Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows

Chapter Five

Matze Chai slept without dreams, and awoke feeling refreshed and invigorated. The suite of rooms assigned to him had been decorated with sublime taste, the colours of the walls delightfully matched in pastel shades of pale lime and pink. Works of art by the most famous and sought-after Chiatze artists adorned the walls, and the hand-painted silk curtains filtered the morning light, allowing Matze Chai to appreciate the beauty of the dawn without the harshness of the sun's glare upon his delicate eyes.

The furniture was exquisite, embellished with gold leaf, the bed wide and firm beneath a silken canopy. Even the pot beneath the bed, which Matze had used three times during the night, was embellished with gold. Such elegance almost made the trip worthwhile. Matze Chai rang the golden bell alongside his bed. The door opened and a servant stepped inside, a young man employed by Matze for the last two years. He couldn't remember his name.

The servant offered Matze Chai a goblet of cool water, but he waved it away. The young man left the room and returned with a ceramic bowl filled with warmed, scented water. Matze Chai sat up and the servant pulled back the covers. The old merchant relaxed as the boy helped him remove his night-shirt and hair-cap, allowing his mind to wander as the servant gently sponged and dried his skin. The boy then opened a pot of sweet-smelling cream.

'Not too much,' warned Matze Chai. The servant did not answer, for Matze Chai did not allow conversation so early in the day. Instead he lightly smoothed the cream into the dry skin of Matze Chai's shoulders and arms. After this he pulled loose the long ivory pins in Matze Chai's hair, applied fresh oils, then skilfully combed and brushed the hair, drawing it back into a tight bun at the crown, before slipping the ivory locking pins into place.

A second servant entered, bearing a tray on which sat a small silver tisane pot and a ceramic cup. Setting the tray by the bedside, the second servant moved to a large wardrobe, taking from it a heavy gown of yellow silk, beautifully embroidered with gold and blue songbirds. Matze Chai stood and stretched out his arms. The servant expertly slipped the gown over them, moving to the rear to button the upper portion of the garment, before attaching the lower section to ivory hooks at Matze Chai's waist. Swinging the golden sash around his master's waist, the servant tied it, then stepped back with a bow.

'I shall take my tisane upon the balcony,' said Matze Chai. Instantly the first servant moved to the curtains, drawing them aside. The second gathered up a wide-brimmed hat of artfully fashioned straw.

Matze Chai stepped out on to the balcony and sat down on a curved wooden bench, leaning his back against a large, embroidered cushion. The air was fresh and Matze believed he could detect salt in it. The light, however, was bright and unpleasant, and he gestured to the man holding the hat. He ran forward and placed it on Matze's head, angling it so that his face was in partial shadow, before tying it under his chin.

The stone of the balcony was cold under the merchant's feet. Glancing down, he wiggled his toes. Brief moments later one of the men knelt down and placed fur-lined slippers upon his feet.

Matze Chai sipped his tisane and decided that all was well with the world on this fine day. Waving his hand, he dismissed the servants and sat quietly in the morning sunshine. The breeze was fresh and cool, the sky a clear, cloudless blue.

He heard movement behind him, and the merest touch of irritation disturbed his tranquillity. Liu, the young captain of his guard, moved into sight and bowed deeply. He said nothing, waiting for his master's permission to speak.

'Well?' asked Matze Chai.

'The master of the house requests an audience, Lord. His servant, Omri, suggests that he could attend you presently.'

Matze Chai leant back against his cushion. For all that he was a round-eyed Gajin Waylander's manners were perfect. 'Convey to the servant that I would be honoured to entertain my old friend,' he said.

Liu bowed again, but did not depart immediately. Irritation once more touched Matze Chai, but he did not show it. He looked quizzically at the young soldier.

'One more matter, Lord, that you should be made aware of. There was an attempt on your . . . old friend's life last night. At the ball. Two men with knives attacked him.'

