‘What shall we do?’
‘Damn!’ he said. ‘Wait here.’
He ran forward, over a small rise and into a narrow clearing ringed by snow-covered oak. At the centre a man was crouching at the base of a tree, his tunic covered with blood and his leg hideously slashed. Before him stood a huge Joining.
Tenaka shouted as the creature lunged for the man and the beast twisted, its blood-red eyes turning on the warrior. He knew he was looking into the eyes of Death, for no man could stand against this beast and live. Renya ran to his side, her dagger held before her.
‘Get back!’ order Tenaka.
She ignored him. ‘What now?’ she asked coolly.
The beast reared up to a full nine feet tall and spread its taloned paws wide. It was obviously part bear.
‘Run!’ shouted the wounded man. ‘Please leave me!’
‘Good advice,’ said Renya.
Tenaka said nothing and the beast charged, sending a blood-chilling roar echoing through the trees. He crouched, his violet eyes fixed on the awesome creature bearing down upon him.
As its shadow fell across him he leapt forward, screaming a Nadir war-cry.
And the beast vanished.
Tenaka fell to the snow, dropping his sword. He rolled to his feet instantly to face the wounded man, who was standing now, and smiling. There was no trace of wounds upon his blue tunic or his body.
‘What the devil is happening here?’ demanded Tenaka.
The man shimmered and vanished. Tenaka swung to Renya, who was standing wide-eyed and staring at the tree.
‘Someone played us for fools,’ said Tenaka, brushing snow from his tunic.
‘But why?’ asked the girl.
‘I don’t know. Let us away – the forest has lost its magic.’
‘They were so real,’ said Renya. ‘I thought we were finished. Were they ghosts, do you think?’
‘Who knows? Whatever they were they left no tracks, and I have little time for such mysteries.’
‘But there must have been a reason,’ she persisted. ‘Was it done just for us?’
He shrugged, then helped her up the steep incline back to their camp.
*
Forty miles away four men sat silently in a small room, their eyes closed and their minds open. Then one by one they opened their eyes, leaning back in their chairs and stretching as if awakening from deep sleep.
Their leader, the man who had appeared to be under attack in the clearing, stood and walked to the narrow stone window, gazing out over the meadow below.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, without looking round. The other three exchanged glances and then one, a short stocky man with a thick yellow beard, said, ‘He is worthy at least. He did not hesitate to aid you.’
‘Is that important?’ asked the leader, still gazing from the window.
‘I believe it is.’
‘Tell my why, Acuas.’
‘He is a man with a mission, yet he is a humanist. He was willing to risk his life – no, throw it away – rather than let a fellow human suffer alone. Light has touched him.’
‘What do you say, Balan?’
‘It is too early for judgements. The man may just be rash,’ answered a taller, slimmer man with a shock of dark curly hair.
‘Katan?’
The last man was slender, his face long and ascetic, his eyes large and sorrowful. He smiled.
‘Were it my choice, I would say yes. He is worthy. He is a man of the Source, although he knows it not.’
‘Then we are – in the main – agreed,’ said the leader. ‘I think it is time we spoke with Decado.’
‘But should we not be more sure, Lord Abbot?’ asked Balan.
‘Nothing in life is sure, my son. Except the promise of death.’
5
It was an hour past curfew and the streets of Drenan were deserted, the vast white city silent. A three-quarter moon hung in a clear sky, its reflection glinting from a thousand rainwashed cobbles on the Street of Pillars.
From the shadows of a tall building came six men in black armour, dark helms covering their faces. They walked swiftly, purposefully towards the palace, looking neither to right nor left.
Two Joinings, armed with massive axes, barred their path and the men stopped. Six pairs of eyes fastened on the beasts and they howled in pain and fled.