‘We shall get there,’ said the tall man with Virae. Degas’s eyes measured him: a soldier, he thought, or has been at some time. Carries himself well. Degas directed the party to a large inn, promising to supply the horses within two hours.
True to his word, he returned with a troop of Drenai cavalrymen riding thirty-two horses. They were not of the pedigree of the mounts left behind in Lentria, being mustangs bred for mountain work, but they were sturdy animals. When the horses had been allocated and the provisions packed, Degas approached Rek.
‘There is no charge for these mounts, but I would be obliged if you could deliver these despatches to the Earl. They came by sea from Drenan yesterday and missed our force. The one with the red seal is from Abalayn.’
‘The Earl will receive them,’ said Rek. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘It is nothing. Good luck!’ The officer moved on to make his farewells to Virae. Pushing the letters into the saddle-bag of his roan mare, Rek mounted and led the party west from Purdol along the line of the Delnoch mountains. Serbitar cantered alongside him as they entered the first of the deep woods beyond the town.
‘You look troubled,’ said Rek.
‘Yes. There will be outlaws, renegades, perhaps deserters, and certainly Sathuli tribesmen along our route.’
‘But that is not what troubles you?’
‘You are perceptive,’ said Serbitar.
‘How true. But then I saw the corpse walk.’
‘Indeed you did,’ said Serbitar.
‘You have hedged about that night for long enough,’ said Rek. ‘Now give me the truth of it. Do you know what it was?’
‘Vintar believes it to be a demon summoned by Nosta Khan. He is the head shaman to Ulric’s Wolfs-head tribe – and therefore Lord of all Nadir shaman. He is old and it is said he first served Ulric’s greatgrandfather. He is a man steeped in evil.’
‘And his powers are greater than yours?’
‘Individually, yes. Collectively? I don’t think so. We are presently stopping him from entering Delnoch, but he in turn has cast a veil over the fortress and we cannot enter.’
‘Will he attack us again?’ asked Rek.
‘Assuredly. The question is what method he will choose.’
‘I think I will leave you to worry about that,’ said Rek. ‘I can only take in so much gloom in one day.’
Serbitar did not answer him. Rek reined his mount and waited for Virae.
That night they camped by a mountain stream, but lit no fires. In the early evening Vintar recited poetry, his voice soft and melodious, his words evocative.
‘They are his own work,’ Serbitar whispered to Virae, ‘though he will not own to them. I know not why. He is a fine poet.’
‘But they are so sad,’ she said.
‘All beauty is sad,’ replied the albino. ‘For it fades.’
He left her and retreated to a nearby willow, sitting with his back to the tree, a silver ghost in the moonlight.
Arbedark joined Rek and Virae, handing them honey cakes he had purchased at the port. Rek glanced over at the lonely figure of the albino.
‘He travels,’ said Arbedark. ‘Alone.’
*
As the dawn bird-song began, Rek groaned and eased his aching body away from the probing tree roots which were denting his side. His eyes opened. Most of The Thirty were still asleep, though tall Antaheim stood sentry by the stream. At the willow Serbitar remained where he had been during the recital.
Rek sat up and stretched, his mouth dry. Pushing back his blanket he walked to the horses, removed his pack, rinsed his mouth with water from his canteen and went to the stream. Taking out a bar of soap, he stripped the shirt from his chest and knelt by the swift rushing water.
‘Please don’t do that,’ said Antaheim.
‘What?’
The tall warrior walked across to him, squatting by his side. ‘The soap bubbles will carry on downstream. It is not wise thus to announce our movements.’
Rek cursed himself for a fool and apologised swiftly.
‘That is not necessary. I am sorry to have intruded. Do you see that plant there, by the lichen rock?’