Matze Chai gave the briefest of nods, then waved his hand to dismiss the soldier. Was there ever a time, he wondered, when someone was not attempting to kill Waylander? One would have thought they would have learnt by now. His cup was empty and he looked for a servant to refill it, then remembered he had dismissed them. And his golden bell was all the way across the room by the bedside. He sighed. Then, glancing round to see that he was not observed, filled the cup. Matze Chai smiled. To serve oneself was quite liberating. But not civilized, he chided himself. Even so his good mood was restored and he waited patiently for Waylander to arrive.

A different servant ushered him in, removed the pot of tisane and the empty cup, then departed without a word. Matze Chai rose from his chair and offered a deep bow to his client, who responded in similar fashion before seating himself.

'It is good to see you, my friend,' said Waylander. 'I understand your journey was not without excitement.'

'It was – regrettably – not as dull as one would have liked,' agreed Matze Chai.

Waylander laughed. 'You don't change, Matze Chai,' he said, 'and I cannot tell you what a delight that is.' The smile faded. 'I apologize for asking you to make this journey, but I needed to see you.'

'You are leaving Kydor,' said Matze Chai.

'I am indeed.'

'Where to now? Ventria?'

Waylander shook his head. 'Across the western ocean.'

'The ocean? But why? There is nothing there – save the end of the world. It is where the stars flow into the sea. There is no land, no civilization. And even if there is land it will be barren and empty. Your wealth would be meaningless there.'

'It is meaningless here, Matze Chai.'

The elderly merchant sighed. 'You have never been content to be rich, Dakeyras. This, in some strange way I have yet to fathom, is why you are rich. You care nothing for wealth. What is it, then, that you desire?'

'I wish I could answer that,' said Waylander. 'All I can say is that this life is not for me. I have no taste for it.'

'What is it that you wish me to do?'

'You already manage one sixth of all my ventures, and hold two fifths of my wealth. I shall give you letters to all merchants with whom I have business dealings. These will inform them that, from the time they receive my instructions, you will speak for me. I shall also tell them that if they do not hear from me within five years then all my ventures and capital become yours.'

Matze Chai was aghast at the thought. He struggled to come to terms with what Waylander offered. Already wealthy, Matze Chai would become instantly the richest man in all of Chiatze. What would there be left to strive for?

'I cannot accept this,' he said. 'You must reconsider.'

'You can always give it all away,' said Waylander. 'But whatever you choose I shall sail from this world and not return.'

'Are you truly so unhappy, my old friend?' asked Matze Chai.

'Will you do as I ask?'

Matze Chai sighed again, deeply. 'I will,' he said.

Waylander rose, then smiled. 'I will tell your servants to prepare your second pot of tisane,' he said. 'They really should have brought it by now.'

'I am served by cretins,' admitted Matze Chai, 'but, then, if I did not employ them their stupidity would see them starve in the streets.'

After Waylander had left Matze Chai sat lost in thought. He had long ago ceased to be surprised by his fondness for his Gajin client. When Waylander had first come to him, all those years ago, Matze Chai had been merely curious about the man. That curiosity led him to engage the old seer. Matze had sat upon the silken rug at the centre of the temple's inner sanctum and watched as the elderly priest cast the bones.

'Will this man be a danger to me?'

'Not if you do not betray him.'

'Is he evil?'

'All men carry evil within them, Matze Chai. The question is imprecise.'

'What, then, can you tell me of him?'

'He will never be content, for his deepest desire is unattainable. Yet he will become rich, and make you rich. Is that enough for you, merchant?'

'What is this unattainable desire?'

'Deep in his heart, far below the level of conscious thought, he is desperate to save his family from terror and death. This unconscious desire drives him on, forces him to seek out danger, to pit himself against the might of violent men.'

'Why is it unattainable?'

'His family are already dead, slain in a mindless orgy of lust and depravity.'

'Surely,' said Matze Chai, 'he knows they are dead.'

