‘Do not pass me,’ said the man quietly.
‘If you say not, brother,’ answered Dardalion.
‘Who are you that calls me brother?’
‘I am a priest, even as you.’
‘A priest of what?’
‘Of the Source.’
‘A priest with swords? I think not. If you must slay me, do so.’
‘I am not here to slay you. I am as I claim.’
‘Then you were a priest?’
‘I am a priest?’
‘I sense death upon you. You have killed.’
‘Yes. An evil man.’
‘Who are you to judge?’
‘I did not judge him – his own deeds did that for him. Why are you here?’
‘We are watching.’
‘We?’
‘My brothers and I. We tell the Lord Egel when the enemy is approaching.’
‘How many brothers are here?’
‘Almost two hundred. There were three hundred and seven of us at the start. One hundred and twelve have joined the Source.’
‘Murdered?’
‘Yes,’ said the man sadly. ‘Murdered. The Dark Brotherhood destroyed them. We try to be careful as we soar, for they are swift and merciless.’
‘One tried to kill me,’ said Dardalion, ‘and I learned to fight.’
‘Each man choses his own path.’
‘You do not approve?’
‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove. I do not judge you. How can I?’
‘You thought I was of the Brotherhood?’
‘Yes. For you carry a sword.’
‘And yet you stood before me. You have great courage.’
‘It is no hardship for me to be sent to join my God.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Clophas. And you?’
‘Dardalion.’
‘May the Source bless you, Dardalion. But I think you should leave now. As the moon reaches its height, the Brotherhood take to the sky.’
‘Then I shall wait with you.’
‘I do not desire your company.’
‘You have no choice.’
‘So be it.’
They waited in silence as the moon climbed higher. Clophas refused to speak and Dardalion took to studying the forest below. Egel had camped his army outside the southern wall of Skarta and the priest could see scouts patrolling the edge of the trees. It would be no easy task for the Vagrians to conquer the Earl of the North, for few were the sites for pitched battles within Skultik. On the other hand were they to attack the towns Egel would be left with an army intact, but no one to defend. Egel himself was faced with similar problems. Staying where he was guaranteed short term safety, but could not win him the war. Leaving Skultik was suicidal for he had not the resources to conquer one Vagrian army. To stay was to lose, to leave was to die.
And while the problems mounted the lands of the Drenai were becoming the charnel house of the continent.
Dardalion found the thought depressing in the extreme, and was about to return to his body when he heard the soul scream from Clophas.
He glanced round to see that the priest had gone and five black-armoured warriors floated below him, dark swords in their hands.
Furious, Dardalion drew his swords and attacked. The five warriors did not see him until he was upon them, and two vanished into oblivion as his silver blades pierced their astral bodies. Then as the remaining three rushed him, he parried a thrust with his left-hand blade and blocked a sweeping cut with his right. His fury gave him lightning speed and his eyes blazed as he fought. Twisting his right wrist, he slid his sword under one warrior’s guard, the blade piercing the man’s throat. The warrior vanished. The last two pulled back from the fight and sped west, but Dardalion flew after them, catching the first just above the Skoda mountain range and killing him with a savage cut. The sole survivor returned to the sanctuary of his body with but a second to spare …
His eyes jerked open and he screamed. Soldiers ran to his tent and he lurched to his feet. Sprawled on the ground beside him lay his four companions, rigid in death.
‘What in Hell’s name is happening here?’ demanded an officer, pushing men aside as he entered the tent. He gazed down at the corpses, then up at the survivor.