Waylander II: In The Realm of the Wolf

10

They were camped in a sheltered hollow within a wood, and a small fire flickered in a circle of stones. Senta, Angel and Belash were sleeping, Waylander taking the third watch. He was sitting on the hilltop, his back to a tree, his black clothing merging him into the night shadows. Beside him lay the hound, which he had named Scar.

Miriel lay wrapped in her cloak, her back to the fire, her shoulders warm, her feet cold. Autumn was fading fast, and the smell of snow was in the air. She could not sleep. The ride from the cabin had been made in near silence, but Miriel had linked into the thoughts of the riders. Belash was thinking of home and vengeance, and whenever his thoughts turned to Waylander he pictured a bright knife. Angel was confused. He did not want to travel north, yet he did not want to leave them. His thoughts of Miriel were equally contrasting. He was fond of her, by turns paternal and yet aroused by her. Senta suffered no confusion. His thoughts were filled with erotic images which both stimu­lated and frightened the young mountain girl.

Waylander she left alone, fearing the new-found dark­ness within him.

Sitting up, she added several sticks to the fire, then shifted her position so that her legs and feet could bathe in the warmth of the small blaze. A voice whispered into her mind, so faint she thought at first she had imagined it. It came again, but she could make no sense of the words. Concentrating her Talent she focused all her power on the whispers. Still nothing. It was galling. Lying down she closed her eyes, her spirit drifting up from her body. Now the whisper was clearer, but still seeming to come from an impossible distance.

'Who are you?' she called.

'Trust me!'

'No.'

'Many lives depend on your trust. Women, children, old ones.'

'Show yourself!' she commanded.

'I cannot – the distance is too great, my power stretched.'

'Then what would you have me do?'

'Return to the flesh and awake Belash. Tell him to hold his left hand over the fire and cut his palm. Let the blood fall into the flames. Tell him Kesa Khan commands this.'

'And then what?'

'And then I will come to you and we will talk.'

'Whose lives depend on this?' she asked. Immediately she sensed his agitation.

'I can talk no more. Do this swiftly or the link will be broken. I am nearing exhaustion.'

Miriel returned to her body and rose, moving to Belash. As she neared the Nadir warrior he rolled to his feet knife in hand, his eyes wary. She told him the message she had received from Kesa Khan and expected him to question her, or express his doubts. But the Nadir instantly moved to the fire, slicing his knife-blade across his open palm. Blood spilled instantly from the wound, splashing into the flames.

The voice of Kesa Khan boomed inside her mind, causing her to reel back. 'Now you may come to me,' he said.

'Can I trust this Kesa Khan?' she asked Belash.

'Does he say that you can?' he answered.

'Yes.'

'Then obey him,' advised the Nadir. Miriel did not rely on the words, but read the images beyond them. Belash feared Kesa Khan, but there was no doubt that he also admired him, and would trust him with his life.

Miriel lay back and let her spirit drift clear. Instantly she was swept into a bewildering maze of light and colour. Her senses reeled and she lost control of her flight, spinning wildly through a thousand bright rainbows and into a darkness deeper than death. But before fear could turn to panic the darkness lifted, and she found herself sitting by a lakeside village. There were houses here, rough-crafted but secure against the winter wind and snow. Children were playing at the water's edge, and she recognised herself and Krylla. Sitting beside them on an upturned boat was a man, tall and slim, with wide staring eyes and tightly curled hair.

Miriel's heart leapt, and for the first time in twelve years she remembered her real father's face. This was the winter just before the Vagrians had invaded, just before her parents and all her friends had been butchered. It was a peaceful time, full of quiet joy.

'Are you comfortable with this illusion?' asked the wizened old man sitting beside her.

'Yes,' she told him. 'Very.' She turned her attention to him. He was no more than four and a half feet tall, bird-boned ribs pressing against the taut skin of his chest. His head was too large for his body and his wispy hair hung lank to his shoulders. His two front teeth were missing and his words were sibilant as a result. He was wearing ragged leggings and knee-length moccasins tied with strips of black leather.