'Of course. As I said, it is an unconscious desire. A part of his soul has never accepted that he was too late to save them.'

'But he will make me rich?'

'Oh, yes, Matze Chai, he will make you richer than you could ever dream possible. Be sure, however, that you recognize the riches when you have them.'

'I am sure that I will.'

The stooping servant, Omri, was waiting in the corridor outside Matze Chai's apartments. As Waylander stepped out he bowed briefly. 'Lord Aric is waiting to see you, sir, along with the magicker, Eldicar Manushan,' he said. 'I have had refreshments served to them in the Oak Room.'

'I was expecting him,' said Waylander, his expression cold.

'I must say that he looks well. I believe he has dyed his hair.'

Together the two men walked back along the corridor, and up two sets of stairs. 'The bodies have been removed, sir. Emrin had them loaded on to a wagon and has driven it into Carlis. He will make a report to the watch officer, but I expect there will be an official inquiry. The incident, I should imagine, is the talk of Carlis. One of the young men was due to be wed next week. You even received an invitation to the ceremony.'

'I know. He and I spoke of it last night, but he was in no mood to listen.'

'A shocking incident,' said Omri. 'Why did they do it? What did they have to gain?'

'They had nothing to gain. They were sent by Vanis.'

'That is disgraceful,' said Omri. 'We must inform the watch officer. You should lay charges against him.'

'That will not be necessary,' said Waylander. 'I do not doubt that Lord Aric has a plan to resolve the situation.'

'Ah, I see. A plan that no doubt involves money.'

'No doubt.'

They moved on in silence, emerging into a wide, arched hallway on the upper floor.

As they reached the doors of carved oak Omri stepped back. 'I have to say, sir,' he said, in a low voice, 'that I am not comfortable in the presence of this magicker. There is something about the man that I find disturbing.'

'You are a good judge of character, Omri. I shall bear that in mind.'

Waylander pushed open the doors and entered the Oak Room.

The room, panelled with oak, had been designed in the shape of an octagon. Rare weapons from many nations hung on the walls, a battleaxe and several hunting bows from Vagria, spears and curved scimitars from Ventria. Angostin broadswords, daggers and shields vied with tulwars, lances, pikes and several embossed crossbows. Four armour trees had been placed around the room, boasting ornate helms, breastplates and shields. The furniture consisted of twelve deep chairs and three cushion-covered couches, set upon a scattering of Chiatze rugs of hand-dyed silk. The room was lit by sunlight streaming through the high-arched, east-facing windows.

Lord Aric was seated on a couch below the window, his booted feet resting on a low table. Opposite him was the magicker, Eldicar Manushan, his blond page standing beside him. Neither man rose as Waylander entered, but Aric waved his hand and gave a broad smile. 'Good morning, my friend,' he called. 'I am so glad you could find time to join us.'

'You are up early, Lord Aric,' said Waylander. 'I have always been led to believe it was considered uncivilized for a noble to rise before noon – unless a hunt was in the offing.'

'Indeed so,' agreed Aric, 'but, then, we have pressing matters to discuss.'

Waylander sat down and stretched out his legs. The door opened and Omri entered, bearing a tray on which was set a large silver pot of tisane and three cups. The men sat in silence as he filled the cups then departed. Waylander sipped the brew. It was camomile sweetened with mint and a little honey. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste upon his tongue. Then he glanced at Aric. The slim noble was doing his best to appear at ease, but there was an underlying tension in him. Transferring his gaze to the black-bearded magicker, Waylander saw no sign of unease. Eldicar Manushan was drinking his tisane quietly, apparently lost in thought. Waylander caught the eye of the little blond boy, who smiled nervously.

The silence grew, and Waylander made no attempt to disturb it.

'Last night was most unfortunate,' said Aric at last. 'The two boys were well liked and neither of them had ever been in any kind of trouble.'

Waylander waited.

