Acuas, the strong one, compassionate and loyal.
Balan, the sceptic.
Katan, the true mystic.
All were travelling, their spirits entwined as they sought the Dark Templars and threw a veil of mind mist over the movements of Tenaka Khan and his companions.
Acuas returned first. He opened his eyes, rubbing his hands over his yellow beard; he seemed tired, drained.
‘This is not easy, my Lord,’ he said. The Dark Templars have great power.’
‘As have we,’ said the Abbot. ‘Go on.’
‘There are twenty of them. They were attacked in Skultik by a bank of outlaws but slew them with arrogant ease. They are truly formidable warriors.’
‘Yes. How close are they to the Torchbearer?’
‘Less than a day. We cannot deceive them for much longer.’
‘No. A few more days will be invaluable,’ said the Abbot. ‘Have they tried another night attack?’
‘No, my Lord, though I think it likely.’
‘Rest now, Acuas. Fetch Toris and Lannad to relieve you.’
The Abbot left the room and the long corridor beyond, making his way slowly to the second level and the garden of Decado.
The dark-eyed priest welcomed him with a smile.
‘Come with me, Decado. There is something for you to see.’
Without another word he turned on his heel and led the priest to the steps and the oak doors above. Decado hesitated in the doorway – during all his years in the monastery he had never ascended these steps.
The Abbot turned. ‘Come!’ he said and stepped into the shadows beyond. A strange sense of fear gripped the gardener, .as if his world was slipping away from him. He swallowed and began to tremble. Then, taking a deep breath, he followed the Abbot.
He was led through a maze of corridors, but he looked neither to left nor right, focusing his gaze on the grey cassock of the man walking before him. The Abbot halted before a door shaped like a leaf; there was no handle.
‘Open,’ whispered the Abbot and the door slid silently into a recess. Inside was a long chamber containing thirty sets of silver armour, draped with cloaks of dazzling white. Before each set was a small table bearing scabbarded swords placed in front of helms crowned with plumes of white horse-hair.
‘Do you know what these represent?’ asked the Abbot.
‘No.’ Decado was sweating freely. He wiped his eyes and the Abbot noticed with concern that the haunted look had returned to the former warrior.
‘This is the armour worn by The Delnoch Thirty, led by Serbitar – the men who fought and died during the First Nadir War. You have heard of them?’
‘Of course.’
‘Tell me what you have heard.’
‘Where is this leading, my Lord Abbot? I have duties in the gardens.’
‘Tell me of The Delnoch Thirty,’ ordered the Abbot.
Decado cleared his throat. ‘They were warrior priests. Not like us. They trained for years and then chose a distant war in which to die. Serbitar led The Thirty at Delnoch, where they advised the Earl of Bronze and Druss the Legend. Together they turned back the hordes of Ulric.’
‘But why would priests take up weapons?’
‘I don’t know, Lord Abbot. It is incomprehensible.’
‘Is it?’
‘You have taught me that all life is sacred to the Source, and that to take life is a crime against God.’
‘And yet evil must be opposed.’
‘Not by using the weapons of evil,’ answered Decado.
‘A man stands above a child with spear poised. What would you do?’
‘I would stop him – but not kill him.’
‘You would stop him with a blow, perhaps?’
‘Yes, perhaps.’
‘He falls badly, strikes his head and dies. Have you sinned?’
‘No . . . yes. I don’t know.’
‘He is the sinner, for his action ensured your reaction, and therefore it was his action that killed him. We strive for peace and harmony, my son – we long for it. But we are of the world and subject to its demands. This nation is no longer in harmony. Chaos controls and the suffering is terrible to behold.’
‘What are you trying to say, my Lord?’
‘It is not easy, my son, for my words will cause you great pain.’ The Abbot moved forward, placing his hands on the priest’s shoulders. ‘This is a Temple of The Thirty. And we are preparing to ride against the darkness.’