'I am Kesa Khan.'

'That means nothing to me.'

'It will,' he assured her. 'We share the same enemy. Zhu Chao.' He almost spat the name.

'I do not know this man.'

'He sent the Dark Knights to kill your father, just as he sends the Gothir army to wipe out my people. And you do know him, Miriel. Look.' The scene flickered, the village disappearing. Now they sat on a high wall overlooking a flower garden. A man sat there, his robes dark, his hair waxed to his head, his sideburns braided and hanging to his chin. Miriel tensed. This was the scaled hunter who had tried to capture her and Krylla five years ago, before the silver knight rescued them. But here he had no scales. He was merely a man sitting in a garden.

'Do not be misled,' warned Kesa Khan. 'You are gazing upon evil.'

'Why does he seek to kill my … father?' She hesitated as she spoke, the image of her real father strong in her mind.

'Bodalen serves him. He thought it would be a simple matter to hunt down Waylander and slay him. Then he could have returned Bodalen to the Drenai, awaiting the moment the son betrayed the father.' The old man chuckled, the sound dry and unpleasant. 'He should have known Way­lander as I knew him. Ha! I tried to hunt him down once. I sent six great merged beasts to destroy him, and twenty hunters of rare skill. None survived. He has a gift for death.'

'You are my father's enemy?'

'Not now!' he assured her. 'Now I wish him for a friend.'

'Why?'

'Because my people are in peril. You can have no conception of what it is to live under the Gothir yoke. We have no rights under their laws. We can be hunted down like vermin. No one will raise a hand to object – that is bad enough. But now Zhu Chao has convinced the Emperor that my tribe – the oldest of the Tent-people – needs to be eradicated. Exterminated! Soon the soldiers will march against us.'

'How can my father help you? He is only one man.'

'He is the Dragon Shadow, the hope of my people. And he has with him the White Tiger in the Night and old Hard-to-kill. Also there is Senta. And, more importantly per­haps, there is you.'

"That is still only five. We are not an army.'

'We shall see. Ask Waylander to come to the Mountains of the Moon. Ask him to help us.'

'Why should he? You are a man who tried to kill him.'

'Tell him we are outnumbered ten to one. Tell him we are doomed. Tell him we have more than two hundred children who will be slaughtered.'

'You don't understand . . . these are not his children. You are asking him to risk his life for people he does not know. Why would he even consider it?'

'I cannot answer that, Miriel. Just tell him what I have said.'

The colours swirled once more and Miriel felt a sickening lurch as her spirit was united with her body. Waylander was beside her, and the sun was high in the sky.

Waylander felt a surge of relief as Miriel opened her eyes. He stroked her hair. 'What happened?' he asked.

Taking hold of his arm she eased herself into a sitting position. Her head was throbbing with dull pain, her mouth dry. 'A little water,' she croaked. Pulling free the cork, Angel passed her a leather-bound canteen and she drank greedily. 'We need to speak,' she told Waylander. 'Alone.'

Angel, Belash and Senta withdrew and she recounted her meeting with Kesa Khan. Waylander listened in silence until she had finished.

'You believed him?'

'Yes. He did not tell me all he knew, but what he said was true. Or at least he believed it to be true. His people face annihilation.'

'What did he mean by calling me the Dragon Shadow?'

'I don't know. Will you go?'

He smiled. 'You think I should?'

She looked away. 'When we were young Krylla and I used to love the stories that Mother . . . Danyal. . . told. You know, of heroes crossing seas of fire to rescue princesses.' She smiled. 'We felt like princesses because you had rescued us. You were the man who helped save the Drenai. We loved you for that.'

'It wasn't for the Drenai,' he said. 'It was for me.'

'I know that now,' she told him. 'And I don't want to sway you. I know you would die for me, as you would have risked all for Mother or Krylla. And I know why you are heading north. You want vengeance.'