'Parellis – the blond boy – is … was a second cousin to the Duke. In fact, I understand that the Duke had agreed to stand alongside Parellis at his wedding. It is one of the reasons the Duke decided to bring the Winter Court to Carlis. You see the complications that are beginning to arise.'

'No,' said Waylander.

Aric seemed momentarily bewildered. Then he forced a smile. 'You have killed a relative of the ruler of Kydor.'

'I killed two assassins. Is this against the law in Carlis?'

'No, of course not, my friend. As to the first killing there were hundreds of witnesses. No problems there. But the second. . . . Well,' he said, spreading his hands, 'no one saw that. It is my understanding that there was only one weapon – a ceremonial sword belonging to Parellis. This would indicate you dispossessed him of that weapon and killed him with it. That being so, it could be argued that you killed an unarmed man, which, according to the law, is murder.'

'Well,' said Waylander easily, 'the inquiry will establish the facts then make a judgement. I will abide by that.'

'Would that it were so easy,' said Aric. 'The Duke is not a forgiving man. Had both boys been killed in the ballroom I think even he would have been forced to accept the outcome. But I fear that the relatives of Parellis will seek to have you arrested.'

Waylander gave a thin smile. 'Unless?'

'Ah, well, this is where I can help, my dear friend. As one of the leading nobles in House Kilraith, and the chief magistrate of Carlis, I can mediate between the factions. I would suggest some reparation to the bereaved family – merely as a gesture of regret over the incident. Say . . . twenty thousand gold crowns to the mother of the boys, and the cancelling of the debts owed by their uncle, the grieving Vanis. In this way the matter will be solved before the arrival of the Duke.'

'It touches me that you would go to such lengths on my behalf,' said Waylander. 'I am most grateful.'

'Oh, think nothing of it! It is what friends are for.'

'Indeed. Well, let us make it thirty thousand gold crowns for the mother. I understand she has two other younger sons and that the family is not as wealthy as once they were.'

'And Vanis?'

'By all means let the debt be cancelled,' said Waylander. 'It was a piffling sum.' He rose and gave a bow to Aric. 'And now, my friend, you must excuse me. Much as I enjoy your company I have other pressing matters of my own to attend.'

'Of course, of course,' said Aric, rising from his seat and offering his hand. Waylander shook it, nodded to the magicker, then left the room.

As the door closed Aric's smile vanished. 'Well, that was simply done,' he said coldly.

'You would have preferred it to be difficult?' asked Eldicar Manushan softly.

'I would have preferred to see him squirm a little. There is nothing quite so stomach-churning as a peasant with wealth. It offends me that I am forced to deal with him. In the old days he would have been dispossessed by his betters, his wealth used by those who understood the nature of power and its uses.'

'I can see how much it must grieve you,' said the magicker, 'to come to this man and beg for scraps from his table.'

All colour drained from Aric's thin face. 'How dare you?'

Eldicar laughed. 'Come, come, my friend, what else can it be called? Each year for the past five years this rich peasant has paid your gambling debts, the mortgage on your two estates, settled your tailor's accounts and enabled you to live in the style and manner of a noble. Did he do this of his own volition? Did he come running to your house and say, "My dear Aric, I have heard how fortune has fled you, so please allow me to pay all your debts?" No, he did not. You came to him.'

'I leased him land!' stormed Aric. 'It was a business arrangement.'

'Aye, business. And all the monies you have received since then? Including the five thousand crowns you requested last night?'

'This is intolerable! Beware, Eldicar, my patience is not limitless.'

'Neither is mine,' said Eldicar, his voice suddenly sibilant. 'Shall I ask for the return of the gift I gave you?'

Aric blinked. His mouth opened. He sat down heavily. 'Oh, come now, Eldicar, there is no need for us to argue. I intended no disrespect.'

The magicker leant forward. 'Then remember this, Aric. You are mine. Mine to use, mine to reward, and mine to dispose of if I see fit. Tell me that you understand this.'

