‘Who would you send with Ekodas?’ asked Dardalion softly.
‘The Drenai woman and her lover.’
Dardalion caught the gleam in the shaman’s eyes. ‘You are transparent in your hate, Kesa Khan. You need us now, but you want us all dead, eventually. Especially the woman. Why is that?’
‘Pah, she is of no consequence!’
‘And still the lies flow,’ snapped Dardalion. ‘But we will talk again, Kesa Khan.’
‘You will send Ekodas?’
Dardalion remained silent for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘But not,’ he said, ‘for the reasons you believe.’
The Abbot stood and left the room. The shaman fought down his anger, and remained sitting cross-legged before the fire. How much more did the Drenai know? What had he said of the Uniter? Kesa Khan summoned the words from memory: ‘A vast spider’s web of possible futures. But most of them did not interest me. I followed the path that leads from Kar-Barzac, and the child to be conceived here. A girl. A beautiful girl, who will wed a young warlord. Their son will be mighty, their grandson mightier still.’
Did he know the identity of the young warlord? Where he might be found? Kesa Khan cursed softly, and wished he had the strength to walk the paths of mist once more. But he could feel his heart beating within the cage of his ribs, fluttering weakly like a dying sparrow. His dark eyes narrowed. He had no choice. He must go on with his plans. Let the Drenai destroy the crystal – it was not important to the future of the Nadir. What was vital was that Ekodas should journey to the chamber, and with him the woman, Miriel.
The merest moment of regret touched him then. She was a strong woman, proud and caring.
It was, he admitted, a shame she had to die.
*
Angel looked down at the perfectly-healed skin of his torn palms, then up into the face of the young priest. ‘There is no mark,’ he said. ‘No scab or scar!’
The young man smiled wearily. ‘I merely accelerated your own healing processes. I have also removed a small growth from one of your lungs.’
‘A cancer?’ whispered Angel, fear rising in his throat.
‘Yes, but it is gone.’
‘I felt no pain from it.’
‘Nor would you until it was much larger.’
‘You saved my life, then? By all the gods, priest, I don’t know what to say. My name is Angel.’ He thrust out his newly-healed hand.
The priest took it. ‘Ekodas. How goes it on the wall?’
‘We’re holding them. They’ll not try scaling the battlements again. Next time it will be the portcullis.’
Ekodas nodded. ‘You are correct. But it will not be until tomorrow. Get some rest, Angel. You are no longer a young man and your body is very tired.’ The priest glanced over Angel’s shoulder. ‘The boy is with you?’ he asked.
Angel looked round. The deaf child was standing close, Angel’s green cloak draped over his shoulders. ‘Yes. Your large friend -Merlon? – suggested I ask you to look at him. He’s deaf.’
‘I am very weary. My powers are not inexhaustible.’
‘Another time, then,’ said Angel, rising.
‘No,’ insisted Ekodas. ‘Let us at least examine him.’
Angel waved the boy to him, but he shied away when the priest reached out. Ekodas closed his eyes. The child immediately slumped into Angel’s arms, deeply asleep. ‘What did you do?’
‘He will come to no harm, Angel. He will merely sleep until I wake him.’ Ekodas placed his open palms over the child’s ears and stood, stock still, for several minutes. At last he stepped back and sat down opposite the gladiator. ‘He had a severe infection when very young. It was not treated, and spread through the bones around the ears. This damaged the eardrums, making them incapable of relaying vibrations to the brain. You understand?’
‘Not a word of it,’ admitted Angel. ‘But can you heal him?’
‘I have already done so,’ said Ekodas. ‘But you must stay with him for a while. He will be frightened. Every noise will be new to him.’
Angel watched the young priest move away across the hall. The boy stirred in his arms. His eyes opened.