'I am what I am, Miriel.'

'You were always better than you knew,' she said, reaching up and stroking his lean face. 'And whatever choice you make I will not condemn you.'

He nodded. 'Where do you wish to go?'

'With you,' she answered simply.

'Tell me what he said again.' She repeated the words of Kesa Khan. 'A cunning old man,' said Waylander.

'I agree. But what makes you say so?'

'The children. He wanted me to know about the children. He knows me too well. By heaven I hate sorcerors!' Waylander took a long, deep breath. And saw again the flowers in bloom around the dead face of his son. How old would he have been now? A little older than Senta, perhaps?

He thought of Bodalen. And Karnak.

Senta, Belash and Angel were standing by the tethered horses. Summoning them to him he asked Miriel to tell the story for a third time.

'He must think we are insane,' said Angel, as Miriel concluded her tale.

'No,' said Senta softly, 'he knows us better than that.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh come on, Angel, don't you just love the thought of impossible odds?' asked Senta, grinning.

'No, I don't. I leave that sort of idiocy for young men like you. Talk sense to him, Dakeyras.'

'You are free to ride where you please,' said Waylander. 'There is nothing holding you here.'

'But you are not going to go to the Mountains?'

'Indeed I am,' said Waylander.

'How will you stop the killing? Will you ride out on a tall horse and face the Gothir army? Tell them you're Waylander the Slayer and you're not going to allow them to butcher a few Nadir?'

'As I said, you are free to go where you will,' repeated Waylander.

'What about Miriel?' asked Angel.

'She can speak for herself,' said Miriel. 'And I shall ride to the Mountains of the Moon.'

'Just tell me why,' pleaded Angel. 'Why are you all doing this?'

Waylander was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. 'I don't like massacres,' he said.

Vishna's voice was calm, but Dardalion could sense the tension in the priest as he spoke. 'I do not see how we can be sure that the woman is sent by the Source. We have all agreed to risk our lives in the battle against evil. I have no qualms concerning that decision. To stand upon the walls of Purdol against the Ventrians would help Karnak maintain the defence of the Drenai, as would offering our assistance to the General at Delnoch. But to ride into the steppes and risk our lives for a small Nadir tribe . . .?' He shook his head. 'What purpose would it serve, Father?'

Dardalion did not answer, but turned to the others, the blond Magnic, the slender Palista and the silent, reserved Ekodas. 'What is your view, brother?' he asked Magnic.

'I agree with Vishna. What do the Nadir offer the world? Nothing. They have no culture, no philosophy, save that of war. To die for them would be meaningless.' The young priest shrugged. 'But I will follow your orders, Father Abbot.'

Dardalion nodded towards Palista. 'And you, my boy?'

'It is a difficult question,' answered Palista, his voice deep, incongruously so, issuing as it did from his small slender frame. 'It seems to me the answer depends on how we view the arrival of the woman. If the Source directed her to us then our way is clear. If not. . .'he spread his hands.

Ekodas spoke. 'I agree with Palista. The woman's arrival is the central issue. For, although I respect Vishna and Magnic, I believe the argument they use is flawed. Who granted us the right to judge the worth or otherwise of the Nadir? If our actions should save a single life, only the Source can know what that life is worth. The saved one could be a future Nadir prophet, or his son may become one, or his grandson. How can we know? But is the woman directed by the Source? She has asked us for nothing. Surely that is the key?'

'I see,' said Dardalion. 'You believe that she should have received wisdom in a dream perhaps, and approached us directly for help?'

'There are many examples of such happenings,' said Ekodas.

'If such was the case here, where would faith begin?' countered the Abbot.

'I do not understand, Father.'

'My dear Ekodas, we are talking about faith. Where is the need for faith, if we have proof?'

'Surely another flawed argument,' put in Palista. 'By this token anyone who came and said they were sent by the Source would have to be disbelieved.'

