‘Did they ever get the body out?’ asked the Cul.
‘Not as I heard. But don’t worry, lad. It’s only bones by now and won’t affect the taste. Go on, try some.’
‘Funnily enough I don’t feel very thirsty.’
Garta laughed and dipped his hands into the bucket, lifting the water to his mouth.
‘Spiced with rat droppings and garnished with dead spiders!’ he said. ‘Are you sure you won’t have some?’
The men grinned, but none stepped forward.
‘All right, the fun’s over,’ said Garta. ‘The pulleys are working, the buckets are ready and I should say the job’s done. So let’s lock the gate and get back to work.’
Garta awoke in the night, pain ripping at him like an angry rat trapped in his belly. As he rolled from the bed and struggled to rise, his groaning woke the other three men sharing the room. One of them rushed to his side.
‘What is it, Garta?’ he said, turning the writhing man on to his back. Garta drew up his knees, his face purple. His hand snaked out, grabbing the other’s shirt.
‘The . . . water! Water!’ He started to choke.
‘He wants water!’ yelled the man supporting him.
Garta shook his head. Suddenly his back arched as pain seared him.
‘Great gods! He’s dead,’ said his companion as Garta slumped in his arms.
19
Rek, Serbitar, Virae and Vintar sat around a small camp-fire an hour before dawn. The camp had been made late the night before in a secluded hollow on the south side of a wooded hill.
‘Time is short,’ said Vintar. “The horses are exhausted and it is at least a five-hour ride to the fortress. We might get there before the water is issued and we might not. Indeed, it may already be too late. But we do have one other choice.’
‘Well, what is it?’ said Rek.
‘It must be your decision, Rek. None other can make it.’
‘Just tell me Abbot. I am too tired to think.’
Vintar exchanged glances with the albino.
‘We can – The Thirty can – join forces and seek to pierce the barrier around the fortress.’
‘Then try it,’ said Rek. ‘Where is the problem?’
‘It will take all our powers and may not succeed. If it does not, we will not have the strength to ride on. Indeed, even if we do succeed we will need to rest for most of the day.’
‘Do you think you can pierce the barrier?’ said Virae.
‘I do not know. We can only try.’
‘Think what happened when Serbitar tried,’ said Rek.’
‘You could all be hurled into the . . . whatever. What then?’
‘We die,’ answered Serbitar, softly.
‘And you say it is my choice?’
‘Yes,’ answered Vintar, ‘for the rule of The Thirty is a simple one. We have pledged our service to the master of Delnoch; you are that master.’
Rek was silent for several minutes, his weary brain numbed by the weight of the decision. He found himself thinking of so many other worries in his life which at the time had seemed momentous. There had never been a choice like this. His mind clouded with fatigue and he could not concentrate.
‘Do it!’ he said. ‘Break the barrier.’ Pushing himself to his feet he walked away from the fire, ashamed that such an order should be forced from him at a time when he could not think clearly.
Virae joined him, her arm circling his waist.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For what I said when you told me about the letter.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Why should you think well of me?’
‘Because you are a man and you act like one,’ she said. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
‘My turn?’
‘To apologise, you dolt! You struck me.’
He pulled her to him, lifting her from her feet, and kissed her.
‘That wasn’t an apology,’ she said. ‘And you scratched my face with your stubble.’
‘If I apologise, will you let me do it again?’
‘Strike me, you mean?’
‘No, kiss you!’
Back at the hollow The Thirty formed a circle around the fire, removing their swords and plunging them into the ground at their feet.