The sun was unbearably hot as the company rode down the hillside towards the valley. Up ahead Chardyn could see the Duke and his aides, riding with Lord Aric and the magicker Eldicar Manushan. Behind them came fifty bowmen, twenty heavily armoured lancers, and fifty cavalrymen armed with long sabres.
Once they reached flat ground Chardyn pulled the first of the scrolls from his saddlebag and began to peruse it, trying to memorize the incantations. It was far too complex and he put it away. The second scroll involved the use of holy water, of which he had none, so this, too, was thrust back into the saddlebag. The third spoke of the laying on of hands to remove demonic possession from someone suffering fits. Chardyn resisted the temptation to swear, screwed up the scroll and threw it to the ground.
He rode on, listening to the talk of the men around him. They were nervous and frightened – emotions he began to share as they spoke of the massacred wagoners, and of the attack upon the Grey Man and his Chiatze companions.
A lancer rode alongside him. ‘I am glad you are with us, sir,’ he said. ‘I have heard you speak. You are blessed by the Source and a true holy man.’
‘Thank you, my son,’ said Chardyn.
The lancer removed his silver helm and bowed his head. Chardyn leant over, placing his hand on the man’s hair. ‘May the Source bless you and keep you from all harm.’ Other soldiers began bunching around the priest, but he waved them away. ‘Come, come, my friends, wait until we have reached our destination.’ He smiled at them, exuding a bonhomie and confidence he did not feel.
Chardyn had never before visited the ruins of Kuan-Hador and was surprised by the vast distance they covered. The Duke led the riders deep into the ruins, then dismounted. The soldiers followed his lead. A picket line was set up, the horses tethered. Then the bowmen were ordered to take up positions on the camp’s perimeter. Chardyn moved across to where the Duke was conversing with Aric, Eldicar Manushan, and a short, slender Chiatze warrior wearing a long grey robe. ‘This is where the last attack took place,’ said the Duke, removing his helm and running his fingers through his thick black and grey hair. ‘Can you sense any evil here?’ he asked Chardyn.
The priest shook his head. ‘It seems merely a warm day, my lord.’
‘What of you, magicker? Do you sense anything?’
‘Sensing evil is not my forte, my lord,’ said Eldicar Manushan, glancing at Chardyn, who met his eyes and saw amusement there. Something akin to mockery, he thought. Eldicar Manushan swung to the little Chiatze warrior. ‘Does your blade shine?’ he asked.
The man half drew his sword, then thrust it back into the black scabbard. ‘No. Not yet.’
‘Perhaps you should move around the ruins,’ said the magicker. ‘See if the evil is present elsewhere.’
‘Let him stay close for the time being,’ said the Duke. ‘I do not know how swiftly the mist can appear, but I do know the creatures within it killed the wagoners in a matter of heartbeats.’
Eldicar Manushan bowed. ‘As you wish, sire.’ The sound of a galloping horse came to them. Chardyn turned and saw the Grey Man riding his mount across the valley. He heard Lord Aric curse softly, and noted that the amused look had vanished from Eldicar Manushan’s face. Chardyn felt his own good-humour rise. He had once gone to the Grey Man for a contribution to the new temple, and had received a thousand gold pieces – without even a request for the Grey Man’s name to be added to the roll of honour, or the altar table to be named after him. ‘The Source will bless you, sir,’ Chardyn had told him.
‘Let us hope not,’ said the Grey Man. ‘Those of my friends He has blessed so far are all dead.’
‘You are not a believer, sir?’
‘The sun will still rise whether I believe or not.’
‘Why, then, are you giving us a thousand gold pieces?’
‘I like your sermons, priest. They are lively and thought-provoking, and they encourage people to love one another and to be kind and compassionate. Whether the Source exists or not, these are values to be cherished.’