Dardalion laughed aloud. 'Excellent, my dear Palista! But this moves us from one extreme to another. What I am saying is that there must always be an element of faith. Not proof, but faith. If she had come and claimed to be Source-directed we would have read her thoughts and known the truth. Then there would have been no faith. We would have acted thereafter in sure knowledge. Instead, we have prayed for a sign. Where should the Thirty ride? And what was our answer? Ekodas rescued a Nadir woman. Why is she here? To find her brother and bring him home to help face a terrible enemy. Who is that enemy? None other than Zhu Chao, the man whose evil led me to gather the Thirty together. Do these facts not speak to you? Can you not feel the threads of destiny drawing together?'

"This is difficult for me,' said Vishna, with a sigh. 'I am the only Gothir present among the Thirty. My family and friends are high in the council of the Emperor. It is likely that old friends will be riding against these same Nadir. It does not make me feel comfortable to know that I may have to draw a sword against these men.'

'I understand that,' said Dardalion. 'But it is my belief that Shia is sent to us, and that the Mountains of the Moon beckon. What else can I say?'

'I think we all need more prayer – and more guidance,' observed Ekodas. The others nodded in agreement.

'Faith is essential,' added Vishna. 'But there must be another sign.'

'It is unlikely to come with letters of fire in the sky,' said Dardalion softly.

'Even so,' put in Ekodas, 'if it is our destiny to die in Nadir lands then the Source will lead us there.'

Dardalion looked to each of the young men before him, then he rose. 'Very well, my brothers, we will wait. And we will pray.'

Ekodas slept fitfully, Shia's words haunting him like a curse. And he did dream of her, and woke often, his body tense with suppressed passion. He tried prayer, and when that failed he repeated the longest, most complex medita­tion mantras. For a while his concentration held. Then he would picture her ivory skin, tinged with gold, her dark almond-shaped eyes . . .

He rose silently from his bed in the hour before dawn, moving with care so as not to awaken the five brothers who shared the small dormitory. Taking a clean white robe from the chest beneath his bed he dressed swiftly and made his way down to the kitchens.

Fat Merlon was already there, removing the rough linen from several large rounds of cheese. In the far corner Glendrin was supervising the baking, and the smell of fresh bread filled the room.

'You are awake early,' said Merlon, as Ekodas entered.

'I couldn't sleep,' he admitted.

'I would dearly love another hour, brother,' said Merlon expectantly.

'Of course,' Ekodas told him. 'I will take your duty.'

'I will say ten blessings for you, Ekodas,' beamed Merlon, embracing the smaller man and patting his back. Merlon was a large man, balding already at twenty-six, and his strength was prodigious. The other priests gently mocked him for his vast appetite, but in truth there was little fat upon him, save for his belly, and Ekodas felt himself being crushed by the man.

'Enough, Merlon!' he gasped.

'I'll see you at breakfast,' yawned Merlon, ambling away towards the sleeping area.

Glendrin glanced back. 'Fetch me the tray and pole, Ekodas,' he called, flicking the latch on the oven doors. The two-pronged pole was hanging upon hooks on the far wall. Ekodas lifted it clear, attached the prongs to a ridged metal plate and passed the implement to Glendrin. Using a cloth to protect his hands Glendrin opened wide the oven doors then pushed the pole inside, the plate sliding under three golden crusted loaves. These he withdrew and Ekodas, slipping on gloves of white wool, removed the bread, placing it on the long kitchen table. There were twelve loaves in all and the smell made Ekodas feel as if he had not eaten for a week.

'Merlon churned the butter,' said Glendrin, sitting down at the table. 'But I'll wager he ate half of it.'

'You have flour in your beard,' Ekodas pointed out. 'It makes you look older than time.'

Glendrin grinned and rubbed his hand across the red trident beard. 'You think the woman was sent?' he asked.

Ekodas shrugged. 'If she was she came to haunt me,' he answered.

Glendrin chuckled. 'You'll need those ten blessings Merlon promised you,' he said, wagging a finger at his friend. 'Carnal thoughts are a sin!'

