‘You used the wrong analogy,’ said Rek. ‘It is nothing like explaining colours ‘to a blind man. Rather is it more like teaching archery to a rock. I haven’t the remotest idea what you are talking about. Will Serbitar be all right?’
‘We don’t know yet. If he lives, he will have information of great value.’
‘What happened to his eyes? How did they change colour?’ asked Virae.
‘Serbitar is an albino – a true albino. He needs certain herbs in order to maintain his strength. Last night he journeyed too far and lost his way. It was foolhardy. But his heartbeat is strong and he is now resting.’
‘Then he won’t die?’ said Rek.
‘That we cannot say. He travelled a path which stretched his mind. It could be he will suffer the Pull; this happens sometimes to Travellers. They move so far from themselves that they just drift, like smoke. If his spirit is broken, it will pass from him and return to the mist.’
‘Can’t you do anything?’
‘We have done all we can. We cannot hold him forever.’
‘When will we know?’ asked Rek.
‘When he awakes. If he awakes.’
*
The long morning wore on and Serbitar still lay unmoving. The Thirty volunteered no conversation and Virae had walked upstream to bathe. Bored and tired, Rek took the despatches from his pouch. The bulky scroll sealed in red wax was addressed to Earl Delnar. Rek broke the seal and spread the letter wide. In flowing script the message read:
My dear friend,
Even as you read this, our intelligence is that Nadir will be upon you. We have tried repeatedly to secure peace, having offered all that we have save the right to govern ourselves as a free people. Ulric will have none of this – he wishes to secure for himself a kingdom stretching between the northern and southern seas.
I know the Dros cannot hold and I therefore rescind my order that you fight to the last. It will be a battle without profit and without hope.
Woundweaver is – needless to say – against this policy, and has made it clear that he will take his army into the hills as a raiding force should the Nadir be allowed to pass to the Sentran Plain.
You are an old soldier and the decision must be yours.
Pin the blame for surrender upon me. It is mine by right, since I have brought the Drenai people to this parlous state.
Do not think of me unkindly. I have always tried to do that which was best for my people.
But perhaps the years have told more heavily upon me than I realised, for my wisdom has been lacking in my dealings with Ulric.
It was signed simply ‘Abalayn’, and below the signature was the red seal of the Drenai dragon.
Rek re-folded the scroll and returned it to his saddle bag.
Surrender . . . A helping hand at the brink of the abyss.
Virae returned from the stream, her hair dripping and her features flushed.
‘Ye gods, that was good!’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘Why the long face? Serbitar not awake yet?’
‘No. Tell me, what would your father have done if Abalayn had told him to surrender the Dros?’
‘He would never have given that order to my father.’
‘But if he had?’ insisted Rek.
‘The point does not arise. Why do you always ask questions that have no relevance?’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen to me. What would he have done?’
‘He would have refused. Abalayn would know that my father is the lord of Dros Delnoch, the High Warden of the North. He can be relieved of command – but not ordered to give up the fortress.’
‘Suppose Abalayn had then left the choice to Delnar. What then?’
‘He would have fought to the last; it was his way. Now will you tell me what all this is about?’
‘The despatch Degas gave me for your father. It is a letter from Abalayn withdrawing his “fight to the last” order.’
‘How dare you open that?’ stormed Virae. ‘It was addressed to my father and should have been given to me. How dare you!’ Her face red with fury, she suddenly struck out at him. When he parried the blow, she launched another and without thinking he struck her, flat-handed, sprawling her to the grass.