Joachim heard the news of Rek's loss with sadness. Fatalistic himself, he could still share the feelings of a man whose woman had died. His own had died in childbirth two years before and the wound was still fresh.
Joachim shook his head. War was a savage mistress, but a woman of power nonetheless. She could wreak more havoc in a man's soul than time.
The Sathuli arrival had been timely and not without cost. Four hundred of his men were dead — a loss scarcely bearable to a mountain people who numbered a mere thirty thousand, many of these being children and ancients.
But a debt was a debt.
The man Hogun hated him, Joachim knew. But this was understandable, for Hogun was of the Legion and the Sathuli had spilt Legion blood for years. They reserved their finest tortures for captured Riders. This was an honour, but Joachim knew the Drenai could never understand. When a man died he was tested — the harder the death, the greater the rewards in Paradise. Torture advanced a man's soul and the Sathuli could offer no greater reward to a captured enemy.
He sat upon the battlements and stared back at the Keep. For how many years had he longed to take this fortress? How many of his dreams had been filled with pictures of the Keep in flames?
And now he was defending it with the lives of his followers.
He shrugged. A man with his eyes on the sky does not see the scorpion below his feet. A man with his eyes on the ground does not see the dragon in the air.
He paced the ramparts, coming at last to the gate tower and the stone inscription carved there: GEDDON.
The Wall of Death.
The air was thick with the smell of death and the morning would see the crows fly in to the feast. He should have killed Rek in the woods. A promise to an unbeliever was worth nothing, so why had he kept it? He laughed suddenly, accepting the answer; because the man had not cared.
And Joachim liked him.
He passed a Drenai sentry who saluted him and smiled. Joachim nodded, noting the uncertainty of the smile.
He had told the Earl of Bronze that he and his men would stay for one more day and then return to the mountains. He had expected a plea to remain — offers, promises, treaties. But Rek had merely smiled.
"It is more than I would have asked for," he said.
Joachim was stunned, but he could say nothing. He told Rek of the traitor and of the Nadir attempt to cross the mountains.
"Will you still bar the way?"
"Of course. That is Sathuli land."
"Good! Will you eat with me?"
"No, but I thank you for the offer."
No Sathuli could break bread with an unbeliever.
Rek nodded. "I think I will rest now," he said. "I will see you at dawn."
In his high room in the Keep Rek slept, dreaming of Virae, always of Virae. He awoke hours before dawn and reached out for her. But the sheets beside him were cold and, as always, he felt the loss anew. On this night he wept, long and soundlessly. Finally he rose, dressed and descended the stairs to the small hall. The manservant, Arshin, brought him a breakfast of cold ham and cheese, with a flagon of cold water, laced with honey mead. He ate mechanically until a young officer approached with the news that Bricklyn had returned with despatches from Drenan.
The burgher entered the hall, bowed briefly and approached the table, laying before Rek several packages and a large sealed scroll. He seated himself opposite Rek and asked if he could pour himself a drink. Rek nodded as he opened the scroll. He read it once, smiled, then laid it aside and looked across at the burgher. He was thinner and perhaps even greyer than the first time Rek had seen him. He was still dressed in riding clothes, and his green cloak was dust-covered. Bricklyn drained the water in two swallows and refilled his cup; then he noticed Rek's eyes upon him.
"You have seen the message from Abalayn?" he asked.
"Yes. Thank you for bringing it. Will you stay?"
"But of course. Surrender arrangements must be made and Ulric welcomed to the Keep."
"He has promised to spare no one," said Rek softly.
Bricklyn waved his hand. "Nonsense! That was war talk. Now he will be magnanimous."
"And what of Woundweaver?"
"He has been recalled to Drenan and the army disbanded."
"Are you pleased?"
"That the war is over? Of course. Though I am naturally saddened that so many had to die. I hear that Druss fell at Sumitos. A great shame. He was a fine man and a magnificent warrior. But it was as he would wish to go, I am sure. When would you like me to see Lord Ulric?"
"As soon as you wish."
"Will you accompany me?"
"No."
"Then who will?" asked Bricklyn, noting with pleasure the resignation mirrored in Rek's face.
"No one."
"No one? But that would not be politic, my lord. There should be a deputation."
"You will travel alone."
"Very well. What terms shall I negotiate?"
"You will negotiate nothing. You will merely go to Ulric and say that I have sent you."
"I do not understand, my lord. What would you have me say?"
"You will say that you have failed."
"Failed? In what? You speak in riddles. Are you mad?"
"No. Just tired. You betrayed us, Bricklyn, but then I expect nothing less from your breed. Therefore I am not angry. Or vengeful. You have taken Ulric's pay and now you may go to him. The letter from Abalayn is a forgery and Woundweaver will be here in five days with over fifty thousand men. Outside there are three thousand Sathuli and we can hold the wall. Now be gone! Hogun knows that you are a traitor and has told me that he will kill you if he sees you. Go now."
For several minutes Bricklyn sat stunned, then he shook his head. "This is madness! You cannot hold! It is Ulric's day, can you not see it? The Drenai are finished and Ulric's star shines. What do you hope to achieve?"
Rek slowly drew a long, slender dagger and placed it on the table before him.
"Go now," he repeated quietly.
Bricklyn rose and stormed to the door. He turned in the doorway.
"You fool!" he spat. "Use the dagger on yourself, for what the Nadir will do when they take you will make merry viewing." Then he was gone.
Hogun stepped from behind a tapestry-covered alcove and moved to the table. His head was bandaged and his face pale. In his hand he held his sword.
"How could you let him go, Rek? How?"
Rek smiled. "Because I couldn't be bothered to kill him."
30
The last candle guttered and died as a light autumn wind billowed the curtains. Rek slept on, head resting on his arms at the table where only an hour before he had sent Bricklyn to the Nadir. His sleep was light, but dreamless. He shivered as the room became cooler, then awoke with a start in the darkness. Fear touched him and he reached for his dagger. He shivered again: it was cold… so cold. He glanced at the fire. It was blazing, but no heat reached him. He stood and walked towards it, squatting in front of it and opening his hands to the heat. Nothing. Confused, he stood once more and turned back to the table, and then the shock hit him.
Head resting on his arms, the figure of Earl Regnak still slept there. He fought down panic, watching his sleeping form, noting the weariness in the gaunt face, the dark-hollowed eyes and the lines of strain about the mouth.
Then he noticed the silence. Even at this late hour of deepest darkness, some sounds should be heard from sentries, or servants or the few cooks preparing the morning's breakfast. But there was nothing. He moved to the doorway and beyond into the darkened corridor, then beyond that into the shadow of the portcullis gate. He was alone — beyond the gate were the walls, but no sentries paced them. He walked on in the darkness, and the clouds cleared and the moon shone brightly.