bloody mouth. The body shuddered.