‘But you said there was nowhere else!’
“There wasn’t. Now there is. It is a fortress-very old. Itis called Kar-Barzac. Tomorrow we will make the journey.’
‘There is much that you are not telling me,’ pointed out Miriel.
‘There is much you do not need to know. Rest, Miriel, you will need your strength. Go – sit with your friends. Leave me. I will call you when the time comes.’ Miriel wanted to question him further, but the little man had once more closed his eyes and sat, arms folded before the small fire.
She rose and wandered out into the night. Senta was asleep when she reached the small cave, but Angel was sitting under the stars, listening to the distant sounds of battle coming from the pass. A small boy was close by him. Miriel smiled. The two figures were in an identical position some twenty feet apart, Angel and the child both sitting cross-legged. The gladiator was sharpening his sword with a whetstone, the boy, holding a piece of wood, copying him.
‘I see you have made a friend,’ said Miriel. Angel grunted something inaudible. Miriel sat beside him. ‘Who is he?’
‘How should I know? He never speaks. He just mimics.’
Miriel’s Talent reached out, then drew back. ‘He’s totally deaf,’ she said. ‘An orphan.’
Angel sighed. ‘I didn’t need to know that,’ he said, sheathing his sword. The ragged child slid his stick into his belt.
Miriel reached out and stroked the gladiator’s face. ‘You are a good man, Angel. It means you have no real skill when it comes to harbouring hate.’
He caught her wrist and held to it. ‘You shouldn’t be touching me,’ he said softly. ‘The man for you is in there. Young. Handsome. With a disgusting lack of scars.’
‘I will choose my own man when the time comes,’ she told him. ‘I am not some Drenai noblewoman whose marriage brings an alliance between warring factions. Nor do I have to concern myself with a dowry. I will marry a man I like, a man I respect.’
‘You didn’t mention love,’ he pointed out.
‘I have heard great talk of it, Angel, but I don’t know what it is. I love my father. I love you. I loved my sister and my mother. One word. Different feelings. Are we talking of lust?’
‘Partly,’ he agreed. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that, though many would have us believe otherwise. But it is more than that. I had an affair with a dark-haired woman once. Unbelievable. In bed she could raise more passion in me than any of my wives. But I didn’t stay with her. I didn’t love her, you see. I adored her. But I didn’t love her.’
‘There’s that word again!’ chided Miriel.
He chuckled. ‘I know. It’s just a short way of describing someone who is your friend, bed-mate, sister, aye even mother sometimes. Someone who will arouse your passion and your admiration and your respect. Someone, who when the whole world turns against you, is still standing by your side. You look for someone like that, Miriel.’ He released her hand and looked away.
She leaned in close. ‘What about you, Angel? Would you be a friend, a lover, a brother and a father?’
He turned his scarred features towards her. ‘Aye, I would.’ He hesitated and she sensed his indecision. At last he smiled and, taking her hand, kissed it. ‘My boots are older than you, Miriel. And you may think it makes no difference now, but it does. You need a man who can grow with you, not grow senile on you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s hard to admit this, you know.’
‘You are not old,’ she admonished him.
‘Don’t you like Senta?’ he countered.
She looked away. ‘I find him … exciting … frightening.’
‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s how life should be. Me, I’m like an old armchair. Comfortable. A girl like you needs more than that. Give him a chance. There’s a lot of good in him.’
‘Why do you like him so much?’
He grinned. ‘I knew his mother,’ he said. ‘A long time ago. Before he was born.’
‘You mean… ?’