'How do you deal with them?' asked Ekodas.

Glendrin's smile faded. 'I don't,' he admitted. 'Now let us get on.'

Together they prepared the cheese, drew fresh water from the well, and carried the food through to the dining-hall, setting out the plates and cutlery, jugs and goblets.

Then Ekodas prepared a tray of bread and cheese for Shia, feeling his excitement rise at the prospect of seeing her once more. 'I cannot find the apple juice,' he told Glendrin.

'We finished it yesterday.'

'But I promised her some.'

Glendrin shook his head. 'Then I would imagine she will despise you for the rest of your life,' said the red-headed priest.

'Fool!' replied Ekodas, placing a jug of water and a clay goblet upon the tray.

'Do not be too long with her,' advised Glendrin. Ekodas did not reply.

Leaving the heat of the kitchen he climbed the cold stone stairwell and made his way to Shia's room. Balancing the tray on his left arm he opened the door. The Nadir woman was asleep on the floor before the dead fire, her head resting on her elbow, her legs drawn up, her body bathed in the last of the moonlight.

'Good morning,' said Ekodas. She gave a low groan, stretched, then sat. Her hair was unbraided now, hanging dark and lustrous to her shoulders. 'I have some breakfast for you.'

'Did you dream of me?' she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

'There is no apple juice,' he told her. 'But the water is fresh and cold.'

"Then you did, prayer-man. Were they good dreams?'

'You should not speak this way to a priest,' he admonished her.

She laughed at him, and his face reddened. 'You kol-isha are a strange people.' Rising smoothly she walked to the bed, sitting cross-legged upon it. Taking the loaf she tore off a chunk and tasted it. 'Needs salt,' she said. He poured her a goblet of water and passed it to her. Her hand reached out, her fingers stroking his skin. 'Soft hands,' she whispered. 'Soft skin. Like a child.' Then she took the goblet and sipped the water.

'Why did you come here?' he asked.

'You brought me,' she told him, dipping her finger into the bowl of butter and licking it.

'Were you sent?'

'Yes. By my shaman, Kesa Khan. To fetch my brother home. But you know this.'

'Yes, but I just wondered...

'Wondered what?'

'Ah, it does not matter. Enjoy your breakfast. The Abbot will see you before you leave. He will tell you where to find Belash.'

'There is still time, prayer-man,' she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand. He snatched it back.

'Please do not speak like this,' he pleaded. 'I find you. . . very unsettling.'

'You desire me.' It was a statement, accompanied by a smile.

Ekodas closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to compose his thoughts. 'Yes. But that in itself is not a sin, I believe.'

'Sin?'

'A wrong action . . . like a crime.'

'Like stealing the pony of your brother?' she enquired.

'Yes, exactly. That would be a sin. Indeed any theft, or lie, or malicious action is a sin.'

She nodded slowly. 'Why then is lovemaking a sin? Where is the theft? The lie? Or the malice?'

'It does not have to be just these actions,' he said, his voice close to a stammer. 'It is also the breaking of rules, or oaths. Each of us here made a promise to the Source. It would be breaking that promise.'

'Did your god ask you to make this promise?'

'No, but. . .'

'Then who did?'

He spread his hands. 'It is a part of our tradition. You understand? Rules made by holy men many centuries ago.'

'Ah, it is in the writings, then.'

'Exactly so.'

'We have no writings,' she said brightly. 'So we live and laugh, we make love and we fight. No diseases of the belly, no head pains, no bad dreams. Our god speaks to us from the land, not in writings.'

'It is the same god,' he assured her.

She shook her head. 'No, prayer-man, I don't think so. Our god is strong.'

'Will he save your people from the Gothir?' snapped Ekodas, before he could stop himself. 'I'm sorry! It was a thoughtless question. Please forgive me.'

'There is nothing to forgive, for you do not understand, Ekodas. Our god is the land, and the land makes us strong. We will fight. And we will either conquer or die. It does not matter to the land whether we win or lose, for alive or dead we are at one with it. The Nadir are the land.'

