‘I… I have dreamed of His coming. I cannot be the only one…’

‘You saw Him in your dream?’

Acir hesitated. He had never spoken of his dreams before. Now it seemed as if he was breaking a sacred trust to speak of them aloud. And yet, if it would save lives, speak he must. But his throat had gone dry and tight. He swallowed, trying to find words to describe the indescribable.

‘He was in a vineyard.’

‘In a vineyard?’ The anger seemed to leach from Girim’s eyes, leaving only a blank and hungry emptiness.

‘I took Him for a vineyard worker at first… and then when I saw His face, I knew Him.’

‘Oh, Acir, Acir.’ Girim’s arms enfolded him. His voice had softened, the anger was dispelled… or cleverly disguised, Acir thought. ‘This is another sign. A sign that He is near.’

‘But in my dream the grape harvest was failing –’

‘Your dream was a metaphor. You’ve seen how thin a vintage we have here in Bel’Esstar. It must be strengthened by the testament of true believers. We must increase our efforts.’

‘And if that was not the true meaning of the dream?’

Girim shook his head, smiling. And Acir saw from his eyes that the Grand Maistre refused even to entertain the possibility that he might be in the wrong.

‘What other possible meaning could there be?’

CHAPTER 22

The Guerriors at the Fortress had told Orial that Captain Korentan was to be found at the Sanctuary. They had given her directions.

But now she was lost. Her feet ached. She was thirsty and tired. All the broad, dusty streets of Bel’Esstar looked the same to her. If only she could find a drinking fountain.

She sat down on a doorstep to shake a little stone from her shoe.

Where were the people? She was aware that a curtain twitched at the windows of the house opposite but the street was empty. Was there a curfew? It wasn’t even near twilight. She glanced around apprehensively. Maybe they thought her a woman of questionable virtue? In Sulien the thought would have made her giggle, but here she suddenly felt vulnerable and very alone.

She buttoned her shoe and, keeping to the shadowed side of the street, hurried away.

I won’t give up. I’m sure to come to the Sanctuary soon.

She turned the corner.

The fire-blackened shell of a great building dominated the empty street.

A flare of pain sizzled through her hands.

‘What is this place?’ she murmured, venturing closer.

A makeshift barrier had been erected across the entrance; a few boards nailed together blocked the way in. Behind, weeds grew in the charred ruins, the soft green of rose bay willowherb, topped with a froth of white seeds.

‘Vast enough to be a temple…’

The remains of the fluted columns and pediment of the front façade reminded her of the Temple of the Source in Sulien.