Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows

Chapter Four

The first of the outlaws drifted back to the fading campfire, moving in warily, terrified that the grey-robed Rajnee would be hiding somewhere close by, ready to leap out and rip their lives from them with his wickedly curved sword. They had seen Rukar's body opened from shoulder to belly, his entrails spilling out, and had no wish to share his grisly fate.

Satisfied that the swordsman had gone, one of the men gathered up some dead wood, throwing it on to the fire. Flames licked out, the light spreading.

'What happened to Yu Yu?' said another man, searching the ground for signs of a struggle.

'He must have run,' said another. 'There's no blood.'

Within an hour nine men had gathered around the fire. Three were still hiding out on the plain. It was growing colder, and a fine mist had begun to seep across the land, swirling like pale smoke.

'Where did you hide, Kym?' someone asked.

'There are some ruined walls. I lay down behind one.'

'Me too,' said another. 'Must have been a big settlement here once.'

'It was a city,' said Kym, a small man with sandy hair and buck teeth. 'I remember my grandfather used to tell stories about it, great stories. Monsters and demons. Wonderful stuff. Me and my brother used to lie in bed and listen to them. We'd be terrified.' The man laughed. 'Then we wouldn't be able to sleep and our mother would start shouting at Grandfather for scaring us. Then the following night we'd beg him to tell us more.'

'So what was this place then?' asked Bragi, a stoop-shouldered figure with thinning black hair.

'It was called Guanador, I think,' said Kym. 'Grandfather said there was a great war and the entire city was destroyed.'

'Where did the monsters come in?' put in another man.

Kym shrugged. 'There were magickers, and they had great black hounds with teeth of sharpened iron. Then there were the man-bears, eight feet tall with talons like sabres.'

'How come they got beat, then?' asked Bragi.

'I don't know,' said Kym. 'It's only a story.'

'I hate stories like that,' said Bragi. 'Don't make any sense. Who beat 'em, anyway?'

'I don't know! Wish I'd never mentioned it.'

The mist thickened and edged into the camp. 'Man, it's cold,' said Bragi, taking up a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

'You're always complaining about something,' said a powerfully built man with a shaven head and a forked beard.

'A pox on you, Canja,' snapped Bragi.

'He's right, though,' said someone else. 'It is damned cold. It's this mist. Feels like ice.' Rising from the ground, the men sought out more wood, building up the fire. Then they sat, wrapped in their blankets.

'It's worse than winter,' said Kym.

Moments later the cold was forgotten as a terrible scream echoed in the night. Kym swore and drew his sword. Canja leapt to his feet, dagger in hand, and peered out past the fire. The mist was so thick that he could see no more than a few feet.

'I bet it's that Rajnee,' he said. 'He's out there.'

Canja moved a little way into the mist. Kym was watching him.

A curious noise began. The men looked at one another, then clambered to their feet.

'What the Hell is that?' whispered one. It sounded like scratching on the rocky ground just beyond the line of their sight.

The mist was even thicker now, flowing across the fire, causing it to hiss and splutter. Then came a sickening sound, followed by a grunt. Kym swung round to see Canja tottering back towards the fire. Blood was gouting from a huge hole in his chest. His mouth was open, but no sound came forth. Then something white closed around the dying man's head, wrenching it from his body. Bragi spun on his heel and ran several steps in the opposite direction. A huge white form loomed from the mist, and a taloned arm swept down. Bragi's face disappeared in a crimson spray. Talons ripped into his belly, hurling him high into the air.

Kym screamed, and backed away to the fire, dragging out a blazing brand, which he waved around in front of him. 'Get away!' he shouted. 'Get away!'

Something cold curled around his ankle. He glanced down to see a white serpent slithering over his boot. He leapt back – straight into the fire. Flames licked around his leggings. The pain was terrible, but even through it he could see huge white forms approaching the blaze on every side.

Dropping the brand, Kym drew his dagger and turned the point towards his throat. Closing his eyes he rammed it into his jugular.

Something struck him in the back, and he fell from the fire. Gurgling on his life blood he felt sharp teeth rip into his side.

And the mist closed over him.

Kysumu was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, his back against the tree. He was not asleep but in a meditation trance, which served to revitalize his tired muscles. It took many minutes to establish the trance, for the snoring of Yu Yu Liang beside him was a constant irritant, rather like the buzzing of an insect around one's face on a summer's day.

Many years of training served Kysumu well, for he calmly put aside all thoughts of Yu Yu and honed his concentration. Once established he released it in a blaze of emptiness, holding only to the image of a blue flower, bright and ethereal against a backdrop of endless black space, unlit by stars. Slowly – so slowly – he began mentally to recite the Mantra of the Rajnee. Thirteen words, set in a child's rhyme.

Ocean and star,

Each am I

Broken my wings

And yet I fly.

With each repeated verse Kysumu grew calmer, his mind expanding, feeling the blood flowing through his veins, the tension easing from his body. One hour of this every day and Kysumu had little need of sleep.

Yet tonight something was disturbing his trance. It was not the sleeping Yu Yu, or even the growing cold. Kysumu was hardened to extremes of cold or heat. He struggled to hold the trance, but it receded from him. He became aware of the scabbarded sword in his lap. It seemed to be vibrating gently under his fingers.

Kysumu's dark eyes flicked open. He glanced about the camp. The night had turned very cold and a mist was seeping through the trees. One of the horses whinnied in fear. Kysumu took a deep breath, then glanced down at his sword. The oval bronze fistguard was glowing. The Rajnee placed his slender hand over the leather-wrapped hilt and drew the sword from its black-lacquered scabbard. The blade was shining with a bright blue light so powerful that it hurt the eyes to gaze upon it. Rising to his feet the swordsman saw that Yu Yu Liang's stolen sword was also shining.

Suddenly a sentry screamed. Kysumu threw aside his scabbard and ran across the camp, cutting round the back of the supply wagon. No one was there. But the mist was rising now and Kysumu heard a crunching noise from within it. Dropping into a crouch, he examined the ground. Something wet touched his fingers. By the brilliant light of the sword he saw that it was blood.

'Awake!' he shouted. 'Awake!'

