‘No,’ said Senta softly, ‘he knows us better than that.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh come on, Angel, don’t you just love the thought of impossible odds?’ asked Senta, grinning.
‘No, I don’t. I leave that sort of idiocy for young men like you. Talk sense to him, Dakeyras.’
‘You are free to ride where you please,’ said Waylander. There is nothing holding you here.’
‘But you are not going to go to the Mountains?’
‘Indeed I am,’ said Waylander.
‘How will you stop the killing? Will you ride out on a tall horse and face the Gothir army? Tell them you’re Waylander the Slayer and you’re not going to allow them to butcher a few Nadir?’
‘As I said, you are free to go where you will,’ repeated Waylander.
‘What about Miriel?’ asked Angel.
‘She can speak for herself,’ said Miriel. ‘And I shall ride to the Mountains of the Moon.’
‘Just tell me why,’ pleaded Angel. ‘Why are you all doing this?’
Waylander was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. ‘I don’t like massacres,’ he said.
*
Vishna’s voice was calm, but Dardalion could sense the tension in the priest as he spoke. ‘I do not see how we can be sure that the woman is sent by the Source. We have all agreed to risk our lives in the battle against evil. I have no qualms concerning that decision. To stand upon the walls of Purdol against the Ventrians would help Karnak maintain the defence of the Drenai, as would offering our assistance to the General at Delnoch. But to ride into the steppes and risk our lives for a small Nadir tribe …?’ He shook his head. ‘What purpose would it serve, Father?’
Dardalion did not answer, but turned to the others, the blond Magnic, the slender Palista and the silent, reserved Ekodas. ‘What is your view, brother?’ he asked Magnic.
‘I agree with Vishna. What do the Nadir offer the world? Nothing. They have no culture, no philosophy, save that of war. To die for them would be meaningless.’ The young priest shrugged. ‘But I will follow your orders, Father Abbot.’
Dardalion nodded towards Palista. ‘And you, my boy?’
‘It is a difficult question,’ answered Palista, his voice deep, incongruously so, issuing as it did from his small slender frame. ‘It seems to me the answer depends on how we view the arrival of the woman. If the Source directed her to us then our way is clear. If not…’he spread his hands.
Ekodas spoke. ‘I agree with Palista. The woman’s arrival is the central issue. For, although I respect Vishna and Magnic, I believe the argument they use is flawed. Who granted us the right to judge the worth or otherwise of the Nadir? If our actions should save a single life, only the Source can know what that life is worth. The saved one could be a future Nadir prophet, or his son may become one, or his grandson. How can we know? But is the woman directed by the Source? She has asked us for nothing. Surely that is the key?’
‘I see,’ said Dardalion. ‘You believe that she should have received wisdom in a dream perhaps, and approached us directly for help?’
‘There are many examples of such happenings,’ said Ekodas.
‘If such was the case here, where would faith begin?’ countered the Abbot.
‘I do not understand, Father.’
‘My dear Ekodas, we are talking about faith. Where is the need for faith, if we have proof?’
‘Surely another flawed argument,’ put in Palista. ‘By this token anyone who came and said they were sent by the Source would have to be disbelieved.’
Dardalion laughed aloud. ‘Excellent, my dear Palista! But this moves us from one extreme to another. What I am saying is that there must always be an element of faith. Not proof, but faith. If she had come and claimed to be Source-directed we would have read her thoughts and known the truth. Then there would have been no faith. We would have acted thereafter in sure knowledge. Instead, we have prayed for a sign. Where should the Thirty ride? And what was our answer? Ekodas rescued a Nadir woman. Why is she here? To find her brother and bring him home to help face a terrible enemy. Who is that enemy? None other than Zhu Chao, the man whose evil led me to gather the Thirty together. Do these facts not speak to you? Can you not feel the threads of destiny drawing together?’