‘You are well-informed,’ said Senta.
‘One of them killed my father.’
‘Well, they can’t be all bad,’ said Angel.
Belash stood for a moment, his flat features expressionless, his dark eyes locked to Angel’s face. Then he nodded slowly and walked away.
‘That shouldn’t have been said,’ chided Senta.
‘I don’t like him.’
That’s no excuse for bad manners, Angel. Insult the living, not the dead.’
‘I speak my mind,’ muttered Angel, but he knew Senta was right, and the insult left a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Why do you hate them so?’
‘I witnessed a massacre. Sixty miles north of the Delnoch Pass. My father and I were travelling from Namib. We were in the hills, and we saw the Nadir attack a convoy of wagons. I’ll never forget it. The torture went on long into the night. We slipped away, but the screams followed us. They follow me still.’
‘I lived in Gulgothir for a while,’ said Senta. ‘I have relatives there, and we used to ride to the hunt. One day, high summer it was, the hunting party spotted three Nadir boys, walking beside a stream. The huntmaster shouted something and the riders broke into a gallop, spearing two of the boys as they stood there. The third ran. He was chased and cut a score of times, not enough to bring him down, but enough to keep him running. Finally he fell to the ground, exhausted and, I would guess, dying. The huntsmen, Gothir nobles all, leapt from their horses and hacked him to pieces. Then they cut off his ears for trophies.’
‘There is a point to this tale?’ enquired Angel.
‘Savagery breeds savagery,’ said Senta.
That’s today’s sermon, is it?’
‘By Heaven but you are in a foul mood, Angel. I think I’ll leave you to enjoy it alone.’
Angel remained silent as Senta moved back into the cabin.
Soon they would be heading north. Into Nadir country. Angel’s mouth felt dry and the flames of fear grew in his belly.
9
Ekodas loved the forest, the majestic trees living in quiet brotherhood, the plants and flowers cloaking the earth, and the serenity born of eternal life. When the world was young, the earth still warm, the first trees had grown here, living, breathing. And their descendants were still here, endlessly watching the small, fleeting lives of men.
The young priest, his white robes now stained with mud, moved alongside a huge oak, reaching out to lay his hand upon the roughjbark. He closed his eyes. The tree had no heart to hear, yet there was still the pulsing beat of life within the trunk, the slow flowing of sap through the capillaries, the stretching of growth in new wood.
Ekodas was at peace here.
He walked on, his mind open to the sounds of the forest, the late birdsong, the skittering of small animals in the undergrowth. He sensed the heartbeat of a fox close by, and smelt the musky fur of an old badger. He stopped. And smiled. The fox and the badger were sharing a burrow.
An owl hooted. Ekodas glanced up. The light was fading, the sun dipping into the western sea.
He turned and began the long climb towards the temple. The debate came back to him then and he sighed, regretting the weakness which had driven him to betray his principles. Deep down he knew that Dardalion himself was now unsure of the path on which they stood. The Abbot had almost wanted to be free of the destiny he had planned for so long. Almost.
Yet if love had won the day then everything Dardalion had striven for would have seemed as nothing. A tragic waste of life and Talent. I could not do that to you, Dardalion, thought Ekodas. I could not make a mockery of your life.
The young priest drew in a deep breath, seeking to feel once more the calm of the forest. Instead there came a sharp, jagged stab in his mind. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Lust. Focusing his Talent, he scanned the trees. And sensed two men … and … yes, a woman.
Pushing his way through the bushes at the side of the track, he traversed the hill until he came to a deer-trail leading down into a deep gulley. He heard the sound of a man’s voice.