Something moved beyond the mist. Kysumu had the merest glimpse of a colossal white figure. Then it disappeared. The mist rolled over his legs. Icy cold touched his skin. Instinctively Kysumu leapt back. His sword slashed down. As it touched the mist, blue lightning rippled through the air, crackling and hissing. A deep, angry growl sounded from close by. Kysumu jumped forward, plunging his sword into the mist. Once more blue lightning sparked, and thunder boomed over the camp.

Another guard yelled from somewhere to the left. Kysumu glanced back to see Yu Yu Liang hacking and slashing at the mist, lightning blazing from his sword. The guard was on the ground, close to the edge of the trees. Something white was wrapped around his foot, dragging him from the camp. Kysumu sprinted across the clearing. The guard was screaming at the top of his voice. As Kysumu reached him he saw what appeared to be the tail of a great white worm looped around the man's ankle. He hacked at it, cutting deeply into the albino flesh. Yu Yu Liang appeared alongside him. With a high-pitched cry he slammed his blade into the worm. It released the guard, who scrabbled back to the relative safety of the camp. The worm slid back into the mist.

Yu Yu bellowed a battle cry and gave chase. Kysumu's left hand snaked out, grabbing the collar of Yu Yu's wolfskin jerkin, yanking him back. Yu Yu's legs shot into the air and he landed heavily.

'Stay with me,' said Kysumu calmly.

'You could have just asked me!' grumbled Yu Yu, rubbing furiously at his bruised backside.

Kysumu backed away to the centre of the camp. The guards and bearers had all gathered here, and were gazing fearfully at the mist, and listening in silent horror to the strange sounds, clicking and tapping just out of vision.

The mist swirled up. Kysumu cut his sword into it. Blue lightning flashed once more, and weird howls of pain could be heard from within the fog.

Yu Yu appeared alongside him. 'What is this?' asked Yu Yu, swinging his sword.

Kysumu ignored him. Two of the horses screamed and went down. 'Stay here! Keep the mist back,' said Kysumu, turning and running across the clearing. The mist parted before him. Something moved to his left. Kysumu dived to his right, rolling and coming to his feet in one smooth motion. A long taloned arm slashed down towards his face. Kysumu swayed back, and sent the glittering sword straight through the limb. There was a howl of agony, and – for a heartbeat only – Kysumu saw a ghastly face, with huge protruding red eyes and wickedly curved fangs. Then it was gone, back into the mist.

The sky began to lighten, the mist flowing back towards the trees.

Within moments the sun shone above the mountains, and the clearing was calm. Two of the horses were dead, their bellies ripped open. Of the missing sentry there was no sign.

As sunlight bathed the scene Kysumu's sword ceased to shine, fading back to silver steel.

On the ground at his feet the taloned arm continued to writhe. Then, as sunlight touched it, the skin blistered and turned black, peeling away from grey bone. Smoke rose from it, the stench filling the air.

Kysumu walked back across the clearing. Yu Yu Liang joined him.

'Whatever they were,' said Yu Yu happily, 'they were no match for two Rajnee.'

Matze Chai opened the flap of his tent and stepped out into the open. 'What is the meaning of this noise?' he asked.

'We were attacked,' said Kysumu quietly. 'One man is dead and we lost two horses.'

'Attacked? The robbers came back?'

'No, not robbers,' Kysumu told him. 'I think we should move from here. And swiftly.'

'As you wish, Rajnee.' Matze Chai leaned forward and peered at Yu Yu Liang. 'And who is this – this person?'

'I am Yu Yu Liang. And I helped fight the demons.' Yu Yu raised his sword and puffed out his chest. 'When the demons came we leapt and cut—' he began excitedly.

'Stop!' said Matze Chai, raising a slender hand. Yu Yu fell silent. 'Stand still and say nothing.' Matze Chai turned his attention to Kysumu. 'You and I will continue this conversation in my palanquin once we are on our way.' Casting a malevolent glance at Yu Yu the merchant disappeared back inside his tent. Kysumu walked away.

Yu Yu ran after him. 'I didn't know these swords could shine like that.'

'Neither did I.'

'Oh. I thought you could explain it to me. We make a good team, though, hey?'

Kysumu wondered briefly if he had committed some great sin in a former life, and Yu Yu was a punishment for it. He glanced up into the taller man's bearded face, then walked away without a word.

'Good team,' he heard Yu Yu say.

Walking back across the camp Kysumu could find no trace of the severed arm, but on the edge of the woods he found many tracks of three-toed taloned feet. Liu, the young captain of the guard, approached him. The man's eyes were frightened and he cast nervous glances into the woods. 'I heard your pupil say they were demons.'

'He is not my pupil.'

'Ah, forgive me, sir. But you think they were demons?'

'I have never before seen a demon,' said Kysumu softly. 'But we can discuss it once we are on the road and away from these woods.'

'Yes, sir. Whatever they were it was fortunate that your – your friend was on hand to aid us with his shining sword.'

'He is not my friend,' said Kysumu. 'But, yes, it was fortunate.'

Matze Chai sat in his palanquin, the silk curtains drawn shut. 'You think they were demons?' he asked the little swordsman.

'I can think of no alternative. I cut the limb from one and it burned in the sunlight as if in a furnace.'

'I have not heard of demons in this part of the world but, then, my knowledge of Kydor is limited. My client said nothing of them when he invited me here.' Matze Chai fell silent. He had once used a sorcerer to summon a demon and kill a business rival. The rival had been found the following morning with his heart torn out. Matze Chai had never really known whether the supernatural was genuinely involved, or whether the sorcerer had merely hired a killer. The sorcerer himself had been impaled two years later, following an attempted coup against the Gothir emperor. It was said that a horned demon had appeared within the palace and killed several guards. Could it be, he wondered, that one of Matze's many enemies had hired a magicker to send the creatures in the mist to kill him? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. The murdered sentry had been at the far end of the camp, furthest from his tent, as had the butchered horses. Surely a spell aimed at Matze Chai himself would have focused upon the tent where he lay? A random incident, then, but a disquieting one. 'Liu tells me that your sword shone like the brightest moonlight. I have not heard of this before. Are the swords of the Rajnee magical?'

'I had not thought them to be,' said Kysumu.

'Can you think of an explanation?'

