Part 38 (2/2)

'Speak!'

'He is dead. One of the guards found him scaling the roof. They fought, and the a.s.sa.s.sin was killed and hurled to the stones below.'

'Yes!' roared Zhu Chao, his fist sweeping up into the air. 'Bring his body to me. I will consign it to h.e.l.l!' Oh, how sweet life felt at that moment, the words in his mind singing like a nightingale: Waylander is dead. Waylander is dead!

Leaving the men he entered a small room at the end of the corridor, locking the door behind him.

From a hiding place beneath a desk of oak he removed the Fifth Grimoire and studied the ninth chapter. Closing his eyes he spoke the words of power and found himself floating above the walls of Kar-Barzac. But there was no way past the pulsating force that radiated from below the fortress.

Then, as suddenly as suns.h.i.+ne following a storm, the power faded and died. Zhu Chao was stunned.

Swiftly he sent his spirit questing into the labyrinth below the citadel and found the priest Ekodas nursing the crystal. He could feel the surging of the man's Talent, his growing ambition, his burgeoning desires.

He spoke to the priest, sensing a kindred spirit, and when Ekodas said he would bring the crystal to Gulgothir, Zhu Chao knew he spoke the absolute truth. He fought hard to keep his triumph from Ekodas, and returned to his palace.

Waylander was dead. The crystal was his. And in a few short moments the souls of kings would be dedicated to Shemak.

And the son of a shoemaker would be the Lord of the Earth!

The Gothir forces had fallen back again, but the defenders manning the walls were fewer now, and desperately weary. Dardalion moved among the Thirty, pausing only at the body of fat Merlon.

He had died at the ruined gateway, hurling himself into the ma.s.s of warriors surging through the ruptured portcullis. Orsa Khan and a score of Nadir warriors had joined him, and together they had forced back the attackers. But, just as the Gothir retreated to their camp, Merlon had slumped to the ground, bleeding from many wounds.

He died within moments. Dardalion knelt by the body. 'You were a good man, my friend,' he said softly. 'May the Source greet you.'

From the corner of his eye he saw Angel emerge from the hall, carrying the body of the swordsman, Senta. Dardalion sighed and stood. Miriel came next, a small boy beside her. The Abbot walked across to them, and waited silently as Angel laid down the body of his friend. In the presence of the silver-armoured Abbot the small boy eased back and vanished into the hall.

'Where is Ekodas?' Dardalion asked at last.

'He's alive,' said Angel. 'And the crystal is destroyed.'

'The Source be praised! I was not sure that even Ekodas would have the strength.'

He saw Miriel about to speak, but Angel cut in swiftly. 'It was a creation of great evil,' he said.

Ekodas appeared in the doorway, blinking in the fading light. Dardalion ran to him. 'You did it, my son. I am proud of you.' He reached out to embrace the priest, but Ekodas brushed him away.

'I did nothing - save let a man die,' he whispered. 'Leave me, Dardalion.' The priest stumbled away.

The Abbot swung back to Miriel. Tell me all,' he said. Miriel sighed and related the story of the fight with the monster, and the death of Senta. Her voice was low and spiritless, her eyes distant.

Dardalion felt her pain and her sorrow.

'I am so sorry, my child. So terribly sorry.'

'People die in wars all the time,' she said tonelessly. As if in a dream she walked away towards the battlements.

Angel covered Senta with his cloak then stood. 'I'd like to kill Kesa Khan,' he hissed.

'It would achieve nothing,' replied Dardalion. 'Go with Miriel. She is fey now, and could come to harm.'

'Not while I live,' said Angel. 'But tell me, Abbot, what is it for? Why did he die down there?

Please tell me it was worth something. And I don't want to hear about Uniters.'

'I cannot answer all your questions. Would that I could. But no man can know where his steps will ultimately lead, nor the results of his actions. But I will tell you this, and I will trust you to keep it in your heart and not speak of it to any living soul. There she is, sitting on the battlements.

What do you see?'

Angel looked up and saw Miriel bathed in the fiery light of dusk. 'I see a beautiful woman, tough and yet gentle, strong and yet caring. What do you think I should see?'

'What I see,' whispered Dardalion. 'A young woman carrying the seed of future greatness. Even now it is growing within her, tiny, a mere spark of life, created from love. But that spark could one day, if we survive here, give birth to a flame.'

'She is pregnant.'

'Yes. Senta's son.'

'He didn't know,' said Angel, staring down at the cloak-shrouded corpse on the stones.

'But you know, Angel. You know now that she has something to live for. But she will need help.

There are few men strong enough to take on the burden of another man's child.'

'That is no worry to me, Abbot. I love her.'

'Then go to her, my son. Sit with her. Share her grief.'

Angel nodded and moved away. Dardalion strode into the hall. The boy was sitting at a bench table, staring down at his hands. Dardalion sat opposite him. Their eyes met and Dardalion smiled.

The boy returned it.

Kesa Khan entered the hall from the stairwell leading to the upper floors. He saw Dardalion and crossed to the table. 'I saw her on the battlements,' he said. 'I am ... happy that she survived.'

'Her lover did not,' said Dardalion.

The shaman shrugged. 'It is not important.'

Dardalion bit back an angry reply, and s.h.i.+fted his gaze to the boy. 'I have something for you, Kesa Khan,' he said, still staring at the black-eyed child.

'Yes?'

'The young warlord who will wed the daughter of s.h.i.+a.'

'You know where to find him?'

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