'Can you win?' he asked softly.

'Will you be sorry when I am dead?' she countered.

'Yes,' he told her, without hesitation.

Smoothly she rolled to her feet and moved in close to him, her arm circling his neck. Her lips brushed his cheek. 'Foolish Ekodas,' she whispered. Then she released him.

'Why am I foolish?' he asked.

'Take me to the Abbot. I wish to leave now.'

Waylander reined in the black gelding and dismounted, walking the last few paces to the crest of the hill where he bellied down and studied the line of mountains stretching from west to east across the great Sentran Plain. The hound Scar padded up the hill, stretching out alongside him.

There were three routes to the north, but which one should they take? North-east lay the Delnoch Pass, with its new six-walled fortress. That was the direct road to Gulgothir and the Mountains of the Moon, but would the commanding officer have been warned to watch for Waylander?

He sighed and swung his gaze to the north and the high lonely passes inhabited by Sathuli tribesmen, long-time enemies of the Drenai. No wagons passed through their lands, no convoys, no travellers. Ferocious fighters, the Sathuli lived their lives in isolation from the civilisations of both Gothir and Drenai.

Lastly there was Dros Purdol, the harbour fortress, far to the east. But beyond that was the great desert of Namib. Waylander had crossed it before. Twice. He had no wish to see it again.

No. He would have to risk Delnoch.

Just as he was about to push back from the skyline he caught a glint of light to the east. Remaining where he was he waited, eyes focused on the distant tree line. A column of riders appeared, lances held to the vertical, sunlight gleaming from the polished iron helms and weapons. There were some thirty lancers, moving slowly, conserving the strength of their mounts.

Waylander eased back from the crest then rose and walked to where the others waited. Scar followed, keeping close to Waylander's side. 'We'll wait here for an hour,' he said, 'then we'll make for Delnoch.'

'You see anything?' asked Angel.

'Lancers. They are riding for the fortress.'

'You think they might be looking for us?' put in Senta.

Waylander shrugged. 'Who knows? Karnak is anxious to see me dead. By now my description could be with every army unit within fifty miles.'

Miriel rose and strolled to the hilltop, crouching behind a screen of gorse to gaze down on the lancers. For some minutes she remained motionless, then returned to the group. 'The officer is Dun Egan,' she told Waylander. 'He is tired and hungry, and thinking about a woman he knows in a tavern by Wall Two. And yes, he has your description. Twenty of his men are behind us, to the south-west. They have orders to apprehend you.'

'What now?' asked Angel.

Waylander's expression was grim. 'Across the mountains,' he said at last.

'The Sathuli are fine fighters, and they don't like strangers,' Senta pointed out.

'I've been through before. To kill me they have to catch me.'

'You intend going alone?' asked Miriel softly.

'It is best,' he replied. 'You and the others make for Delnoch. I will find you beyond the mountains.'

'No. We should be together. My Talents can keep us safe.'

"There's truth in that,' Angel observed.

'Perhaps there is,' agreed Waylander, 'but against that, five riders raise more dust than one. Five horses make more noise than one. The high passes exaggerate every sound. A falling stone can sometimes be heard half a mile away. No. I go alone.' Miriel started to speak, but he touched a finger to her lips. 'No more argument, Miriel,' he said with a smile. 'I have hunted alone for more than half my life. I am at my strongest alone. Go to Delnoch, and once through the fortress head due north. I will find you.'

'I will be with you,' she whispered, leaning in close and kissing his cheek.

'Always,' he agreed.

Moving to his mount, Waylander swung into the saddle and touched heels to the gelding's side. The hound loped alongside as the black-garbed rider crested the hill. The lancers were tiny dots in the distance now and Waylander gave them not a moment of thought as he angled towards the rearing Delnoch peaks.

Alone.