'The rituals of the Rajnee are ancient. Each sword is blessed with one hundred and forty-four incantations. The iron ore is blessed before smelting, the steel is blessed, the armourer-priest tempers it with his own blood after three days of fasting and prayer. Finally it is laid upon the temple altar at Riashon, and all the monks join together in that most holy of places to give the sword its name and its final blessing. The swords of the Rajnee are unique. No one knows the origins of many of the incantations, and some are spoken in a language no longer understood, even by the priests who utter them.'

Matze Chai sat silently as Kysumu spoke. It was the longest speech he had heard from the normally laconic swordsman. 'I am not an expert in military matters,' said Matze Chai, 'but it seems to me that the swords of the Rajnee must have been created originally for a purpose other than merely battling enemy swordsmen. Why else would they display such mystical properties when demons are close?'

'I agree,' said Kysumu. 'It is a matter I must ponder upon.'

'While you do so, might you explain the appearance of the loud oaf in the foul-smelling wolfskin?' asked Matze Chai.

'He is a ditch-digger,' answered the Rajnee, his face expressionless.

'We were aided by a ditch-digger?'

Kysumu nodded. 'With a stolen Rajnee sword.'

Matze Chai looked into the swordsman's face. 'How was it that you happened upon him?'

'He was one of the robbers who attacked us. I went to their camp. The rest ran away, but he stood his ground.'

'Why was it that you did not slay him?'

'Because of the sword."

'You feared it?' asked Matze Chai, his surprise making him momentarily forget his manners.

Kysumu seemed untroubled by the remark. 'No, I did not fear it. When a Rajnee dies his sword dies with him. It shivers and cracks, the blade shattering. The sword is linked to the soul of the bearer, and travels with him to the world beyond.'

'Then perhaps he stole it from a living Rajnee who still hunts for it.'

'No. Yu Yu did not lie when he said he took it from the body of a dead Rajnee. I would have known. I believe the sword chose him. It also led him to this land and, ultimately, to our campsite.'

'You believe the swords are sentient?'

'I cannot explain it to you, Matze Chai. I underwent five years of intensive study before I began to grasp the concept. So let me say this, by way of explanation. You have wondered since we met why I accepted this assignment. You came to me because you were told I was the best. But you did not expect me to agree to journey from the lands of the Chiatze. Not so?'

'Indeed,' agreed Matze Chai.

'I had many requests to consider. As I was taught, I went to the holy place and sat, with my sword in my lap, to meditate, to request the guidance of the Great One. And then, when my mind was purged of all selfish desire, I considered the many offers. When I came to yours I felt the sword grow warm in my hands. I knew then that I had to journey to Kydor.'

'Does the sword then yearn for peril?' asked Matze Chai.

'Perhaps. But I believe it merely shows the Rajnee a path towards the will of the Great One.'

'And these paths inevitably carry you towards evil?'

'Yes,' said Kysumu.

'Hardly a comforting thought,' said Matze Chai, deciding he had no wish to elicit further explanation. He disliked excitement, and this journey had already contained too many incidents. Now, it seemed, the mere presence of Kysumu guaranteed further adventure.

Pushing thoughts of demons and swords from his mind he closed his eyes, picturing his garden and the scented, flowering trees. The image calmed him.

From outside the palanquin came a raucous noise. The ditch-digger was singing in a loud, horrible discordant voice. Matze Chai's eyes snapped open. The song was in a broad northern Chiatze dialect, and concerned the physical endowments and unnatural body hair of a young pleasure-woman. A small pain began behind Matze Chai's left eye.

Kysumu rang the bell and the palanquin came to a smooth halt. The Rajnee opened the door and leapt lightly to the ground. The singing stopped.

Matze Chai heard the loud oaf say, 'But the next verse is really funny.'

Lalitia was a woman not easily surprised. She had learnt all there was to know about men by the time she was fourteen, and her capacity for surprise had been exhausted long before that. Orphaned and living on the streets of the capital at the age of eight, she had learnt to steal, to beg, to run and to hide. Sleeping on the sand beneath the wharf timbers, she had sometimes huddled in the dark and watched the cut-throats drag victims to the water's edge before knifing them viciously and hurling the bodies into the surf. She had listened as the cheap tavern whores plied their trade, rutting with their customers in the moon shadows. On many occasions she was close by when the officers of the watch came round to collect their bribes from the tavern women, before taking it in turns to enjoy free sport with them.

The red-headed child learnt swiftly. By the age of twelve she was leading a gang of juvenile cutpurses, operating throughout the market squares, paying out a tenth of their earnings to the watch, ensuring they were never caught.

For two years Lalitia – Sly Red, as she was known then – hoarded her own takings, hiding the coin where no one would find it. She spent her spare time crouched in alleyways watching the rich enjoying their meals in the finer taverns, noting the way the great ladies moved and spoke, the languid grace they displayed, the faint air of boredom they assumed when in the company of men. Their backs were always straight, their movements slow, smooth and assured. Their skin was creamy white, untanned – indeed, untouched – by the sun. In summer they wore wide-brimmed hats, with gossamer veils. Sly Red watched, absorbed their movements, carefully storing them in the vaults of memory.

At fourteen her luck had run out. While running from a merchant, whose money pouch strings she had neatly sliced, she slipped on a piece of rotten fruit and fell heavily to the cobbles. The merchant had held her until the watch soldiers arrived, and they had dragged her away.

'Can't help you this time, Red,' said one of them. 'You just robbed Vanis, and he's an important man.'

The magistrate had sentenced her to twelve years. She served three in a rat-infested dungeon before being summoned one day to the office of the gaol captain, a young officer named Aric. He was slim and cold-eyed, even handsome in a vaguely dissolute manner. 'I saw you walking by the far wall this morning,' he told the seventeen-year-old girl. 'You do not appear to be a peasant.'

Sly Red had been using her hour of daylight to practise the movements she had observed among the great ladies of the capital. She said nothing to the captain. 'Come closer, let me look at you,' he said. She stepped forward. He moved in – then recoiled. 'You have lice,' he said.

'Aye,' she said huskily, 'and fleas. I think the bath in my apartment is out of order. Perhaps you could assign a servant to repair it.'

He grinned at her. 'Of course, my lady. You should have brought it to my attention sooner.'

'I would have,' she said, adopting a languid pose, 'but there are so many calls upon my time.'

