Marveling, he looked at Mina to find her looking at him.
He rose to his feet, went to join her upon her rock.
“Do you know what I saw, Commander?” he asked.
Her amber eyes had caught the moon, encased it. “I know,” she replied.
“Will you do that for me, for us? Will you lead us to victory?”
The amber eyes, holding the moon captive, turned upon him.
“I will.”
“Is it your god who promises you this?”
“It is,” she replied gravely.
“Tell me the name of this god, that I may worship him,” said Galdar.
Mina shook her head slowly, emphatically. Her gaze left the minotaur, went back to the sky, which was unusually dark, now that she had captured the moon. The light, the only light, was in her eyes. “It is not the right time.”
“When will it be the right time?” Galdar pursued.
“Mortals have no faith in anything anymore. They are like men lost in a fog who can see no farther than their own noses, and so that is what they follow, if they follow anything at all. Some are so paralyzed with fear that they are afraid to move. The people must acquire faith in themselves before they are ready to believe in anything beyond themselves.”
“Will you do this, Commander? Will you make this happen.”
“Tomorrow, you will see a miracle,” she said.
Galdar settled himself upon the rock. “Who are you, Commander?” he asked. “Where do you come from?”
Mina turned her gaze upon him and said, with a half-smile,
“Who are you, Subcommander? Where do you come from?”
“Why, I’m a minotaur. I was born in—”
“No.” She shook her head gently. “Where before that?”
“Before I was born?” Galdar was confused. “I don’t know. No person does.”
“Precisely,” said Mina and turned away.
Galdar scratched his homed head, shrugged in his turn. Obviously she did not want to tell him, and why should she? It was none of his business. It made no difference to him. She was right.
He had not believed in anything before this moment. Now he had found something in which to believe. He had found Mina.
She confronted him again, said abruptly, “Are you still tired?”
“No, Talon Leader, I am not,” Galdar replied. He had slept only a few hours, but the sleep had left him unusually refreshed.
Mina shook her head. “Do not call me ‘Talon Leader.’ I want you to call me ‘Mina.’ ”
“That is not right, Talon Leader,” he protested. “Calling you by your name does not show proper respect.”
“If the men have no respect for me, will it matter what they call me?” she returned. “Besides,” she added with calm conviction, “the rank I hold does not yet exist.”
Galdar really thought she was getting a bit above herself now, needed taking down a notch or two. “Perhaps you think you should be the ‘Lord of the Night,’” he suggested by way of a joke, naming the highest rank that could be held by the Knights of Neraka.
Mina did not laugh. “Someday, the Lord of the Night will kneel down before me.”
Galdar knew Lord Targonne well, had difficulty imagining the greedy, grasping, ambitious man kneeling to do anything unless it might be to scoop up a dropped copper. Galdar didn’t quite know what to say to such a ludicrous concept and so fell silent, returning in his mind to the dream of glory, reaching for it as a parched man reaches out to water. He wanted so much to believe in it, wanted to believe it was more than mirage.
“If you are certain you are not tired, Galdar,” Mina continued, “I want to ask a boon of you.”
“Anything, Tal—Mina,” he said, faltering.
“Tomorrow we ride into battle.” A little frown line marred Mina’s smooth complexion. “I have no weapon, nor have I ever been trained in the use of one. Have we time to do so tonight, do you think?”
Galdar’s jaw went slack. He wondered if he’d heard correctly. He was so stunned, he could at first make no reply. “You. . . you’ve never wielded a weapon?”
Mina shook her head calmly.
“Have you ever been in battle, Mina?”
She shook her head again.
“Have you ever seen a battle?” Galdar was feeling desperate.
“No, Galdar.” Mina smiled at him. “That is why I am asking for your help. We will go a little ways down the road to practice, so that we will not disturb the others. Do not worry. They will be safe. Foxfire would warn me if an enemy approached. Bring along whatever weapon you think would be easiest for me to learn.”
Mina walked off down the road to find a suitable practice field, leaving an amazed Galdar to search through the weapons he and the others carried, to find one suitable for her, a girl who had never before held a weapon and who was, tomorrow, going to lead them into battle.
Galdar cudgeled his brain, tried to knock some common sense back into his head. A dream seemed reality, reality seemed a dream. Drawing his dagger, he stared at it a moment, watched the moonlight flow like quicksilver along the blade. He jabbed the point of the dagger into his arm, the arm Mina had restored to him. Stinging pain and the warm flow of blood indicated that the arm was real, confirmed that he was indeed awake.
Galdar had given his promise, and if he had one thing left to him in this life that he hadn’t sold, battered, or flung away, it was his honor. He slid the dagger back into its sheathe upon his belt and looked over the stock of weapons.
A sword was out of the question. There was no time to train her properly in its use, she would do more damage to herself or those around than to a foe. He could find nothing that he deemed suitable, and then he noticed the moonlight shining on one weapon in particular, as if it were trying to bring it to his attention—the weapon known as a morning star. Galdar eyed it.
Frowning thoughtfully, he hefted it in his hand. The morning star is a battlehammer adorned with spikes on the end, spikes the fanciful said give it the look of a star, hence its name. The morning star was not heavy, took relatively little skill to learn to use, and was particularly effective against knights in armor. One simply bashed one’s opponent with the morning star until his armor cracked like a nutshell. Of course, one had to avoid the enemy’s own weapon while one was doing the bashing. Galdar picked up a small shield and, armed with these, trudged off down the road, leaving a horse to stand watch.
“I’ve gone mad,” he muttered. “Stark, staring mad.”
Mina had located an open space among the rocks, probably used as a wayside camping place for those long-ago armies that had marched along the road. She took hold of the morning star, eyed it critically, hefted it to test its weight and balance. Galdar showed her how to hold the shield, where to position it for best advantage. He instructed her in the use of the morning star, then gave her some simple exercises so that she could accustom herself to the feel of the weapon.
He was gratified (and relieved) to learn that Mina was a quick study. Though her frame was thin, she was well-muscled. Her balance was good, her movements were graceful and fluid.
Galdar raised his own shield, let her take a few practice blows.
Her first strike was impressive, her second drove him backward, her third put a great dent in his shield and jarred his arm to the marrow.
“I like this weapon, Galdar,” she said approvingly. “You have chosen well.”
Galdar grunted, rubbed his aching arm, and laid down his shield. Drawing his broadsword from its sheathe, he wrapped the sword in a cloak, bound the cloth around it tightly with rope, and took up a fighting stance.
“Now we go to work,” he said.
At the end of two hours, Galdar was astonished at his pupil’s progress.
“Are you certain you have never trained as a soldier?” he asked, pausing to catch his breath.
“I have never done so,” said Mina. “Look, I will show you.”