‘It was chosen for us long ago, magician.’ Audarun rose. ‘We are not your allies, but we do share common interests. We have no desire to see your realm invaded or your world subjugated. Our race can survive only through expansion, for we will turn on ourselves if we cease to look outwards. So, we must force that inward turning, create a civil war that will last generations and end the horror that is what we have become. We must cut off our own hand before it does even graver injury.’
Pug nodded. ‘Harsh indeed. But many will attempt to seize power in the name of the Dark One, even if he is somehow vanquished, and they will use the existing social order to crush opposition.’
‘We are the only opposition,’ she said. ‘In our hallowed history we were more than you see now, and we had many gods, human. We served them with joy and they guided us. But now we have no rallying point save to oppose the Dark One. If somehow they were to return to us, perhaps we might find a less terrible fate, but that is the stuff of dreams.’ She indicated the direction Valko had been taken. ‘He is our beacon, he will stand in opposition to the horror that our leadership has embraced.
‘Valko has been chosen, along with several others of noble rank and honoured lineage, to be the next generation of leaders for our race. With good fortune, he may even be the next TeKarana.
‘You have no concept of how remarkable it is that he could learn the truth and assimilate it as rapidly as he has; most young warriors would have flown into a killing frenzy at a suggestion of the things he has calmly embraced. Most would have killed you by now for the mere fact of your existence.
‘We, the Triarch, have lived here in this refuge our entire lives, spared the constant madness emanating from the pit wherein lies the Dark One. His poison seeps out of there and reaches across the stars and damns every last Dasati. We are among the few who have escaped that touch, yet even to us your presence is a… trial.’
‘Then, lady,’ said Pug, ‘we shall remove ourselves as quickly as we can, and be on our way. Know that while the survival of our race is our paramount concern, I also hope we will be helping yours and we wish you well.’
‘Then you are a better race,’ said Audarun. ‘But one day perhaps we shall equal you.’
Pug turned to Magnus. ‘Let us go now.’
Magnus came to stand next to his father and put his hand on Pug’s shoulder. He closed his eyes for the briefest second, recalling the secret room below ground in the Grove, and instantly they were there.
Two Lessers leaped away in terror until they saw the faces of the two who had mysteriously appeared before them. Pug made a gesture of reassurance, as he glanced around to find themselves alone, then said to Magnus, ‘Let us rest and see if Martuch and Hirea return this night. Else it is just the two of us in an alien place and we have a difficult task ahead.’
‘To find Nakor?’
‘To find Nakor.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Secrets
BEK LASHED OUT WITH HIS SWORD.
The trainer barely leaped aside quickly enough to survive, and received a glancing blow off his left shoulder. It rocked him and he staggered a step back, which saved him from losing his head as Bek halted the travel of his sword to his left, and reverse-cut to his right, a backhand blow that was all but impossible for any but the strongest, fastest swordsmen in the Dasati Empire. For a novice Deathknight, it should have been impossible.
‘Hold!’ came the command from above.
The trainer and Bek both looked up to see who had shouted the command. A man resplendent in black armour edged with gold peered down from the gallery overlooking the arena. Every instructor and trainee in the massive arena halted at his command. The black armour he wore was of the TeKarana’s personal guard, and he sported decorative pauldrons which made his shoulders impossibly wide and came to an upswept point ending in a wicked-looking golden barb. His helm was topped by a high metal crest fronted by a stylized serpent twining around a tree. The crest ended in a fall that dropped at the back between his shoulders. He exuded power.
Pointing at Bek, he shouted, ‘Who trained you?’
Bek laughed, and shouted back, ‘I trained myself.’
Nakor stood to one side, eyes down. He winced at the arrogance.
But the man above returned the laugh. ‘Can I believe it? I must, for no sane warrior would teach a move such as that. Wait on the sand.’
It took only a minute for the observer to leave the balcony and work his way to the training floor, but in that brief respite, Nakor came to Bek’s side, offered him water, and whispered, ‘Remember, you are the protege of Martuch and you were trained by Hirea. Remember!’
The large warrior in the decorative armour strode across the yard and came to stand before Bek, the only person on the floor who was taller. All eyes turned to witness the exchange. The warrior said, ‘Attack me.’