In the Realm of the Wolf (26 page)

Ekodas lay in his pallet bed listening to the sounds of the night: the flapping of bats’ wings beyond the open window, the sibilant sighing of the winds of winter. It was cold, and the single blanket did little to conserve his body heat.

In the next bed Duris was snoring. Ekodas lay awake, ignoring the cold, his thoughts focused on the Nadir woman, Shia. He wondered where she was and whether she had found her brother. He sighed and opened his eyes. Moonlight was casting deep shadows from the rafters of the roughly wrought ceiling, and a winter moth was flitting between the beams.

Closing his eyes once more, Ekodas sought the freedom of flight. As usual that proved difficult, but at last he soared free of his body and floated alongside the moth, gazing down on his sleeping comrades. The moon was shining in a cloudless sky as he flew from the temple, and the countryside was bathed in spectral light.

“Are you restless, Brother?” asked Magnic, appearing alongside him.

“Yes,” he answered.

“As am I. But it is silent here, and we are free of the flesh.” It was true, and Ekodas acknowledged it. The world was a different place when viewed through spirit eyes, tranquil and beautiful, eternal and almost sentient. “You spoke well, Ekodas. You surprised me.”

“I surprised myself,” he admitted. “Though, as I am sure you are aware, I am not totally convinced even by my own arguments.”

“I think none of us are truly sure,” Magnic said softly, “but there must be balance. Without it harmony cannot be found. I fear the Brotherhood, and I loathe and despise all they stand for. You know why?”

“Tell me.”

“Because I long for such pleasures myself. Deep in me I can see the attraction of evil, Ekodas. We are stronger than normal men. Our talents could earn us fame, riches, and all the pleasures known to man. And in my quiet moments I know that I lust for these things.”

“You are not responsible for your desires,” said Ekodas. “They are primal, a part of being human. Only if we act upon them do we sin.”

“I know that, but it is why I could not take up the staff. I could never be a priest of love, never. At some time in the future I would succumb to my desires. This is why the Thirty is for me. I have no future save with the Source. You are different, my friend. You are strong. Like Dardalion once was.”

“You thought me a coward,” Ekodas pointed out.

Magnic smiled. “Yes, but I was seeing only my own lack of courage. Transferring it to you.” He sighed. “Now that our way is set, I see everything differently. And now I must continue my watch.” Magnic vanished, and Ekodas floated alone in the night sky. The temple below was gray and forbidding, its turrets rearing against the sky like upraised fists.

“
It is still a fortress
,” Shia had said. And so it was. Just like us, Ekodas realized. Prayer within, might without. There was comfort in the thought, for a fortress, no matter how many spears, swords, and arrows were contained within it, could never be an offensive weapon.

He soared higher and to the north, through thin, misty clouds that were forming above the mountains. Below him the mighty fortress of Dros Delnoch spanned the pass.

He floated down. On the last wall he saw a tall, dark-haired woman sitting beside a handsome golden-haired man. The man reached out to take the woman’s hand, but she drew back, turning her head to gaze up at Ekodas.

“Who are you?” she asked him, her spirit voice as loud as thunder within him. Ekodas was astonished and suddenly disconcerted. Swiftly he flew high and away from the fortress. Such power! His mind reeled.

Just then a terrible scream filled his ears. Brief, agonizing, and then it terminated. He sped for the temple.

A man appeared alongside him, a blade of fire in his hand. Ekodas twisted in the air, the sword hissing by him. He reacted without conscious thought, the long years of training and Dardalion’s endlessly patient tuition coming together in an instant to save his life. “
In spirit form,
” Dardalion had told them, “
we are naked and unarmed. But I will teach you to craft armor from faith, swords from courage, and shields from belief. Then you will stand against the demons of the dark and the men who aspire to be like them.”

Ekodas armored 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 armor and a full-faced helm. Ekodas blocked a thrust, then sent his blade slicing into the man’s neck. The sword of light flashed through the dark armor 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 armor 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 cleaved 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 that 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 on 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 is 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

A
NGEL’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 behavior.”

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?”

“They are,” said Miriel.

“Good.” He unlocked the cell door, and the glowering Angel stepped into the room. One eye was blackened and half-closed, and his lower lip was split.

“I’d say it was an improvement,” said Senta.

Angel pushed past him, striding out into the sunlight. Belash was waiting, his dark eyes inscrutable.

“Don’t say a word!” warned Angel, snatching the reins of his mount from the tethering post and climbing into the saddle.
Miriel and Senta emerged into the sunlight, the master-at-arms behind them.

“Straight out, no stopping,” repeated the soldier.

Miriel swung into the saddle and led the group down to the gate tunnel below the fifth wall. Sentries examined the passes Miriel had obtained and waved them through, across the open ground to the next tunnel and the next. At last they rode out into the pass itself.

Senta moved his horse alongside Angel’s mount. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Why don’t you go—” He closed his mouth on the words as Miriel reined back, swinging her horse alongside him.

“What happened, Angel?” she asked.

“Why don’t you read my mind and find out?” he snapped.

“No,” she said. “You and Senta are right—it
is
bad manners. I’ll not do it again, I promise. So tell me how the fight started.”

“It was just a fight,” he answered with a shrug. “Nothing to tell.”

Miriel turned to Belash. “You were there?”

The Nadir nodded. “A man asked old Hard-to-Kill what it is like to have a face that a cow has trampled on.”

“Yes? And then?”

“He said, ‘Like this!’ Then he broke the man’s nose.” Belash mimicked the blow, a straight left.

Senta’s laughter pealed out, echoing in the pass. “It is not something to laugh at,” insisted Miriel. “One man with a broken nose and jaw, two others with broken arms. One even fractured his leg.”

“That was the man he threw out of the window,” said Belash. “And it was not even open.”

“Why were you so angry?” Miriel asked Angel. “Back at the cabin you were always so … so controlled.”

He relaxed and sat slumped in the saddle. “That was then,” he told her, touching his heels to the gelding and riding ahead.

Senta glanced at Miriel. “You don’t see a great deal without your talent, do you?” he observed, urging his horse into a canter and coming alongside Angel once more.

“What now?” asked the gladiator.

“You took out six men with your bare hands. That’s impressive, Angel.”

“Is there a joke coming?”

“No. I’m sorry I missed the fight.”

“It wasn’t much. A bunch of town dwellers. Not a single muscle in sight.”

“I’m glad you decided to stay with us. I’d have missed your company.”

“I’d not miss yours, boy.”

“Oh, yes, you would. Tell me, how long have you been in love with her?”

“What kind of a stupid question is that?” stormed Angel. “I’m not in love. Shemak’s balls, Senta, look at me! I’m almost as old as her father, and my face would curdle milk. No, she’ll be better off with a younger man. Even you, may my tongue turn black for saying it.”

Senta was about to speak when he saw a rider emerging from the rocks to the left. It was a young Nadir woman with jet-black hair, wearing a goatskin tunic and tan leggings. Belash galloped past them and leapt from the saddle. The woman dismounted and embraced him. Miriel, Senta, and Angel sat their mounts quietly as the two Nadir conversed in their own tongue. Then Belash led the girl to the waiting trio.

“This is Shia, my sister. She was sent to find me,” he told them.

“It is good to meet you,” said Senta.

“Why? You do not know me.”

“It is a traditional greeting,” he explained.