Virae watched in stunned silence as Rek’s blistering assault continued. The two men’s swords glittered in the morning sunlight, a dazzling web of white light, a stunning display of skill. Virae felt a surge of pride. She wanted to cheer Rek on but resisted the urge, knowing the slightest distraction could sway the contest.
‘Help me,’ pulsed Menahem to Serbitar, ‘or I may have to kill him.’ He parried a blow, catching it only inches from his throat. ‘If I can,’ he added.
‘How can we stop it?’ Serbitar asked Vintar. ‘The man is a baresark. I cannot get through to him. He will kill Menahem before much longer.’
‘The girl!’ said Vintar. ‘Join with me.’
Virae shivered as she watched Rek growing in strength. Baresark! Her father had told her of such men, but never would she have placed Rek in their company. They were mad killers who lost all sense of reason and fear in combat, becoming the most deadly of opponents. All swordsmen gravitate between defence and attack, for despite a desire to win there is an equal desire not to lose. But the baresark loses all fear; his is all-out attack, and invariably he takes his opponent with him even if he falls. A thought struck her powerfully and suddenly she knew that the warrior was not trying to kill Rek – the contest was but a test.
‘Put up your swords,’ she screamed. ‘Stop it!’
The two men battled on.
‘Rek, listen to me!’ she shouted. ‘It’s only a test. He’s not trying to kill you.’
Her voice came to Rek as from a great distance, piercing the red mist before his eyes. Stepping back, he felt rather than saw the relief in the other man; then he took a deep breath and relaxed, his legs shaky, his hands trembling.
‘You entered my mind,’ he accused the warrior, fixing the man’s dark eyes in a cold gaze. ‘I don’t know how. But if you ever do it again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand,’ Menahem told him softly, his voice muffled within his helm. Rek sheathed his blade at the second attempt and turned to Virae who was looking at him strangely.
‘It wasn’t really me,’ he said. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Virae.’
‘Oh Rek, I’m sorry,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
A new kind of fear hit him as she turned her face away. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he said. ‘It rarely happens and I would never turn on you. Never! Believe me.’ She turned to face him, throwing her arms about his neck.
‘Leave you? What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter to me, you fool. I was just sorry for you. Oh, Rek – you’re such an idiot. I’m not some tavern girl who squeals at the sight of a rat. I’m a woman who has grown up alongside men. Soldiers. Fighting men. Warriors. You think I would leave you because you are baresark?’
‘I can control it,’ he said, holding her tightly to him.
‘Where we are going, Rek, you will not have to,’ she said.
Serbitar left the monastery balcony and poured a goblet of spring water from a stone jug.
‘How did he do it?’
Vintar sat back on a leather chair. ‘There is a well of courage within him, fuelled by many things of which we can only guess. But when Menahem fed him fear, he responded with violence. Because what Menahem could not have understood is that the man fears fear itself. Did you glimpse that memory of his childhood during Menahem’s probe?’
‘The tunnels, you mean?’
‘Yes. What do you make of a child who fears the dark and yet seeks out dark tunnels to travel through?’
‘He tried to end his fears by facing them,’ said Serbitar.
‘He still does. And that’s why Menahem almost died.’
‘He will be useful at Dros Delnoch,’ said Serbitar, smiling.
‘More than you know,’ said Vintar. ‘More than you know.’
*
‘Yes,’ Serbitar told Rek as they sat within the oak-panelled study overlooking the courtyard. ‘Yes, we can read minds. But I assure you we will not again attempt to read yours – or that of your companion.’