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"She's really hurt," Paulo said. "She needs some help."
"Warrior, that is your trophy!" Valhalla repeated, stepping away. "The woman who knows the secret you are after. Extract that secret from her, or give it up forever."
"Not for ourselves, Lord, not for ourselves, but for the glory of your name," he said in a low voice, repeating the motto of the Templars. He had to make a quick decision. He recalled the time when he believed in nothing, thinking all of this was simply dramatics--but even then, things were transformed, and the truth emerged.
He was faced with the Ritual That Demolishes Rituals. A sacred moment in the life of a magus.
"Sed nomini Tuo de Gloriam," he said again. And in the moment that followed, he dressed himself in the role suggested by Valhalla. The Ritual That Demolishes Rituals began to unfold. Nothing else was important--only that unknown path, that frightened woman at his feet, and a secret that had to be won from her. He strode around his victim, and thought of those times when morality was different--when taking possession of a woman was a rule of combat. Men had risked their lives in war for gold and women.
"I won!" he screamed at the girl. "And you lost!"
He knelt and seized her by the hair. Her eyes stared into his.
"It is we who will win," the girl said.
He threw her violently to the ground again.
"The rule of victory is to win."
"All of you think you won," the prisoner continued. "You won only a battle. It is we who will win the war."
Who was this woman who dared to speak to him this way? She had a lovely body--but that could wait. He had to learn the secret he had sought for so long.
"Teach me how to see my angel," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Then you will be set free."
"I am free."
"No. You don't know the rules of victory," he said. "That's why we defeated all of you."
The woman seemed to become confused. "Tell me about those rules," she said. "And I will tell you the secret about your angel."
The prisoner was making a trade. He could torture her, destroy her. There she was, fallen at his feet--yet she was proposing a trade. Perhaps she wouldn't confess under torture. Better to make the trade. He would tell her about the five rules of victory, since she was never going to leave there alive.
"The morality rule: You have to fight on the side that is in the right, and that's why we won. The weather rule: A war in the rain is different from a war in the sun; a battle in the winter is different from a battle in the summer."
He could fool her now. But he wasn't able to invent false rules on the spot. The woman would notice his hesitancy.
"The space rule," he continued. "A war in a ravine is different from a war in the field. The choice rule: The warrior knows how to choose who should give advice, and who will remain at his side in combat. A chieftain cannot be surrounded by cowards or traitors."
He thought for a moment about whether he should continue. But he had already told her four of the rules.
"The strategy rule," he said finally. "The way in which the battle is planned."
That was all of it. The girl's eyes gleamed.
"Now tell me about the angels."
She looked at him, saying nothing. She had learned the formula, even though it was too late. Those valiant warriors never lost a battle--and legend had it that they used five rules of victory. Now she knew what they were.
She knew it would do her no good, but at least she could die in peace. She deserved the punishment she was to receive.
"Tell me about the angels," the warrior said again.
"No! I won't tell you about the angels."
The warrior's eyes changed, and she was delighted. He would show no mercy. The only thing that frightened her was that the warrior might be governed by the rule of morality, and spare her life. She wasn't deserving of that. She was guilty--dozens, hundreds of sins accumulated during her short life. She had disappointed her parents, disappointed men who had grown close to her. Deceived the warriors who had fought at her side. She had allowed herself to be taken prisoner--she was weak. She deserved to be punished.
"Hatred!" they heard a distant woman's voice say. "The secret of the ritual is hatred!"
