‘We wish to go to the gardens,’ said Garianne. ‘It is very peaceful there.’
‘I am sorry, sweet one. You must remain here. I do not have happy memories of the last time you wandered free.’ Garianne looked crestfallen.
‘I still love you dearly, Garianne. We all do,’ he said.
After he had left, Garianne returned to the couch and lay down once more. ‘Found it!’ said Nian happily. He had squirmed under the table and had his hand on a section of folded iron. ‘Look, Jared! I found the join.’
Druss came in. He seemed in better spirits as he strode to a deep chair and stretched himself out in it. ‘Rabalyn is alive!’ he said.
‘We heard,’ Diagoras told him. ‘This is truly an enchanted place.’
‘Everything here is good,’ said Garianne. ‘No evil — save that which comes in from the outside,’ she added, staring at Skilgannon. ‘Ustarte can read the future here. Many futures. Many pasts. She will take you to the Vanishing Wall. There you will see. We saw. So many things.’
‘What did you see?’ asked Nian.
Garianne’s grey eyes clouded over, and her face hardened. Closing her eyes again she lay down.
‘I don’t care much for magic,’ said Druss. ‘But if it saves the boy I’ll put aside my doubts.’
‘You are looking better, old horse,’ said Diagoras. ‘You have colour in your cheeks again.’
‘I feel more like myself,’ admitted Druss. The pain in my chest is less now, and I have a little strength flowing back into my limbs. They gave me a drink of something when first I entered. Cool and thick, like winter cream. Tasted fine, I can tell you. I could do with another.’
Diagoras moved back to the window. The moon was high and bright over the mountains. Skilgannon joined him. ‘There was something odd about that Weldi,’ said Diagoras.
Skilgannon said nothing, but he nodded. ‘You saw it too?’ persisted Diagoras.
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t quite put my finger on what was wrong about him.’
‘I saw nothing threatening,’ said Skilgannon. ‘He moves oddly. But then he is old and may have crystals in his joints.’
‘For me it was the eyes, I think,’ said Diagoras. ‘You don’t often see that red-gold colour. In fact I have never seen it — save in a dog or a wolf.
Sometimes a horse.’
‘He is an odd-looking man,’ agreed Skilgannon.
‘Good news about Rabalyn, eh?’
‘Let us hope there is more good news to follow,’ said Skilgannon, idly stroking the locket round his neck.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JUST OVER TWO HOURS LATER SKILGANNON WAS LED TO A ROOM ON A higher level. As he followed the slow-moving Weldi he saw several other priests moving along the corridors. They passed a dining room. Through the open door Skilgannon saw a large group of people sitting and eating. ‘How many of you are there?’ he asked Weldi.
‘More than a hundred now.’
‘What is it you do here?’
‘We study. We live.’
Climbing another set of stairs they came to a leaf-shaped door. The wood was dark, and there were gilded inscriptions upon it that Skilgannon could not read. The door opened as they approached. Weldi stepped aside.
‘I shall return for you when your visit is concluded,’ he said.
Skilgannon stepped inside. The room was large, the ceiling domed. The plastered walls had been adorned with paintings, mostly of plants, trees and flowers, against a background of blue sky. There were also real plants here, in earthenware containers. In the lantern light it was difficult to see where the real greenery ended and the paintings began. The sound of tinkling water came to him. Stepping further into the room he saw a tiny waterfall bubbling over white rocks to a shallow pool. There were many scents in the air, jasmine and cedar and sandalwood. And others more heady. He felt himself relax.
As he moved past the waterfall the room narrowed, then widened again, leading out onto a balcony above the valley. Here, in the moonlight, he found Ustarte. The shaven-headed priestess was leaning on an ebony staff, tipped with ivory. He stood for a moment, transfixed by her beauty. Her features were Chiatze, fine-boned and delicate. Her large, slanted eyes, however, were not the deep golden brown of that race. In the moonlight they shone like silver, though Skilgannon guessed them to be blue. He bowed low. ‘Welcome to the Temple of Kuan,’ she said. The music of her voice was extraordinary. He found himself suddenly speechless in her company. The silence grew. Angry with himself, Skilgannon took a deep breath.
‘Thank you, lady,’ he said at last. ‘How is Rabalyn?’
‘The boy will survive, but you will need to leave him here with us for a while. I have placed him in a protective sleep. There was a deal of sepsis and gangrene had begun. He will need a week or more before he can rise from his bed.’
‘I am grateful. He is a courageous lad. And you brought him back from the dead.’
Ustarte looked at him and sighed. ‘Yes, I did. But I cannot accomplish what you would ask of me, Olek Skilgannon. This is not the Temple of the Resurrectionists.’
He stood silent for a moment, struggling with his disappointment. ‘I did not really believe that you could. The one who sent me to you is evil. She would not wish me to succeed.’
‘I fear that is true, warrior,’ said Ustarte softly. She gestured to a table.
‘Pour yourself a goblet of water. You will find it most refreshing. The water here has enhancing properties.’ Skilgannon lifted a crystal jug and filled a matching goblet.
‘Shall I pour for you, lady?’
‘No. Drink, Olek.’
Raising the goblet to his lips he paused. Her laughter rang out. ‘There is no poison. Would you like me to taste it first?’
Embarrassed, he shook his head, and drained the goblet. The water was wondrously cool. In that moment he felt like a man who had crawled across a burning desert and had discovered an oasis.
‘I never tasted water like it,’ he said. ‘It is as if I can feel it flowing through every muscle.’
‘As indeed you can,’ she said. ‘Let us go inside. My old legs are aching and tired. Give me your arm.’
Together they moved back to the garden room. By the light of the many lanterns he saw that her eyes were indeed of a dazzling blue, flecked with gold. He helped her to a weirdly carved piece of furniture. It seemed a cross between a chair and a stool. She slowly knelt upon it, then handed him her staff. He laid it down close to her, then, lifting his scabbard from his back and placing it on the floor beside him, he sat himself on a high-backed chair opposite her.
‘So, why did the Old Woman send you here?’ she asked.
‘I have been giving that a great deal of thought,’ he said. ‘Almost from the moment she sent us on this quest. I think I know the answer — though I hope I am wrong.’
‘Tell me.’
‘First I have a question of you, lady. If I may?’
‘You may.’
‘Is it true that you grew a new hand for one of Khalid Khan’s tribesmen?’
‘The body is a far more complex and wonderful piece of machinery than most people realize. Each cell contains details of its master plan. But to answer your question simply: yes. We helped him to grow a new hand.’
‘Some years ago was a man brought to you whose face had been cut away?’ Even as he asked the question