Aric summoned the guard and had her returned to her cell. An hour later two soldiers came to collect her. She was marched through the prison to a private wing, and brought to a bathroom. In it was a bronze hip tub, brimming with perfumed water. Two female prisoners were waiting beside it. The male guards ordered her to disrobe and she removed the filthy dress she wore and stepped into the tub. One of the women poured warm water over her greasy red hair, then massaged a sweet-smelling soap into it. The other woman began to scrub her skin. The feeling was exquisite and Sly Red closed her eyes. Tension seeped from her muscles.

When the bath was completed, her hair dried, combed and braided, she was dressed in a green gown of faded satin.

The larger of the two women leant in to her. 'Don't get too used to this, dearie,' she whispered. 'Not one of his girls lasts more than a week. He is easily bored.'

Sly Red lasted a year, and at eighteen was given a full pardon. Aric at first amused himself with her, then began teaching her the more esoteric secrets of noble behaviour. The pardon was hard-earned, for Aric's carnal desires were wide-ranging and sometimes painful. In return for the pardon Sly Red agreed to become a plaything for men Aric needed to impress, or rivals he desired to exploit, or enemies he was determined to destroy. In the years that followed Lalitia, as Sly Red became, found men only too eager to surrender their secrets. It seemed that arousal loosened tongues and brains in equal measure. Bright and brilliant men became like children, anxious to please. Secrets long hidden spilled out as they sought to impress her with their cleverness. Stupid men!

In his own way Aric had been good to her, allowing her to keep the gifts her lovers bestowed. Within a few years Lalitia was close to wealthy. Aric even gave his blessing when she married the old merchant Kendar. He died within a year. Lalitia was overjoyed. Now she could have the life she had always desired. Kendar's wealth should have been enough for two lifetimes. Except that Kendar's wealth had been bogus. He died massively in debt, and once more Lalitia found herself surviving on her wits and her physical charms.

Her second husband had the bad grace not to die, despite being over seventy when she married him. This had necessitated drastic action. The thought of poisoning him occurred to her, but she dismissed it. He was a pleasant enough man, even kind. Instead Lalitia fed him a diet spiced with powerfully aphrodisiac herbs, acquired at great cost. When he finally expired, the surgeon summoned to pronounce him dead could not fail to remark that he had never seen a happier corpse.

Lalitia was now truly rich.

And set about becoming poor with a speed that beggared belief. She began with a series of investments in merchant enterprises, all of which failed, then bought land, which she was convinced would multiply in value. It fell sharply. One day her dressmaker sent a message to say that no further clothes would be forthcoming unless all bills were paid. Lalitia was amazed to discover she had no funds to cover the debt.

She had contacted Aric, who once more made use of her services.

Now, at thirty-five, she had funds, a fine house in Carlis, and a lover so rich he could probably buy the whole of Kydor and not notice the difference.

Leaning back on the satin pillow she gazed at the tall, powerfully built man standing by the window. 'Did I thank you for the diamond pendant, Grey Man?' she asked.

'I believe that you did,' he told her. 'Quite eloquently. So, tell me, why do you not wish to attend my banquet?'

'I have not been feeling well these last few days. It would be better for me to rest, I think.'

'You seemed well a few moments ago,' he observed drily.

'That is because you are such an exquisite lover. Where did you learn such skills?'

He did not answer, but transferred his gaze back out of the window. Compliments slid from him like water from slate. 'Do you love me?' she asked him. 'Even a little?'

'I am fond of you,' he said.

'Then why do you never tell me anything about yourself? You have been coming to me for two years now and I don't even know your real name.'

He turned his dark gaze towards her. 'Nor I yours,' he said. 'It does not matter. I must be going.'

'Be careful,' she said suddenly, surprising herself.

He looked at her closely. 'Of what?'

She was flustered. 'There is some talk in the town . . . You have enemies,' she concluded lamely.

'Vanis the merchant? Yes, I know.'

'He could . . . hire men to kill you.'

'Indeed. Are you sure you will not attend my banquet?'

She nodded. As always he walked across the room without any farewells. The door closed behind him.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! she railed at herself. She had heard from Aric that Vanis was considering assassination. With his creditor dead Vanis would stave off bankruptcy. Aric had warned her to say nothing. 'It should be a surprising evening,' he had said, 'the rich peasant slaughtered in his own palace. Quite a memorable event, I would think.'

At first Lalitia had been annoyed, for now the gifts would cease, but she knew, after two years, there was no hope of the Grey Man proposing marriage. And she already knew he was seeing another courtesan in the south of the town. Soon he would stop coming to her. But, as the day wore on, she couldn't stop thinking about his demise.

Aric had always been good to her, but she knew that if she betrayed him he would have no hesitation in ordering her killed. And yet she had almost risked it. Almost told the Grey Man that the killers were waiting.

'I do not love him,' she said aloud. Lalitia had never loved anyone. Why then, she wondered, did she want to save him? Partly, she thought, it was that he never sought to possess her. He paid for his pleasure, was never cruel or dismissive, never judgemental or dominating. He did not seek to question her life, or offer her advice.

She rose from the bed and walked naked to the window where he had stood only moments before. She watched him ride the steeldust gelding through the open gates, and the heavy weight of sadness bore down on her.

Aric called him the rich peasant, but there was nothing of the peasant about the man. He radiated power and purpose. There was something elemental about him. Unyielding.

Lalitia smiled suddenly. 'I do not think they will kill you, Grey Man,' she whispered. The words, and the accompanying lift to her spirits, astonished her.

Life, it seemed, still had the capacity to surprise.

Keeva had never attended a Noble Gathering, though as a child she had seen the elaborate carriages of the wealthy, and caught glimpses of the ladies in their silks and satins as they attended such events. Now she stood by the western wall of the Great Hall, a silver tray in her hands, bearing a selection of delicately crafted pastries, some filled with cheese, others with spiced meats. She was one of forty servants moving among the Grey Man's two hundred guests.

Never had Keeva seen so much satin, so many jewels: golden bangles encrusted with precious stones, ear-rings that sparkled in the light cast by a hundred lanterns, dresses or tunics embroidered with pearls and edged with silver, glittering tiaras, and even shoes decorated with rubies, emeralds and diamonds.

