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"We approach a frozen moment in the destiny of the continent. The Heart says we should seek our truths at Dros Delnoch."

Serbitar turned to Menahem, a hawk-nosed young man, dark and swarthy, his hair braided in a single pony tail intertwined with silver thread. "And how do the Eyes of The Thirty view this thing?"

"Should we go to the Dros the city will fall," said Menahem. "Should we refuse, the city will still fall. Our presence will merely delay the inevitable. Should the messenger be worthy to ask of us our lives, then we should go."

Serbitar turned to the Abbot. "Vintar, how says the Soul of The Thirty?"

The older man ran a slender hand through his thinning grey hair, then stood and bowed to Serbitar. He seemed out of place in his armour of silver and bronze.

"We will be asked to kill men of another race," he said, his voice gentle, sad even. "We will be asked to kill them, not because they are evil, merely because their leaders wish to do what the Drenai themselves did six centuries ago.

"We stand between the sea and the mountains. The sea will crush us against the mountain and thus we die. The mountain will hold us against the sea, allowing us to be crushed. Still we die.

"We are all weapon masters here. We seek the perfect death, to counterpoint the perfect life. True the Nadir aggression does not pose a new concept in history. But their action will cause untold horror to the Drenai people. We can say that to defend those people we are upholding the values of our Order. That our defence will fail is no reason to avoid the battle. For it is the motive that is pure, and not the outcome.

"Sadly, the Soul says we must ride for Dros Delnoch."

"So," said Serbitar. "We are agreed. I, too, feel strongly on this matter. We came to this Temple as outcasts from the world. Shunned and feared, we came together to create the ultimate contradiction. Our bodies would become living weapons, to polarise our minds to extremes of pacifism. Warrior-priests we are, as the Elders never were. There will be no joy in our hearts as we slay the enemy, for we love all life.

"As we die our souls will leap forward, transcending the world's chains. All petty jealousies, intrigues and hatreds will be left behind us as we journey to the Source.

"The Voice says we ride."

* * *

A three-quarter moon hung in the cloudless night sky, casting pale shadows from the trees around Rek's camp-fire. A luckless rabbit, gutted and encased in clay, lay on the coals as Virae came back from the stream, wiping her naked upper body with one of Rek's spare shirts.

"If only you knew how much that cost me!" he said as she sat on a rock by the fire, her body glowing gold as the flames danced.

"It never served a better purpose," she said. "How much longer before that rabbit is ready?"

"Not long. You will catch your death of cold, sitting half-naked in this weather. My blood's chilling to ice just watching you."

"Strange!" she said. "Just this morning you were telling me how your blood ran hot just to look at me."

"That was in a warm cabin with a bed handy. I've never been much for making love in the snow. Here, I've warmed a blanket."

"When I was a child," she said, taking the blanket and wrapping it round her shoulders, "we used to have to run three miles across the downs in midwinter wearing only a tunic and sandals. That was bracing. And extremely cold."

"If you're so tough, how was it that you turned blue before we found the cabin?" he asked, a broad smile robbing the question of malice.

"The armour," she said. "Too much steel, not enough wool beneath it. Mind you, if I had been riding in front I wouldn't have got so bored and fallen asleep. How long did you say that rabbit would be? I'm starving."

"Soon. I think…"

"Have you ever cooked a rabbit this way before?" she asked.

"Not exactly. But it is the right way — I've seen it done. All the fur comes away as you crack the clay. It's easy."

Virae was not convinced. "I stalked that skinny beast for ages," she said, recalling with pleasure the single arrow from forty paces which had downed it. "Not a bad bow, if a little on the light side. It's an old cavalry bow, isn't it? We have several at Delnoch. The modern ones are all silver steel now — better range and a stronger poundage. I'm starving."

"Patience aids the appetite," he told her.

"You'd better not ruin that rabbit. I don't like killing the things at the best of times. But at least there's a purpose if one can eat it."

"I'm not sure how the rabbit would respond to that line of reasoning," said Rek.

"Can they reason?" asked Virae.

"I don't know, I didn't mean it literally."

"Then why say it? You are a strange man."

"It was just an abstract thought. Do you never have an abstract thought? Do you never wonder how a flower knows when it's time to grow? Or how the salmon find its way back to the spawning grounds?"

"No," she said. "Is the rabbit cooked?"

"Well, what do you think about, when you're not planning how to kill people?"

"Eating," she said. "What about that rabbit?"

Rek tipped the ball of clay from the coals with a stick, watching it sizzle on the snow.

"Well, what do you do now?" she asked. He ignored her and picked up a fist-sized rock, then cracked it hard against the clay which split to disgorge a half-cooked, half-skinned rabbit.

"Looks good," she said. "What now?"

He poked the steaming meat with a stick.

"Can you face eating that?" he said.

"Of course. Can I borrow your knife? Which bit do you want?"

"I've got some oatcake left in my pack. I think I'll make do with that. Will you put some clothes on!"

They were camped in a shallow depression under a rock face — not deep enough to be a cave but large enough to reflect heat from the fire and cut out the worst of the wind. Rek chewed his oatcake and watched the girl devour the rabbit. It was not an edifying sight. She hurled the remnants of the carcass into the trees. "Badgers should enjoy it," she said. "That's not a bad way to cook rabbit."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said.

"You're not much of a woodsman, are you?" she told him.

"I manage."

"You couldn't even gut the thing. You looked green when the entrails popped out."

Rek hurled the rest of his oatcake in the direction of the hapless rabbit. "The badgers will probably appreciate dessert," he said. Virae giggled happily.

"You're wonderful, Rek. You're unlike any man I ever met."

"I don't think I'm going to like what's coming next," he said. "Why don't we just go to sleep?"

"No. Listen to me. I'm serious. All my life I have dreamt of finding the right man: tall, kind, strong, understanding. Loving. I never thought he existed. Most of the men I've known have been soldiers — gruff, straight as spears and as romantic as a bull in heat. And I've met poets, soft of speech and gentle. When I was with soldiers I longed for poets, and when with poets I longed for soldiers. I had begun to believe the man I wanted could not exist. Do you understand me?"

"All your life you've been looking for a man who couldn't cook rabbits? Of course I understand you."

"Do you really?" she asked, softly.

"Yes. But explain it to me anyway."

"You're what I've always wanted," she said, blushing. "You're my Coward — Hero — my love."

"I knew there would be something I wouldn't like," he said.

As she placed some logs on the blaze he held out his hand. "Sit beside me," he said. "You'll be warmer."

"You can share my blanket," she told him, moving round the fire and into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't mind if I call you my Coward-Hero?"