‘I find your threats more acceptable than your promises. They are more in keeping with your reputation. Now leave me.’
‘Very well, but know this: I am not an enemy you should desire, assassin. My reach is long and my talons deadly. Your death is already set; the scenario is written in the Book of Souls and I have read it with pleasure. But there is someone you should consider – Danyal. She travels with another whose soul is mine.’
‘Durmast will not harm her,’ said Waylander, though his words were empty and filled more with hope than conviction.
‘We shall see.’
‘Leave me, demon!’
‘One last gift before I go. Watch and learn!’ The face shimmered and shrank, the flames surged anew and within the blaze Waylander saw Durmast chasing Danyal through a dark wood. He caught her by the banks of a river and swung her round. She lashed at his face, but he parried the blow. Then he struck her and she fell; his hands ripped away her tunic …
Waylander watched the scene that followed, screaming only when Durmast drew his knife across her throat. Then he passed out.
And the pain ceased.
Dardalion and The Thirty knelt in the open courtyard by the stables, their minds joined, their concentration honed, their spirits seeping through the timbers and gullies below the stable.
The first rat was asleep, but its button eyes opened in alarm and it scurried away as it felt the presence of Man. Its nostrils quivered, but no scent of the enemy could be found in the dank air. It turned, filled with a terrible terror, squealed and ran for the open. More and more of its fellows joined it in the panic race for life. From gullies and drains and forgotten sewers the rats poured out into the courtyard, drawn to the circle of priests. The first rat ran to lie beside Astila, knowing only that here in the courtyard was an end to fear. Nothing could harm it while it lay thus, in the moon shadow of the Man. Others followed it and a great circle formed about the priests.
From the ramparts above Karnak watched in fascination, while around him officers and men made the sign of the Protective Horn.
Hundreds of rats clustered about the priests, clambering over their robes and on their shoulders. Sarvaj swallowed hard and looked away. Gellan shook his head and scratched his arm.
Dardalion slowly raised his arm and Gellan caught the movement.
‘Open the gates. Gently now, only a foot or so!’ Gellan glanced up at the soldier on the gate tower. ‘What can you see?’
‘No movement from the enemy, sir.’
As silently as they could, the soldiers by the gate removed the bronze reinforced bars from the gates and pulled them open.
The first rat blinked and shivered as the comforting blanket of safety slipped away from him. He scampered towards the gates and the horde followed.
The night air was cool as the black mass moved down the hill and into the silent streets of Purdol town, then on to the market squares and the pitched tents of the Vagrian army. On flowed the rats, over cobbled streets and into the tents.
One man awoke as a black rat scampered across his face; he sat up screaming and lashing out. Then a second one fell from his shoulder, landing in his lap with its teeth plunging into his thigh. Other screams filled the night as the rats moved on. Lunging men snapped tent poles and the white canvas billowed around them; others ran from the streets to hurl themselves into the sea. A burning brazier fell and flames licked at dry canvas, while the eastern breeze fanned the blaze and sent it leaping from tent to tent.
High on the Purdol walls Karnak’s laughter echoed in the mountains, as the sounds of panic rose from the city below.
‘It’s not often that visiting relatives are greeted with such a display,’ said Sarvaj. Jonat chuckled.
‘Gods, what pandemonium,’ said Gellan. ‘Dardalion!’ he called. ‘Come up and view your handiwork.’
The priest in silver armour shook his head and led The Thirty back into the hospital building, where Evris was waiting.