Ekodas armoured himself with a shining breastplate of silver, a glimmering shield appearing on his left forearm. He parried the next blow with his own sword of silver light.
His opponent was protected by black armour and a full-faced helm. Ekodas blocked a thrust then sent his own blade cleaving into the man’s neck. The sword of light flashed through the dark armour like sunlight piercing a storm cloud. There was no blood. No scream of pain. His assailant merely disappeared without a sound. But Ekodas knew that wherever the man’s body lay the heart had stopped beating, and only a silent, unmarked corpse would lie witness to the battle beneath the stars.
Ekodas flew on to the temple. ‘Dardalion!’ he pulsed, using all his power. ‘Dardalion!’
Three opponents appeared around him. The first he slew with a slashing cut across the belly, the silver sword slicing through the dark armour with terrible ease. The second he killed with a riposte to the head. The third loomed behind him, blade raised.
Vishna appeared, lancing his sword through the man’s back. More warriors appeared above the temple, and the Thirty gathered, silver against black, swords of light against blades of fire.
Ekodas fought on, his sword forming glittering arcs of white light as it clove into the enemy. Beside him Vishna battled with controlled fury. All around them the battle raged in an awful silence.
And then it was over.
Weary beyond anything he had ever experienced, Ekodas returned to his body and sat up. He reached over to Duris, but the man was dead. So too was Branic in the far bed.
Ekodas stumbled from the room, down to the hall. One by one the members of the Thirty gathered there. Twenty-three priests had survived the attack, and Ekodas looked from face to face, seeking out those to whom he was closest. Glendrin was alive. And Vishna. But Magnic was gone. It seemed only moments before he had been talking with the blond priest about life and desire. Now there was only a body to be buried, and they would never, in this world, speak again.
The full weight of sorrow descended upon Ekodas and he sank to the bench-seat, resting his elbows on the table. Vishna moved alongside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘Your warning saved us, Ekodas,’ he said.
‘My warning?’
‘You woke Dardalion. He made the Gather.’
Before Ekodas could respond Dardalion spoke up from the far end of the hall. ‘My brothers, it is time to pray for the souls of our departed friends.’ One by one he named them and many tears were shed as he talked of them. ‘They are with the Source now, and are blessed. But we remain. Some days ago we asked for another sign. I think that we have just seen it. The Brotherhood are preparing to ride against the Nadir. It is my belief that we should be in the Mountains of the Moon to receive them. But that is only my view. What is the view of the Thirty?’
Ekodas rose. ‘The Mountains of the Moon,’ he said.
Vishna echoed the words, as did Glendrin, Palista, fat Merlon and all the surviving priests.
Tomorrow then,’ said Dardalion. ‘And now let us prepare the bodies of our friends for burial.’
12
Angel’s head was pounding, and his anger flowed unabated as Miriel paid the fine to the master-at-arms.
‘We don’t like troublemakers here,’ the man told Miriel. ‘Only his reputation prevented him from receiving the flogging he deserves.’
‘We are leaving Delnoch today,’ she said, smiling sweetly as the man counted out the twenty silver coins.
‘I mean, who does he think he is?’ the soldier persisted.
‘Why not ask me, you arrogant whoreson?’ stormed Angel, his hands gripping the bars of the cell door.
‘You see?’ said the man, shaking his head.
‘He is not usually quarrelsome,’ replied Miriel, casting a warning glance at the former gladiator.
‘I think he should have been flogged,’ put in Senta, with a broad grin. ‘What a mess. The tavern looks as though a tidal wave flowed through it. Disgraceful behaviour.’
Angel merely glared. The master-at-arms slowly rose and lifted a huge ring of keys from a hook by the door. ‘He is to be taken straight from Delnoch. No stopping. Are your horses outside?’