Part 19 (2/2)

'How?' enquired Ekodas.

Dardalion moved alongside the bewildered priest, laying a hand on the younger man's arm. 'How else would I know about the ... unsettling, did I say? ... attack,' Dardalion told him. 'You have a keen mind, s.h.i.+a. And you are a brave woman.'

She shrugged. 'I do not need you to tell me what I am. But it pleases me to hear the compliment.

I would like to sleep now. The fighting prayer-man offered me a bed.'

'Ekodas, take our guest to the western wing. I have had a fire prepared in the south-facing dormitory.' Swinging back to s.h.i.+a he bowed again. 'May your dreams be pleasant, young lady.'

'They will or they won't,' she answered, her eyes still faintly mocking. 'Is your man allowed to sleep with me?'

'I fear not,' Dardalion told her. 'We are celibate here.'

She shook her head in disbelief. 'Why do men play such games?' she asked. 'Lack of good lovemaking causes diseases of the belly and back. And bad headaches.'

'But set against that,' said Dardalion, barely suppressing a smile, 'is that it frees the spiritual mind to heights rarely found in more earthly pleasures.'

'Do you know that for certain, or is it only in writings?' she countered.

'It is only in writings,' he agreed. 'But faith is an integral part of our life here. Sleep well.'

Ekodas, his face burning, led the Nadir woman along the western corridor, his discomfiture increased by the sound of the Abbot's laughter echoing behind them.

The room was small, but a bright fire was burning in the hearth and fresh blankets had been laid on the narrow bed.

'I hope you will be comfortable here,' he said stiffly. 'I will wake you in the morning with a little breakfast - bread and cheese and the juice of summer apples.'

'Do you dream, prayer-man?'

'Yes. Often.'

'Dream of me,' she said.

10

They were camped in a sheltered hollow within a wood, and a small fire flickered in a circle of stones. Senta, Angel and Belash were sleeping, Waylander taking the third watch. He was sitting on the hilltop, his back to a tree, his black clothing merging him into the night shadows. Beside him lay the hound, which he had named Scar.

Miriel lay wrapped in her cloak, her back to the fire, her shoulders warm, her feet cold. Autumn was fading fast, and the smell of snow was in the air. She could not sleep. The ride from the cabin had been made in near silence, but Miriel had linked into the thoughts of the riders. Belash was thinking of home and vengeance, and whenever his thoughts turned to Waylander he pictured a bright knife. Angel was confused. He did not want to travel north, yet he did not want to leave them. His thoughts of Miriel were equally contrasting. He was fond of her, by turns paternal and yet aroused by her. Senta suffered no confusion. His thoughts were filled with erotic images which both stimulated and frightened the young mountain girl.

Waylander she left alone, fearing the new-found darkness within him.

Sitting up, she added several sticks to the fire, then s.h.i.+fted her position so that her legs and feet could bathe in the warmth of the small blaze. A voice whispered into her mind, so faint she thought at first she had imagined it. It came again, but she could make no sense of the words. Concentrating her Talent she focused all her power on the whispers. Still nothing. It was galling. Lying down she closed her eyes, her spirit drifting up from her body. Now the whisper was clearer, but still seeming to come from an impossible distance.

'Who are you?' she called.

Trust me!'

'No.'

'Many lives depend on your trust. Women, children, old ones.'

'Show yourself!' she commanded.

'I cannot - the distance is too great, my power stretched.'

'Then what would you have me do?'

'Return to the flesh and awake Belash. Tell him to hold his left hand over the fire and cut his palm. Let the blood fall into the flames. Tell him Kesa Khan commands this.'

'And then what?'

'And then I will come to you and we will talk.'

'Whose lives depend on this?' she asked. Immediately she sensed his agitation.

'I can talk no more. Do this swiftly or the link will be broken. I am nearing exhaustion.'

Miriel returned to her body and rose, moving to Belash. As she neared the Nadir warrior he rolled to his feet knife in hand, his eyes wary. She told him the message she had received from Kesa Khan and expected him to question her, or express his doubts. But the Nadir instantly moved to the fire, slicing his knife-blade across his open palm. Blood spilled instantly from the wound, splas.h.i.+ng into the flames.

The voice of Kesa Khan boomed inside her mind, causing her to reel back. 'Now you may come to me,' he said.

'Can I trust this Kesa Khan?' she asked Belash.

'Does he say that you can?' he answered.

'Yes.'

'Then obey him,' advised the Nadir. Miriel did not rely on the words, but read the images beyond them. Belash feared Kesa Khan, but there was no doubt that he also admired him, and would trust him with his life.

Miriel lay back and let her spirit drift clear. Instantly she was swept into a bewildering maze of light and colour. Her senses reeled and she lost control of her flight, spinning wildly through a thousand bright rainbows and into a darkness deeper than death. But before fear could turn to panic the darkness lifted, and she found herself sitting by a lakeside village. There were houses here, rough-crafted but secure against the winter wind and snow. Children were playing at the water's edge, and she recognised herself and Krylla. Sitting beside them on an upturned boat was a man, tall and slim, with wide staring eyes and tightly curled hair.

MiriePs heart leapt, and for the first time in twelve years she remembered her real father's face.

This was the winter just before the Vagrians had invaded, just before her parents and all her friends had been butchered. It was a peaceful time, full of quiet joy.

'Are you comfortable with this illusion?' asked the wizened old man sitting beside her.

'Yes,' she told him. 'Very.' She turned her attention to him. He was no more than four and a half feet tall, bird-boned ribs pressing against the taut skin of his chest. His head was too large for his body and his wispy hair hung lank to his shoulders. His two front teeth were missing and his words were sibilant as a result. He was wearing ragged leggings and knee-length moccasins tied with strips of black leather.

'I am Kesa Khan.'

'That means nothing to me.'

'It will,' he a.s.sured her. 'We share the same enemy. Zhu Chao.' He almost spat the name.

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