His spirits soared. Much as he loved Miriel he felt a great release, a sense of freedom from the burdens of company. Glancing down at the hound he chuckled. 'Not entirely alone, eh Scar?' The dog cocked its head to one side and ran on, sniffing at the ground, seeking rabbit spoor. Waylander drew in a deep breath. The air was fresh and cold, blowing down from the snow-topped peaks. The Sathuli would be building their winter stores now, their thoughts far from raiding and war. With skill, and a little luck, he should be able to ride the high passes and the echo-haunted canyons without their knowledge.

A little luck? He thought of the route ahead – the narrow, ice-covered trails, the treacherous slopes, the frozen streams, the realms of the wolf, the bear and the mountain lion.

Fear touched him – and he laughed aloud. For with the onset of fear he felt the pounding of his heart, the rushing of blood in vein and muscle, the strength in his arms and torso. Right or wrong he knew this was what he had been born for, the lonely ride into danger, enemies all around. For what was fear if not the wine of life, and the taste of it thrilled him anew.

I have been dead these last five years, he realised. A walking corpse, though I did not know it. He thought of Danyal, and found himself remembering the joys of their life, without the sharp, jagged bitterness at her passing. The mountains loomed, grey and threatening.

And the man rode on.

Miriel sat silently in the garden of the tavern staring down over the colossal walls of Dros Delnoch. The journey to the fortress had passed without incident, save for the bicker­ing between Angel and Belash. At first Miriel found it hard to understand the hatred festering within the gladiator, then she used her Talent. She shivered at the memory, and switched her line of thought. Her father would now be travelling through the lands of the Sathuli. A fiercely independent people, they had crossed the sea from the deserts of Ventria three hundred years before, settling in the Delnoch mountains. She knew little of their history, save that they believed in the words of an ancient prophet, and were persecuted for their beliefs in their home country. They were a solitary race, hardy and ferocious in battle, and permanently at war with the Drenai.

She sighed. Waylander would not cross their lands without a fight, she knew, and she prayed he would come through safely.

Behind the three tavern buildings, the ancient keep reared between the narrows of the Delnoch Pass. Impres­sive and strong, the keep was dwarfed by the new fortress which now filled the valley. Miriel scanned the immense structure, with its crenellated battlements of reinforced granite, its massive gate-towers and turrets.

'They call it Egel's Folly,' said Angel, moving alongside her and handing her a goblet of watered wine. Senta and Belash followed him from the tavern and sat on the grass with Miriel. 'Each of the walls is more than sixty feet high, and the barracks can accommodate thirty thousand men. Some of them have never been used. Never will be.'

'I have never seen anything like it,' she whispered. The sentries on the first wall seem as small as insects from here.'

'A magnificent waste of money,' said Senta. 'Twenty thousand labourers, a thousand stone-masons, fifty architects, hundreds of carpenters. And all built for a dream.'

'A dream?' inquired Miriel.

Senta chuckled and turned to Belash. 'Yes. Egel said he saw a vision of Belash and a few of his brothers – a veritable ocean of warriors gathering against the Drenai. Hence this monstrosity.'

'It was built to keep out the Nadir?' asked Miriel, disbelieving.

'Indeed it was, Miriel,' said Senta. 'Six walls and a keep. The largest fortress in the world, to thwart the smallest enemy. For not one Nadir tribe numbers more than a thousand warriors.'

'But there are more than a thousand tribes,' pointed out Belash. 'The Uniter will bring them all together. One people. One king.'

'Such are the dreams of all poor peoples,' said Senta. 'The Nadir will never unite. They hate each other as much – if not more – than they hate us. They are always at war. And they take no prisoners.'

'That's not true,' hissed Angel. 'They do take prisoners – and then they torture them to death. Men, women and children. They are the most despicable race.'

'No true Nadir would torture children,' said Belash, his dark eyes angry. 'They are killed swiftly.'

'I know what I saw!' snapped Angel. 'And do not think to call me a liar!'