A young nobleman and his lady paused before her. The man was wearing a short cape edged with sable, over a red satin jacket embroidered with gold thread. He reached out and took a pastry. 'These are wonderful. You should try them, dearheart,' he said to the woman beside him.

'I'll try a taste of yours,' she said, her white satin gown rustling as she moved in closer to her lover. He grinned at her and placed a small portion of the pastry between his teeth. She laughed, leant in and took it from him with a kiss. Keeva stood very still, aware that she was invisible to them. It was a curious feeling. Not once did their eyes meet hers, and they moved away into the crowd without ever registering her presence. Other guests flowed by, some pausing to take a pastry, others merely moving towards the dance floor. Her tray empty, Keeva edged around the wall and down the short staircase to the long kitchens.

Norda was there, refilling goblets with fine wine. 'When does the Grey Man arrive?' asked Keeva.

'Later,' she said.

'But it is his Gathering.'

'He is here already,' said Norda. 'Have you not noticed a steady stream of people moving through to the Small Hall beyond?'

Keeva had, but had not thought about it. The young sergeant, Emrin, was stationed at the rear door and Keeva was determined not to be seen looking at him. She wished to give the man no reason to pursue his interest in her.

'Most of the nobles and merchants here this evening will be seeking some favour from the Gentleman,' said Norda, 'so, for the first three hours, he sits in the Walnut Room and receives them. Omri is with him, and he will be writing down their requests.'

'So many people wanting favours,' said Keeva. 'He must be very well loved.'

Norda's laughter pealed out. 'Idiot,' she said, as she took up her tray and moved back to the stairs.

Keeva was confused, and she glanced around and saw some of the other girls smiling. Embarrassed, though she did not know why, Keeva refilled her tray and returned to the Great Hall.

Twenty musicians were playing now, the music fast and lively, and dancers whirled on the polished floor. It was warm in the hall, but all the wide doors leading to the terrace were open, and a fresh sea breeze was filtering into the room.

For another hour the dancing continued, and the hall was filled with the sounds of music and laughter. Keeva's arms began to ache from holding the tray. Few people were now eating. Norda moved carefully around the edge of the hall. 'Time to exchange that tray for refreshments,' she said.

Keeva followed her downstairs. 'Why did you call me an idiot?' she asked, as the blonde woman began to fill crystal glasses with wine.

'He is not loved,' said Norda. 'He is hated by them all.'

'But why, if he grants them favours?'

'That is why. Do you know nothing about the nobility?'

'Obviously not.'

Norda paused in her work. 'He is a foreigner and immensely wealthy. They envy him, and envy always leads to hatred. It doesn't matter what he does, they will always hate him. Last year when there was a failure of the crops in the east the Gentleman sent two hundred tons of grain to be distributed among the starving. A fine deed, yes?'

'Of course.'

'Well, this fine deed prevented the cost of grain from soaring, and thus reduced the profits the nobles and merchants could have made. You think they would thank him for that?' Norda smiled. 'You'll learn, Keeva. Nobles are a different breed.' Her smile faded, and her eyes became cold and angry. 'I wouldn't piss on one if he was on fire.'

'I do not know any,' said Keeva.

'Best to keep it that way,' replied Norda, her voice softening. 'They bring nothing but grief to the likes of us. We'd better get back.'

Carrying a tray of drinks, Keeva returned to the Great Hall, and began moving through the throng. The musicians had ceased playing briefly, and were partaking of refreshments, and most of the nobles had gathered in small groups. They were chatting and laughing, and the mood was a happy one. There was still no sign of the Grey Man, though Keeva saw the one noble she did recognize: Lord Aric of House Kilraith. Resplendent in a grey and black striped tunic shirt of heavy silk, edged with silver braid, he was standing close to the terrace, talking to the young woman Keeva had earlier seen taking the pastry from the mouth of her companion. The two were laughing, and Keeva saw Aric whisper something in the woman's ear. He was a handsome man, slim and elegant, his features fine, though his nose a little long, thought Keeva. He looked younger than she remembered, his hair uniformly dark. Keeva seemed to recall that he had had grey in his hair when he had ridden through the settlement last year. And his face had seemed puffier. He has probably dyed the hair, she thought, and lost a little weight. It suited him.

Just behind them stood a black-bearded man, tall and broad-shouldered with deep-set eyes. He was wearing an ankle-length robe of deep blue velvet edged with silver thread. In his right hand was a long staff, topped with an ornate twist of silver. The man was standing quietly, holding the hand of a young, blond-haired boy around eight years of age. Keeva moved towards them. The tall bearded man stepped away from the shadows of the terrace doorway and Keeva felt his gaze upon her. It was a shock, for she had become used to being invisible to these people. His eyes were dark and large beneath hooded lids.

'Drink, sir?' she said.

The tall man nodded. His face was broad, made even wider by the heavy black beard. He released the boy's hand and took a crystal goblet filled with red wine. 'I much prefer it white,' he said, his voice low. He smiled at her and held up the goblet. Immediately colour began to drain from it, becoming first a bright scarlet, then a deep pink, until, at last, it looked as clear as water. Keeva blinked. The man chuckled, then sipped the changed wine. 'Excellent,' he said.

She glanced down at the silent boy. His bright blue eyes met hers and he gave a shy smile. 'Can I fetch something for your son?' she asked the bearded man.

He smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. 'He is my nephew and my page, not my son. And, yes, that would be most kind.'

'We have cordials made from apples, or pears or peaches,' she told the boy. 'Which would you prefer?'

The child glanced up into the face of the bearded man, who turned to Keeva. 'He is very shy, but I know that he likes pear juice. Let me relieve you of your tray while you fetch it.'

Instantly the tray floated up from Keeva's hands, hovering in the air, before lowering itself down to a small side-table. Keeva clapped her hands in delight, and the small boy smiled.

'Come now, my friend,' said the Lord Aric. 'You must save your entertainments for those who will most appreciate them.'

Keeva moved swiftly downstairs, filled a goblet with cooled pear juice and returned to the ballroom. The boy accepted the drink with a smile of thanks and sipped the contents.

Lord Aric took the bearded man by the arm and led him away towards the centre of the hall. A breath of breeze whispered through the terrace doorway. Keeva sighed with relief, for her clothes were sticking to her in the heat. Not only was it a warm summer night, but the lantern flames and the hundreds of bodies in the hall were producing almost intolerable warmth.

