‘Why did he do that to me?’ asked Rek.
‘Menahem is the Eyes of The Thirty. He had to see that you were worthy to ask of us . . . the service. You expect us to fight with your forces, to analyse enemy tactics and to use our skills in defence of a fortress about which we care nothing. The messenger has to be worthy.’
‘But I am not the messenger, I am merely a companion.’
‘We shall see . . . How long have you known of your . . . affliction?’
Rek turned his gaze to the window and the balcony beyond. A wren landed on the railing, sharpened his beak on the stone and then flew off. Light clouds were forming, fleece islands in the clear blue of the sky.
‘It has happened only twice. Both times in the Sathuli wars. Once when we were surrounded after a dawn raid on a village, and the second time when I was part of a guard unit for a spices caravan.’
‘It is common among warriors,’ said Serbitar. ‘It is a gift of fear.’
‘It saved my life both times, but it scares me,’ said Rek. ‘It is as if someone else takes over my mind and body.’
‘But that is not so, I assure you. It is you alone.
Do not fear what you are, Rek – may I call you Rek?’
‘Of course.’
‘I did not wish to be overly familiar. It is a nickname, is it not?’
‘A shortened form of Regnak. My foster-father, Horeb, shortened it when I was a child. It was a kind of joke. I disliked robust games and never wanted to explore or climb high trees. I wasn’t reckless, he said; so he dropped the “less” and called me Rek. As I said, it’s not much of a joke, but the name stuck.’
‘Do you think,’ asked Serbitar, ‘that you will be comfortable at Dros Delnoch?’
Rek smiled. ‘Are you asking me if I have the nerve?’
‘Speaking bluntly? Yes, I suppose I am.’
‘I don’t know. Have you?’
The ghost of a smile hovered on the pale, fleshless face as the albino considered the question. His slender fingers tapped gently at the desk top.
‘The question is a good one. Yes, I have the nerve. My fears are unconnected with death.’
‘You have read my mind,’ said Rek. ‘You tell me if I have the nerve. I mean it. I don’t know if I can stand a drawn-out siege; it is said that men fail under such pressure.’
‘I cannot tell you,’ Serbitar answered, ‘if you will hold or fail. You are capable of both. I cannot analyse all the permutations of a siege. Ask yourself this: What if Virae fell? Would you stay on?’
‘No,’ said Rek instantly. ‘I would saddle a fast horse and be gone. I don’t care about Dros Delnoch. Or the Drenai empire.’
‘The Drenai are finished,’ said Serbitar. “Their star has fallen.’
‘Then you think the Dros will fall?’
‘Ultimately it must. But I cannot see that far into the future as yet. The Way of the Mist is strange. Often it will show events still to come, but more often it will show events never to be. It is a perilous path which only the true mystic walks with certainty.’
‘The Way of the Mist?’ asked Rek.
‘I’m sorry, why should you know? It is a road on another plane . . . a fourth dimension? A journey of the spirit like a dream. Only you direct the dream and see what you desire to see. It is a concept hard to verbalise to a non-Speaker.’
‘Are you saying your soul can travel outside the body?’ asked Rek.
‘Oh yes, that is the easy part. We saw you in Graven Forest outside the cabin. We helped you then by influencing the axeman, Grussin.’
‘You made him kill Reinard?’
‘No. Our powers are not that great. We merely pushed him in a direction he was considering already.’
‘I’m not sure I am entirely comfortable knowing you have that sort of power,’ said Rek, avoiding the albino’s green eyes.
Serbitar laughed, his eyes sparkling, his pale face mirroring his joy.