The Thirty cut and slashed a path, their silver blades shining like torches in the gloom. No bodies lay on the cold stones – any pierced by sword-blade in that bloodless battle merely vanished as if they had never been. Only nineteen priests still stood.
Decado watched death bear down upon him. His skill was great, but no man alive could tackle six men unarmed and survive. But he would try. A great calm settled upon him and he smiled at them.
Two swords of dazzling light appeared in his hands, and he attacked with blistering speed. A left cut, a parry and riposte, a right slash, a left thrust. Three down and gone like smoke in the breeze. The remaining three Templars fell back – into the eldritch blades of The Thirty.
‘Follow me!’ shouted Decado. Turning, he ran up the stairs ahead of them and out on to the battlements. Leaping to the wall, he gazed down on the jagged rocks so far below. The Thirty came out into the open.
‘Fly!’ ordered Decado.
‘We shall fall!’ shouted Balan.
‘Not unless I tell you to, you son of a slut! Now move!’
Balan hurled himself from the battlements, swiftly followed by the other sixteen survivors. Last of all Decado leapt to join them.
At first they fell, but once clear of the pull of the castle they soared into the night, hurtling back to the realities of Skoda.
Decado returned to his body and opened his eyes. Slowly he walked towards the eastern woods, drawn by the pulsing mood of despair emanating from the young priests.
He found them in a clearing between two low hills. They had laid out the eleven bodies of the slain and now they prayed, heads bowed.
‘Get up!’ ordered Decado. ‘On your feet!’ Silently they obeyed him. ‘My, how ridiculous you are! For all your talents you are but children. Tell me, how did the rescue go, children? Have we freed Abaddon? Are we going to have a celebration party? Look me in the eyes, damn you!’
He moved to Acuas. ‘Well, yellowbeard, you have excelled yourself. You have achieved what neither the Templars nor the forces of Ceska could accomplish. You have destroyed eleven of your comrades.’
‘That is not fair!’ shouted Katan, tears in his eyes.
‘Be silent!’ thundered Decado. ‘Fair? I am talking about reality. Did you find Abaddon?’
‘No,’ said Acuas softly.
‘Have you worked out why?’
‘No.’
‘Because they never had his soul – that would be a feat beyond them. They lured you into their trap by deceit, which is something at which they excel. Now eleven of your brothers are slain. And you carry that burden.’
‘And what about you?’ said Katan, his normally serene face shaking with fury. ‘Where were you when we needed you? What sort of a leader are you? You don’t believe in our faith. You are just an assassin! There is no heart in you, Decado. You are the Ice Killer. Well, at least we fought for something we believed in, and travelled to die for a man we loved. All right, we were wrong – but we had no leader once Abaddon was dead.’
‘You should have come to me,’ replied Decado defensively.
‘Why? You were the leader and you should have been there. We did seek you. Often. But even when you discovered your talents – talents we had prayed for – you hovered on the edge of our prayers. You never came forward. When do you eat with us, or talk with us? You sleep alone, away from the fire. You are an outsider. We are here to die for the Source. What are you here for?’
‘I am here to win, Katan. If you want to die, just fall on your sword. Or ask me – I will do it for you, I will end your life in an instant. You are here to fight for the Source, to ensure that evil does not triumph in this land. But I will talk no more. I am the leader chosen and I require no oaths from you. No promises. Those who will obey me will come to me in the morning. We will eat together – aye, and pray together. Those who wish to follow their own road may do so. And now I leave you to bury the dead.’