In the centre of the hall Lord Aric ordered two servants to pull a table across the floor. Then he sprang upon it and lifted his arms in the air. 'My friends,' he called out, 'by your leave, I have brought a little entertainment to amuse you. I ask you to offer your warmest greetings to Eldicar Manushan, recently arrived from our Angostin homeland.' With that he reached down, and the tall bearded man took his hand and climbed to the table. The nobles and their ladies politely applauded. Aric leapt down from the table and Eldicar Manushan gazed out over their faces. 'It is a trifle warm, dear people,' he told them. 'I can see that some of the ladies are feeling faint, and that their wrists will soon begin to burn from overuse of their fans. So let me begin with a small rearrangement of the weather.' Laying the long staff at his feet he clasped his hands together, raised them high, then opened his fingers and drew his arms apart. What appeared to Keeva to be a white mist floated from his palms, and rose into the air.

Eldicar made a circular motion with his hand, and the mist rolled itself into a ball and began to grow. With a gesture he made it float across the room to where a small group of noblewomen were fanning themselves. As it hovered above them their faces changed, and they squealed with delight. The ball split into two. One remained above the women, the other bobbed in the air, then floated to another group. Each time it stopped it split itself, though neither of the globes lost any size.

People underneath them began to applaud, while those they had not yet reached looked mystified. Keeva watched as one of the globes spun gently towards her. As it came close she felt suddenly cool, as if a breeze, filtered over snow, was blowing through the room. It was both refreshing and exhilarating. Soon there were white globes all around the Great Hall, and the temperature had dropped dramatically.

All conversation ceased. Eldicar Manushan lowered his arms. 'Now,' he said, 'the entertainment can begin. But first, my friends, let me thank you for your welcome. It is extremely gratifying to see such grace, beauty and culture so far from home.' He bowed to them, and they applauded the compliment with great enthusiasm. 'Might I also thank Lord Aric for his courtesy and his generosity in inviting me to share his home during my stay in Kydor.' Again they applauded. 'And now,' he said, 'a little entertainment to amuse you. What you are about to see are images. They cannot touch you. They cannot see you. So please do not be alarmed. Especially when you notice there is a huge black bear among you!' He suddenly pointed to the western wall.

A massive form reared there, and a bloodcurdling roar sounded from it. Those closest to the ferocious animal screamed and backed away. In an instant the bear dropped to all fours and broke into a dozen pieces. Each of the pieces then bounded out on to the dance floor, and Keeva saw that they were all black rabbits. Laughter echoed around the hall – most loudly from those terrified only moments before. Eldicar Manushan clapped his hands, and the rabbits became blackbirds, which flew into the air and out through the terrace doorway.

A lion bounded in. People scattered, but without real fear now. Rising on its hind legs it pawed at the air, and growled menacingly. Then it padded around the room. A young woman reached out as it loped by, her hand sinking into the beast and passing through it. The lion turned towards her and reared up. She cried out – but the lion shattered, becoming a flock of golden doves, which circled the room.

The crowd cried out for more, but Eldicar Manushan merely bowed. 'I have promised Lord Aric to reserve my finest – shall we say? – tricks for the Duke's Feast at the Winter Palace in eight days. It was merely my duty tonight to whet your appetite. I thank you for your applause.' He bowed again, and this time the clapping was thunderous.

Climbing down from the table he retrieved his staff and walked back to where Keeva and the boy were standing. Taking another goblet he twirled it in his hands before sipping the wine. Then he glanced at Keeva. 'Did you enjoy the entertainment?' he asked her.

'I did, sir. I will be sorry to miss the Duke's Feast. What is your page's name?'

'His name is Beric. He is a good boy, and I thank you for your kindness to him.' Raising her hand to his lips he kissed it. At that moment there was a stir from the far side of the hall. Dressed in a black satin tunic shirt, dark leggings and boots, the Grey Man made his entrance. He was immediately seen by several women, who smiled and curtsied. He bowed, exchanged pleasantries and moved across the room.

Keeva watched him, and was struck by the easy, confident way in which he greeted his guests. He stood out from them by his lack of adornment. He wore no brooches or rings, and no gold or silver glistened from his tunic. Even so, he looked every inch the lord of the palace, she thought. Around him the other men seemed as flamboyant as peacocks.

Moving from group to group he made his way to the far end of the hall, where Keeva stood holding her tray. Lord Aric and his friend, Eldicar Manushan, stepped forward and greeted him.

'I am sorry to have missed your display,' the Grey Man told the magicker.

'I do apologize, sir,' he said, with a bow. 'It was remiss of me to begin while you were not present. However, you will see something far greater at the Duke's Feast.'

The music began again, and dancers took to the floor. Several of the guests approached the Grey Man. Keeva could no longer hear the conversation, but she watched his face as he listened to them. He was attentive, though his eyes had a faraway look, and it seemed to Keeva that he was not enjoying the festivities.

At that moment Keeva's attention was caught by a young noble edging closer to the Grey Man. He looked tense, and there was sweat upon his brow, despite the cool breeze still emanating from the white globes that hung above the revellers. Then Keeva saw a second man detach himself from a nearby group, and also move towards the Grey Man. Their movements seemed furtive and Keeva found her heart beating faster.

The Grey Man was talking to a young woman in a red gown as the first of the men came up behind him. Keeva saw something glitter in the man's hand. Before she could cry out a warning the Grey Man spun on his heel, his left arm blocking a knife thrust, his right hand, fingers extended, slamming into the assassin's throat. The man gagged and fell to his knees, the long-bladed knife clattering to the floor. The second man ran in, knife raised, but collided with the woman in the red dress, who was trying to back away from the scene. The assassin pushed her aside and she fell heavily. The music had stopped now, and all the dancers were standing staring at the knifeman. Keeva saw the guard, Emrin, run at the assassin, but the Grey Man waved him back. The assassin stood very still, knife extended towards his intended victim. 'Well,' said the Grey Man, 'are you intending to earn your pay?'

'I do this for the honour of House Kilraith!' shouted the young noble, charging forward.