Belash's hand moved to his knife. Angel's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. Miriel stepped between them. 'We will not fight amongst ourselves,' she said, laying her hand on Angel's arm. 'There is evil in all races, but only a foolish man condemns an entire people.'

'You did not see what I saw!' he told her.

'But I have seen it,' she said softly. 'The overturned wagons, the looting and the deaths. And I can see your father with his arm around you, holding his cloak before your eyes. It was an evil day, Angel, but you must let it go. The memory is poisoning you.'

'Stay out of my head!' he roared suddenly, pulling back from her and striding towards the tavern.

'He carries demons in his soul,' said Belash.

'We all carry them,' added Senta.

Miriel sighed. 'He was only nine years old when he saw the attack, and the screams have been with him ever since. But he no longer sees the truth – perhaps he never did. His father's cloak blocked the most savage of the sights, and he does not remember that there were others in the attack who were not Nadir. They wore dark cloaks, and their weapons were of blackened steel.'

'Knights of Blood,' said Belash.

Miriel nodded. 'I believe so.'

Belash rose. 'I shall stroll and look at this fortress. I wish to see these walls my people inspired.'

He wandered away and Senta moved alongside Miriel. 'It is nice to be alone,' he said.

'You are picturing me on a bed covered with sheets of satin. It does not please me.'

He grinned. 'It is not courteous to read a man's thoughts.'

'It does not concern you that I know what you are thinking?'

'Not at all. There is nothing to shame me. You are a beautiful woman. No man could sit with you for long without thinking of satin sheets, or soft grass, or summer hay.'

'There is more to life than rutting!' she told him, aware that she was blushing.

'How would you know, beauty? You have no experience of such things.'

'I'll never marry you.'

'You cut me to the quick, beauty. How can you make that judgement? You don't know me yet.'

'I know enough.'

'Nonsense. Take my hand for a moment.' Reaching out he gently clasped her wrist, his fingers sliding down over hers. 'Never mind my thoughts. Feel my touch. Is it not gentle? Is it not pleasing?'

She snatched back her hand. 'No, it is not!'

'Ah ha! Now you lie, beauty. I may not have your Talents, but I know what you felt. And it was far from unpleasant.'

'Your arrogance is as colossal as these walls,' she raged.

'Yes, it is,' he agreed. 'And with good reason. I am a very talented fellow.'

'You are conceited and see no further than your own desires. So tell me, Senta, what is it that you offer me? And please, no boasts about the bed-chamber.'

'You say my name so beautifully.'

'Answer my question, damn you. And do remember that I shall know if you are lying.'

He smiled at her. 'You are for me,' he said softly, 'as I am for you. What would I offer you? Everything I have, beauty,' he whispered, his eyes holding to hers. 'And everything I will ever have.'

For a moment she was silent. 'I know that you believe the words as you say them,' she said. 'But I do not believe you have the strength to live by them.'

'That may be true,' he admitted.

'And you were prepared to kill Angel and my father. You think I can forgive that?'

'I hope so,' he told her. And in that moment she saw within his thoughts a flickering image, a remembrance that he was struggling to keep hidden. It shocked her.

'You weren't planning to kill Angel! You were ready to die.'

His smile faded and he shrugged. 'You asked me to spare him, beauty. I thought perhaps you loved him.'

'You didn't even know me – you don't know me now. How could you be prepared to lay down your life in that way?'

'Do not be too impressed. I like the old man. And I would have tried to disarm him, wound him maybe.'

'He would have killed you.'

'Would you have been sorry?'

'No – not then.'

'But you would be now?'

'I don't know . . . yes. But not because I love you. You have had many women – and you have told them all that you loved them. Would you have died for them?'

'Perhaps. I have always been a romantic. But with you it is different. I know that.'

'I do not believe love can strike that swiftly,' she said.

'Love is a strange beast, Miriel. Sometimes it leaps from hiding and strikes like a sudden spear. At other times it can creep up on you, slowly, skilfully.'

'Like an assassin?'

'Indeed so,' he agreed with a bright smile.