‘No.’
‘Have you ever heard voices, though there was no-one near?’
‘No. What are you saying?’
‘I believe the spirit of Shul-sen is somehow drawn to you. I don’t know why. But I do know you are not insane. I have seen spirits, and spoken with them. It was the same with my father. What we have just experienced here was no dream-walking. Your voice was different, as was your manner. You agree. Talisman?’
‘This is beyond my understanding,’ admitted the Nadir leader. ‘What must we do?’
‘I do not know what we can do,’ said Gorkai. ‘You told me that Oshikai is searching for his wife, and now we know that Shul-sen is also seeking him. But their world is not ours, Talisman. We cannot bring them together.”
The moon vanished behind a bank of clouds, plunging the steppes to darkness. A man cried out in the distance, and Talisman saw a light hastily struck, and a lantern flickered to life outside the tent of Kzun.
Chapter Nine
The blind Nadir priest, Enshima, sat silently on the edge of the rocks overlooking the steppes below. Behind him, at the hidden spring, some two dozen refugees – mostly older women and young children – sat forlornly in the shade. He had seen the distant fire in the night, and felt the passing of souls into the Void. The priest’s pale blue robes were dust-stained, and his feet were sore and bleeding from walking upon the sharp, volcanic rock that blighted this area of the mountains.
Silently Enshima offered up a prayer of thanks for the ragged band of Curved Horn who had reached the spring two days before. They had been part of a larger group attacked by Gothir Lancers, but had managed to flee to higher ground where the heavily armed horsemen could not follow. Now they were safe for the moment. Hungry, bereaved, desolated, but safe. Enshima thanked the Source for their lives.
Releasing the chains of his spirit Enshima soared high above the mountains, gazing down on the vast emptiness of the steppes. Twelve miles to the north-west he could see the tiny battlements of the Shrine, but he did not fly there. Instead he scanned the land for the two riders he knew would soon be approaching the spring.
He saw them riding out of a gully some two miles from the rocks in which his body sat. The axeman was leading two horses while the poet, Sieben, rode at the rear, carrying the babe wrapped in its red blanket. Floating closer to the lead rider, he looked closely at the man. Riding a sway-backed mare, he was dressed in a jerkin of black leather with shining silver shoulder-guards, and carrying a huge, double-headed axe.
The route they were taking would lead them past the hidden spring. Enshima floated closer to the poet. Reaching out with his spirit hand, he touched the rider’s shoulder.
‘Hey, Druss,’ said Sieben. ‘You think there might be water in those rocks?’
‘We don’t need it,’ said the axeman. ‘According to Nuang the Shrine should be no more than around ten miles from here.’
‘That may be true, old horse, but the child’s blanket is beginning to stink. And I would appreciate the opportunity to wash some of my clothes before we make our grand entrance.’
Druss chuckled. ‘Aye, poet, it would not be seemly for you to arrive looking any less than your glorious best.’ Tugging the reins to the left, Druss angled towards the dark, volcanic rocks.
Sieben rode alongside him. ‘How will you find these healing jewels?’ he asked.
The axeman pondered the question. ‘I expect they are in the coffin,’ he said. ‘That would be usual, would it not?’
‘It is an old shrine. I would think it would have been pillaged by now.’
Druss was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. ‘Well, the old shaman said they were there. I’ll ask him about it when I see him.’
Sieben gave a wry grin. ‘I wish I had your faith in human nature, Druss, my friend.’
The mare’s head came up, nostrils quivering, and she quickened her pace. ‘There is water, right enough,’ said Sieben. ‘The horses can smell it.’