‘I thought you said this was a rest day,’ observed Bane.
‘It is for you, boy. But I’ve been resting all week nursing you along. I needed a good run to clear my head. Did you see Octorus?’
‘Yes. He took almost all my coin.’
‘You won’t regret it. His armour is the finest.’ To Cara, he said: ‘Would you fetch me something to eat, princess?’ She smiled happily and left the room. Rage drained his tisane and rose.
‘He said you would be fighting someone named Vorkas.’
‘That’s no surprise,’ said Rage. ‘Word has it Palantes are grooming him for next year’s Championship.’ Removing his red silk headscarf he walked to the window, pushing it open. Scooping some snow from the outer sill he rubbed it over his bald head.
‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ asked Bane.
‘Help me? In what way?’
‘Well, you said I was slowing you down. Perhaps I should train alone.’
Rage was silent for a moment, then he smiled. ‘Do not concern yourself, boy. It is not your problem. And I was only half serious. You are coming along well. I saw you talking to Cara as I ran back. She looked upset.’
‘Very upset – and frightened.’
‘I’ll talk to her.’ Rage walked back to his chair and slumped down. He looked dreadfully tired, thought Bane. The young Rigante looked closely at the ageing warrior, seeing the many scars that criss-crossed his arms and upper body.
‘I’d be fascinated’, said Bane, ‘to hear what you’re going to say to her. You know you shouldn’t be fighting this bout. It is madness.’
‘It is all madness, Bane,’ said Rage sadly. ‘It always was. But I cannot change the way the world works. The farm is almost bankrupt and my stake in Crises is worthless. All I have of worth is my name. The coin I make will ensure a comfortable life for Cara – at least until she is wed. I have named Goren as her guardian, and he will take good care of her.’
‘You talk as if you expect to die.’
‘I will or I won’t – but either way Cara will be protected.’
Chapter Six
Persis Albitane always felt uncomfortable in the presence of Crimson Priests. Not that he had anything to fear, he thought hastily, but they had a knack of making a man feel he did. He glanced at the man, and was unnerved to find the priest staring at him. As with all priests, he had a shaven head and a forked beard, dyed blood red. He was wearing an ankle-length tunic of pale gold, unadorned save for a long pendant of grey stone in a setting of cold iron.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down?’ asked Persis. ‘They may be some time yet.’
‘I am comfortable, Persis Albitane,’ replied the priest. Persis shuddered inwardly at the use of his name.
‘So,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Is this your first visit to Goriasa?’
‘No. I came in the spring for the arrest of two traitors.’
‘Yes, of course. I remember now. And how are things in Stone?’
‘Things?’
Persis could feel sweat trickling down his back. ‘It is a long time – almost two years – since I was last in the Great City. I was wondering . . .’ What was I wondering? he thought, his mind close to panic. How many innocent people have you dragged from their beds to be burned at the stake? What new levels of horror and cruelty have you managed to achieve?
‘You were wondering?’ prompted the priest.
‘One so misses the city,’ said Persis, recovering his composure, ‘the theatres and dining houses, the parties and gatherings. Time moves on, and one wonders if everything is as it was in the golden rooms of memory. I always like to hear news from Stone. It lessens the sadness at being so far from home.’
‘The city remains beautiful,’ said the priest, ‘but the cancer of heresy is everywhere, and must be hunted down and cut out.’
‘Indeed so,’ agreed Persis.
‘How many of the Tree Cult thrive in Goriasa?’ asked the priest.
‘I don’t know of any,’ lied Persis.