Part 28 (1/2)

Father.

Confusion flowed over him like a fog, swirling, unreal. He looked up at the sun, but there was no sun, just a spinning crystal high in the sky, humming like a thousand bees.

The man with the plough turned towards him. 'Don't spend your day lazing, Gracus!' he said.

Gracus? I'm not Gracus. I am dreaming. That's it! A dream. Wake up!

He felt himself rising from sleep, felt the awareness of flesh and muscle. He tried to move his arm, but it seemed lodged, trapped. He opened his eyes. Gracus was lying beside him. Close beside him. He must be lying on my arm, thought Bodalen. He tried to roll, but Gracus moved with him, his head lolling, his mouth open. Bodalen struggled to rise. He felt an unaccustomed weight on his right side and swung his head. There was another man lying there.

And he had no head.

I am lying on his head, thought Bodalen, panic gripping him. He surged up. The body on the right rose with him. Bodalen screamed. The headless body was part of him, the shoulders bonded to Bodalen's flesh.

Sweet Heaven! Calm down, he told himself. This is still a dream. Just a dream.

His left arm had disappeared, embedded into and merging with Gracus' shoulder. He tried to pull it clear, but the limp body of the Brotherhood knight merely moved closer. Their legs touched - and bonded.

The crystal continued to spin.

Across the room Bodalen saw the bodies of the other knights, melding together, twisting as if involved in some silent, unnatural orgy. And between them, lying still on the golden floor, was the huge skeleton.

Bodalen screamed again.

And pa.s.sed out.

It awoke with no memory, but stretched its huge muscles and rolled to its belly, its three legs levering it upright, its two heads striking the golden ceiling. Rage suffused the beast, and one of the heads roared in anger. The other remained silent, grey eyes blinking at the light from the crystal.

Two other beasts were still asleep.

The crystal spun, blue lights dancing between the golden bowls.

The beast shuffled towards it, reaching out with its three great arms. A ma.s.sive finger touched the flickering blue fire. Pain swept along the immense limbs, burning the creature. Both heads roared now. One arm swept out, striking the crystal, dislodging it, sending it hurtling towards the far wall. The blue flames died.

And all the lights dimmed and faded.

The near-darkness was comfortable, rea.s.suring. The beast slumped down to its haunches. It was hungry. The smell of burnt meat came from the hall beyond. It moved to the doorway, and saw a small dead creature lying on the floor. The corpse was part-clothed in hide and metal. The meat was still fresh and the beast's hunger swelled. It tried to move forward but its great bulk could not pa.s.s through the doorway. Rearing up, it began to tear at the exposed blocks above the metal frame.

The other beasts joined it, adding their strength.

And slowly the great rocks began to crack and give.

Kesa Khan opened his eyes and smiled. Miriel was watching him, saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes. 'We can move now,' he said, with a dry laugh. 'The way is made smooth.'

'But you said there was nowhere else!'

”There wasn't. Now there is. It is a fortress-very old. Itis called Kar-Barzac. Tomorrow we will make the journey.'

'There is much that you are not telling me,' pointed out Miriel.

'There is much you do not need to know. Rest, Miriel, you will need your strength. Go - sit with your friends. Leave me. I will call you when the time comes.' Miriel wanted to question him further, but the little man had once more closed his eyes and sat, arms folded before the small fire.

She rose and wandered out into the night. Senta was asleep when she reached the small cave, but Angel was sitting under the stars, listening to the distant sounds of battle coming from the pa.s.s. A small boy was close by him. Miriel smiled. The two figures were in an identical position some twenty feet apart, Angel and the child both sitting cross-legged. The gladiator was sharpening his sword with a whetstone, the boy, holding a piece of wood, copying him.

'I see you have made a friend,' said Miriel. Angel grunted something inaudible. Miriel sat beside him. 'Who is he?'

'How should I know? He never speaks. He just mimics.'

Miriel's Talent reached out, then drew back. 'He's totally deaf,' she said. 'An orphan.'

Angel sighed. 'I didn't need to know that,' he said, sheathing his sword. The ragged child slid his stick into his belt.

Miriel reached out and stroked the gladiator's face. 'You are a good man, Angel. It means you have no real skill when it comes to harbouring hate.'

He caught her wrist and held to it. 'You shouldn't be touching me,' he said softly. 'The man for you is in there. Young. Handsome. With a disgusting lack of scars.'

'I will choose my own man when the time comes,' she told him. 'I am not some Drenai n.o.blewoman whose marriage brings an alliance between warring factions. Nor do I have to concern myself with a dowry. I will marry a man I like, a man I respect.'

'You didn't mention love,' he pointed out.

'I have heard great talk of it, Angel, but I don't know what it is. I love my father. I love you. I loved my sister and my mother. One word. Different feelings. Are we talking of l.u.s.t?'

'Partly,' he agreed. 'And there's nothing wrong with that, though many would have us believe otherwise. But it is more than that. I had an affair with a dark-haired woman once. Unbelievable. In bed she could raise more pa.s.sion in me than any of my wives. But I didn't stay with her. I didn't love her, you see. I adored her. But I didn't love her.'

'There's that word again!' chided Miriel.

He chuckled. 'I know. It's just a short way of describing someone who is your friend, bed-mate, sister, aye even mother sometimes. Someone who will arouse your pa.s.sion and your admiration and your respect. Someone, who when the whole world turns against you, is still standing by your side.

You look for someone like that, Miriel.' He released her hand and looked away.

She leaned in close. 'What about you, Angel? Would you be a friend, a lover, a brother and a father?'

He turned his scarred features towards her. 'Aye, I would.' He hesitated and she sensed his indecision. At last he smiled and, taking her hand, kissed it. 'My boots are older than you, Miriel.

And you may think it makes no difference now, but it does. You need a man who can grow with you, not grow senile on you.' He took a deep breath. 'It's hard to admit this, you know.'

'You are not old,' she admonished him.

'Don't you like Senta?' he countered.

She looked away. 'I find him ... exciting ... frightening.'

'That's good,' he said. 'That's how life should be. Me, I'm like an old armchair. Comfortable. A girl like you needs more than that. Give him a chance. There's a lot of good in him.'

'Why do you like him so much?'