The Grey Man sidestepped, slapped away the knife arm, and tripped the young man, who sprawled headlong to the stone floor. He hit hard, but rolled and came to his knees. The Grey Man moved in and kicked the knife from the assassin's hand. The young noble surged to his feet, and ran for the terrace. 'Let him go,' the Grey Man ordered Emrin and two other guards who had joined him.

Turning his attention to the first of the assassins, the Grey Man knelt by the still body. Keeva glanced down. The man's bladder had released its contents, which had stained the expensive grey leggings he wore. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly up at the ornate ceiling. The Grey Man rose and turned to Emrin. 'Remove the body,' he said. Then he strolled from the room.

'An unusual man,' said Eldicar Manushan.

Recovering from her shock, Keeva glanced down at little Beric, who was staring wide-eyed at the dead man.

'It is all right,' she said, kneeling and putting her arms around his slim shoulders. There is no danger.'

'Will he be all right?' asked Beric, his voice trembling. 'He is very still.'

'They will take care of him,' Keeva assured him. 'Perhaps you should leave.'

'I shall take him to his room,' said Eldicar. 'Once again my thanks to you.' Taking the boy by the hand the magicker walked across the hall and vanished into the crowd.

The musicians, not knowing what to do, started to play once more, but the music faded away when no one moved. Then the first of the nobles began to leave the area.

Within minutes the Great Hall was deserted and Keeva and the other servants cleared away goblets, tankards and dishes, before returning with mops, buckets and cleaning cloths. By the time they had finished there was no sign that hundreds of guests had danced and dined there.

In the kitchens, as they washed the dishes and cutlery, Keeva listened to the other girls talking about the failed assassination. She learnt that the two young men were nephews of the merchant Vanis, but no one had any idea why they should seek to kill the Gentleman. The girls talked about how lucky the Gentleman had been, and how fortunate that his blow had killed the first assassin.

As the dawn was breaking Keeva made her way to her room. She was tired, but her mind whirled with the events of the night, and she sat for a while upon her balcony, watching the sunlight gleaming like gold upon the waters of the bay.

How had he known he was in danger? she wondered. With the noise of the music there was no way he could have heard the man move up behind him. Yet his arm had been moving to block the blow even as he turned. His movements had been unhurried and smooth. Picturing the scene again, she shivered. There was no doubt in Keeva's mind that the death blow to the young man's throat had not been, as the other girls believed, a fortunate strike. It had been delivered coldly and with deadly intent, in a move that spoke of long practice.

What are you, Grey Man? she mused.

Waylander left the Great Hall and strode down the second-level corridor leading to the South Tower. As he turned the first corner he pushed aside a velvet hanging and pressed a stud on the panelled wall beyond. There was a faint creak as the panel opened. Stepping through he pulled it shut behind him and stood in the near-total darkness. Then, without hesitation, he began to descend the hidden steps. He was angry now, and made no attempt to stifle it. He knew both the young men who had attacked him, had spoken to them on several occasions while they had been in the company of their uncle, the merchant Vanis. They were not of great intelligence, nor were they stupid. To all intents and purposes they were merely pleasant young nobles who should have been considering a lifetime of possibilities.

Instead one was lying in a darkened room waiting for someone to collect his body and place it in the cold ground to feed worms and maggots. And his shade would be wandering the Void, frightened and alone. The second was somewhere out in the night, contemplating his next move, and probably not realizing that he was facing death.

Waylander descended the steps, counting them as he went. One hundred and fourteen had been cut into the cliff, and as he reached the hundredth he saw the faintest gleam of moonlight dappling the lower wall.

He paused at the hedge that disguised the lower entrance, then edged his way around it and stepped across the rocks leading to the winding path. The sky was clear, the night warm. He glanced up at the windows and terrace of the Great Hall far above. There were still people there but they would be leaving soon.

As indeed would he.

Tomorrow he would see Matze Chai and reveal his plans. The Chiatze would be horrified, he knew. The thought lifted him briefly. Matze Chai was one of the few people Waylander both trusted and liked. The merchant had arrived just before the Gathering. Waylander had sent Omri to show Matze Chai the suite of rooms assigned to him, and to convey Waylander's apologies for not being present to greet him. Omri had returned looking flustered and annoyed.

'Were the rooms to his liking?' Waylander had asked.

'He indicated they would suffice,' answered Omri. 'He then had one of his servants move around the suite wearing a white glove, which he used to see if there was any dust upon the shelves.'

Waylander laughed aloud. 'That is Matze Chai,' he said.

'I did not find it amusing, sir. In fact, it was extremely annoying. Other servants stripped the satin sheets from the bed examining it for bugs, while still more appeared with cloths and began cleaning and perfuming the bedroom. All the while your friend sat upon the balcony, saying nothing to me, but relaying his instructions through the captain of his guard. You told me that Matze Chai speaks our language perfectly, and yet he did not say a word to me. Most discourteous. I wish you had been there, sir. Perhaps he would have acted in a more civilized manner.'

'You dislike him?' asked Waylander.

'I do, sir.'

'Trust me, Omri, once you get to know him you will detest him.'

'What is it, may I ask, that you like about him?'

'A question I ask myself constantly,' answered Waylander, with a smile.

'I do not doubt it, sir, but – if you don't mind me saying – that is no answer.'

'A full answer would only confuse you more, my friend. So let me say this. There is only one fact that I know for certain about Matze Chai. His name is not Matze Chai. He is an invention. My guess is that Matze was low born, and clawed his way up from the lowest levels of Chiatze society, reinventing himself at every stage.'

'You mean he is a fraud?'

'No, far from it. Matze is like a living work of art. He has transformed something he perceived as base into a flawless Chiatze noble. I doubt he even allows himself to remember his origins.'

Waylander walked on through the moonlight, angling towards his own quarters. He paused at the edge of the cliff and stared out at the dark sea. The moon was reflected there, broken and shimmering upon the gentle waves. He stood in silence as a sea breeze blew gently across his face, and wished that he had been as successful as Matze in reinventing himself.

He gazed at the two moons, the high perfect light in the sky, and the fragmented twin upon the waves. As he did so he recalled the words of the seer: 'When you close your eyes and think of your son, what do you see?'

'I look down upon his dead face. He is lying on the meadow and there are spring flowers around his head.'

'You will not know happiness until you look up into his face,' the old man had told him.

