‘And I need them, wizard. There are always those who seek the overthrow of monarchs. I can spare you five thousand for this small task. In one month you will have the massacre you desire.’
‘You misjudge me, sire,’ put in Zhu Chao, bowing deeply and spreading his hands like a supplicant. ‘I am thinking only of the future good of Gothir.’
‘Oh, I believe in the prophecy, wizard. I have had other sorcerors and several shamen telling me similar stories, though none named a single tribe. But you have other
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reasons for wanting the Wolves destroyed, otherwise you would have traced the line of this Uniter back to one named man. Then the task would have been made so much more simple: one knife in the night. Never take me for a fool, Zhu Chao. You want them all dead for your own reasons.’
‘You are all-wise, sire, and all-knowing,’ whispered the wizard, falling to his knees and touching his forehead to the floor.
‘No, I am not. And knowing that is my strength. But I will give you the deaths you desire. You have been a good servant to me, and never played me false. And as you say, they are only Nadir. It will sharpen the troops, give a cutting edge to the soldiers before the invasion of Drenan. I take it you will send your Brotherhood knights into the fray?’
‘Of course, sire. They will be needed to combat the evil powers of Kesa Khan.’
The scene faded and Ekodas felt again the warm prison of his body. He opened his eyes to find Dardalion staring at him. ‘Am I supposed to have learned something, Father Abbot? I saw only evil men, proud and ruthless. The world is full of such.’
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Dardalion. ‘And were we to spend our lives travelling the earth and slaying such men there would still be more of them at the end of our journey than there were at the beginning.’
‘But surely that is my argument, Lord Abbot,’ said Ekodas, surprised.
‘Exactly. That is what you must consider. I appreciate your argument, and accept the premise on which it is made, and yet I still believe in the cause of The Thirty. I still believe we must be a Temple of Swords. What I would like you to do, Ekodas, is to lead the debate tomorrow evening. I will present your arguments as if they were my own. You will deliver mine.’
‘But . . . that makes no sense, Father. I do not even begin to understand your cause.’
‘Do the best that you can. I will make this debate an open vote. The future of The Thirty will depend upon the
outcome. I will do my utmost to sway our brothers to your argument. You must do no less. If I win then the swords and armour will be returned to the storerooms and we will continue as an order of prayer. If you win we will await the guidance of the Source and ride to our destiny.’
‘Why can I not argue my own beliefs?’
‘You believe I will do them less than justice?’
‘No, of course not, but. . .’
‘Then it is settled.’
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5
Morak listened to the reports as the hunters came in, his irritation growing. Nowhere was there any sign of Waylander, and the man Dakeyras had proved to be a balding redhead with a face that looked as if it had seen a stampede of oxen from underneath.
I hate forests, thought Morak, sitting with his back to the trunk of a willow, his green cloak wrapped tightly around him. I hate the smell of mould, the cold winds, the mud and the slime. He glanced at Belash, sitting apart from the others sharpening his knife with long sweeping strokes. The grating noise of the whetstone added to Morak’s ill-humour.
‘Well, somebody killed Kreeg,’ he said at last. ‘Somebody put a knife or an arrow through his eye.’ No one spoke. They had found the body the previous day, wedged in the reeds of the River Earis.
‘Could have been robbers,’ said Wardal, a tall, thin bowman from the Forest of Graven, far to the south.