*
The Gothir forces had fallen back again, but the defenders manning the walls were fewer now, and desperately weary. Dardalion moved among the Thirty, pausing only at the body of fat Merlon. He had died at the ruined gateway, hurling himself into the mass of warriors surging through the ruptured portcullis. Orsa Khan and a score of Nadir warriors had joined him, and together they had forced back the attackers. But, just as the Gothir retreated to their camp, Merlon had slumped to the ground, bleeding from many wounds.
He died within moments. Dardalion knelt by the body. ‘You were a good man, my friend,’ he said softly. ‘May the Source greet you.’
From the corner of his eye he saw Angel emerge from the hall, carrying the body of the swordsman, Senta. Dardalion sighed and stood. Miriel came next, a small boy beside her. The Abbot walked across to them, and waited silently as Angel laid down the body of his friend. In the presence of the silver-armoured Abbot the small boy eased back and vanished into the hall.
‘Where is Ekodas?’ Dardalion asked at last.
‘He’s alive,’ said Angel. ‘And the crystal is destroyed.’
‘The Source be praised! I was not sure that even Ekodas would have the strength.’
He saw Miriel about to speak, but Angel cut in swiftly. ‘It was a creation of great evil,’ he said.
Ekodas appeared in the doorway, blinking in the fading light. Dardalion ran to him. ‘You did it, my son. I am proud of you.’ He reached out to embrace the priest, but Ekodas brushed him away.
‘I did nothing – save let a man die,’ he whispered. ‘Leave me, Dardalion.’ The priest stumbled away.
The Abbot swung back to Miriel. Tell me all,’ he said. Miriel sighed and related the story of the fight with the monster, and the death of Senta. Her voice was low and spiritless, her eyes distant. Dardalion felt her pain and her sorrow.
‘I am so sorry, my child. So terribly sorry.’
‘People die in wars all the time,’ she said tonelessly. As if in a dream she walked away towards the battlements.
Angel covered Senta with his cloak then stood. ‘I’d like to kill Kesa Khan,’ he hissed.
‘It would achieve nothing,’ replied Dardalion. ‘Go with Miriel. She is fey now, and could come to harm.’
‘Not while I live,’ said Angel. ‘But tell me, Abbot, what is it for? Why did he die down there? Please tell me it was worth something. And I don’t want to hear about Uniters.’
‘I cannot answer all your questions. Would that I could. But no man can know where his steps will ultimately lead, nor the results of his actions. But I will tell you this, and I will trust you to keep it in your heart and not speak of it to any living soul. There she is, sitting on the battlements. What do you see?’
Angel looked up and saw Miriel bathed in the fiery light of dusk. ‘I see a beautiful woman, tough and yet gentle, strong and yet caring. What do you think I should see?’
‘What I see,’ whispered Dardalion. ‘A young woman carrying the seed of future greatness. Even now it is growing within her, tiny, a mere spark of life, created from love. But that spark could one day, if we survive here, give birth to a flame.’
‘She is pregnant.’
‘Yes. Senta’s son.’
‘He didn’t know,’ said Angel, staring down at the cloak-shrouded corpse on the stones.
‘But you know, Angel. You know now that she has something to live for. But she will need help. There are few men strong enough to take on the burden of another man’s child.’
‘That is no worry to me, Abbot. I love her.’
‘Then go to her, my son. Sit with her. Share her grief.’
Angel nodded and moved away. Dardalion strode into the hall. The boy was sitting at a bench table, staring down at his hands. Dardalion sat opposite him. Their eyes met and Dardalion smiled. The boy returned it.
Kesa Khan entered the hall from the stairwell leading to the upper floors. He saw Dardalion and crossed to the table. ‘I saw her on the battlements,’ he said. ‘I am … happy that she survived.’