The words had been meaningless then, and were meaningless now. The boy was dead, murdered, and buried. Waylander would never be able to look up into his face. Unless the seer had been talking about picturing him in some spiritual paradise high above the stars. Waylander took a deep breath, then moved on along the cliff path.

Ahead were a series of terraces, covered by flowers and screened by scented bushes. Waylander slowed, then stopped. 'Come out, boy,' he said wearily.

The young blond noble rose from behind a bush. In his hand was a golden-hilted shortsword – a light ceremonial blade, worn at official functions. 'Did you learn nothing from your brother's death?' asked Waylander.

'You killed him?'

'Aye, I killed him,' said Waylander coldly. 'I crushed his throat and he choked to death on the floor. As he died he pissed himself. That is what happens. That is the reality. He is gone – and for what?'

'For honour,' said the young man. 'He died for the honour of the family.'

'Where are your wits?' snapped Waylander. 'I loaned your uncle money, and when he could not repay I loaned him more. I did this because he made me promises – promises he failed to keep. Whose is the dishonour? Now your brother is dead. And all so that fat Vanis can avoid financial ruin. A man of his stupidity faced ruin anyway.' Waylander stepped in close to the young man. 'I do not want to have to kill you, boy. The last time we met you talked of your engagement to a young woman you adored. You spoke of love and a small estate by the coast. Think on it. If you walk away now I will take this matter no further. If you do not you will certainly die, for I offer no second chances to my enemies.'

He looked into the young man's eyes, and saw the fear there, and also the pride. 'I do love Sanja,' said the noble. 'But the estate I spoke of belongs – belonged – to my uncle. Without it I have nothing to offer her.'

'Then I shall give it to you as a wedding gift,' said Waylander softly, knowing even as he spoke that it was to no avail.

Anger shone in the noble's eyes. 'I am of House Kilraith!' he snapped. 'I do not need your pity, peasant!' He leapt forward, the sword slashing through the air. Waylander moved in to meet him, throwing up his left arm to block the blow at the noble's wrist, and curling his right hand up and behind the sword arm, clamping to it and dragging it back. The noble screamed, the sword dropping from his fingers as his arm snapped. Waylander pushed him away and swept up the fallen blade. The young man fell heavily and rolled to his knees. As he started to rise he felt the cold iron point of the blade against his throat. 'Don't kill me,' he begged.

A great sadness descended on Waylander as he looked into the frightened blue eyes. He took a deep breath. 'Too late,' he said. The blade plunged home, slashing through the jugular. Blood gouted from the severed vein and the noble fell back, his legs kicking out. Waylander let fall the sword and, turning his back, walked the last few steps to his quarters.

Another man was waiting there, sitting quietly, cross-legged upon the ground. He wore a pale grey, chequered robe, and a long Chiatze blade, scabbarded, was resting in his lap. He was a small man, round-shouldered, his face thin. He looked up as Waylander approached. 'You are a hard man,' he said.

'So they say,' replied Waylander coldly. 'What do you want?'

The Chiatze rose, pushing his scabbarded sword into the black sash at his waist. 'Matze Chai will be returning to his home soon. It is my desire to stay in Kydor. He said you might have need of a Rajnee. I see now that you do not.'

'Why do you wish to stay?' asked Waylander. 'Is there not employment enough within Chiatze lands?'

'There is a mystery I must solve,' the Rajnee told him.

Waylander shrugged. 'You are welcome here as long as you wish to stay,' he said. 'If you arrived with Matze Chai you will already have been given lodging. But I can offer no work for a swordsman.'

'That is most kind, Grey Man.' The Rajnee sighed. 'I must, however, inform you that I am carrying a … a burden.'

At that moment, from the path behind them, came a cry of shock and surprise. Waylander turned. A stocky, bearded Chiatze ran into view carrying a long, curved sword. He was wearing a roughly made garment fashioned from wolfskin. 'There's a body!' he said, his voice shrill. 'On the path. Had his throat cut!' He peered around at the surrounding vegetation. 'There are assassins,' he added. 'They could be anywhere. We should get inside. Call the guards!'

'This,' said the Rajnee, 'is Yu Yu Liang, the burden of which I spoke.'

'We fought demons together,' said Yu Yu.

Waylander glanced at the Rajnee. 'Demons?'

The man nodded. 'That is part of the mystery.'

'Come inside,' said Waylander, moving past the man and opening the door to his quarters.

Moments later they were seated by the fire, the room bathed in the glow of lanterns and firelight. Yu Yu Liang sat on a rug, while the other two men occupied the only chairs in the room. 'The man who owns palace should give you better rooms,' Yu Yu told Waylander. 'I walk through palace. Much silver and gold, and velvet and silk. Probably he is rich bastard, and mean with money?'

'This man is the owner of the palace,' said the Rajnee in Chiatze.

Yu Yu glanced around the bare walls and grinned. 'And I am the emperor of the world.'

'You mentioned demons,' said Waylander. Briefly, and with no hint of melodrama, the Rajnee told him of the attack, the coming of the mist, and the strange creatures who walked within its depths. Waylander listened intently.

'The arm! Tell him about the arm!' said Yu Yu.

'I cut a limb from one of the creatures. The skin was pale, white grey. When sunlight touched it the flesh began to burn. Within a few heartbeats it had vanished entirely.'

'I have not heard of any such creatures in Kydor,' Waylander told him, 'nor any attacks of the kind you describe. I do recall reading about swords of bright light. I cannot remember the tome, but it is in the North Library. I will search for it tomorrow.' He looked into the Rajnee's dark eyes. 'What is your name, swordsman?'

'I am Kysumu.'

'I have heard of you. You are welcome in my home.'

Kysumu bowed, and said nothing.

'Recently I saw such a mist as you describe,' said Waylander. 'I sensed there was evil in it. We will discuss the mystery further when I have searched my library.'

Kysumu rose. Yu Yu scrambled to his feet beside him. He tugged at Kysumu's robe. 'What about assassins?' he asked.

'The dead man was the assassin,' said Kysumu.

'Oh.'

Kysumu sighed. He bowed again to Waylander. 'I will send your guards to fetch the body.'

Waylander nodded, then walked away from the two men, entering a lantern-lit room at the rear of the building.