'I do. I do understand. I am sorry.'

'That is good. Now, tell me what you observed during our meeting with the Grey Man.'

'Observed? What was there to observe? He came in, agreed to all my demands and left.'

'He did not just agree,' said Eldicar. 'He raised the sum.'

'I know that. The size of his fortune is a matter of legend. Money means little to him, obviously.'

'Do not underestimate this man,' said Eldicar.

'I do not understand that. I just plucked him like a chicken – and he offered no resistance.'

'The game is not over yet. You have just seen a man who can mask his anger brilliantly. His only slip was to show his contempt by raising the amount of the extortion. This Grey Man is formidable, and I am not yet ready to have him as an enemy. So when this game moves on you will take no action.'

'Moves on?'

Eldicar Manushan gave a small smile. 'Soon you will come to me with news and we will speak of it again.' Eldicar pushed himself to his feet. 'But for now I wish to explore this palace. I like it. It will suit me well.' Rising from his chair he reached out, took the hand of his page, and walked from the room.

There were those who believed fat Vanis the merchant was incapable of regret. Always jovial, he would talk often of the stupidity of those who insisted on reliving past mistakes; of worrying over them and examining them from every angle. 'You cannot change the past,' he would say. 'Learn from your mistakes and move on.'

And yet Vanis was forced to admit to himself a tiny feeling of regret – even sadness – at the death of his two stupid nephews. This was, of course, assuaged by the news from Aric that all debts had been cancelled and that an extra fortune in gold would soon be in the hands of his sister, Parla. The money would be passed immediately to Vanis for investment, since Parla was even less intelligent than her departed children.

Thoughts of the gold, and what he would do with it, filled his mind, submerging the hint of sadness beneath a cascade of anticipated pleasures. Perhaps now he would be able to interest the courtesan Lalitia. For some reason she had rebuffed all his advances.

Vanis heaved his considerable bulk from the couch and wandered to the window, gazing down at the guards patrolling the walled perimeter of his house. Pushing open the window he stepped out on to the balcony. The stars were bright in a clear sky, and a three-quarter moon hung just above the tree tops. It was a fine night, warm yet not cloying. Two guard dogs loped across the paved entrance path, disappearing into the undergrowth. Ferocious creatures, they made him shiver, and he hoped all the downstairs doors were locked. He had no wish to find one of the beasts padding along his corridors during the night.

The iron gates to his home were chained shut and Vanis relaxed a little.

Despite his own philosophy he found himself thinking back over the mistakes of the past months. He had taken the Grey Man lightly, believing he would not dare to push the matter of the debts. After all, Vanis was highly connected within House Kilraith, and the Grey Man – being a foreigner – needed all the friends he could find in order to operate his business interests in Carlis. The miscalculation had proved costly. Vanis should have guessed that matters would not be so easily resolved when the debts had been lodged with the Merchants Guild, the promises of repayment written down and witnessed.

He moved back inside and poured himself a cup of Lentrian Fire, an amber spirit he had found to be more potent than the finest wines.

It was not his fault that the boys were dead. Had the Grey Man not threatened to ruin him none of this would have happened. His was the blame.

Vanis had another drink and walked across to the western window. From here he could see the distant palace of the Grey Man across the bay, shining white in the moonlight. Once more he moved out on to the balcony, checking on the guards. A blond crossbowman was sitting on the lower branches of an oak, his eyes trained on the garden wall. Below him two more guards were patrolling, and Vanis saw one of the black hunting dogs padding across the open ground. The merchant moved back inside and sank into a deep leather seat alongside the flask of Lentrian Fire.

Aric had laughed at Vanis's insistence on hiring bodyguards. 'He is a merchant like you, Vanis. You think he would risk himself by hiring killers to hunt you down? If any were captured – and named him – he would lose everything. We'd have his palace and whatever of his fortune rests hidden in the palace vaults. By Heaven, it is almost worth hoping that he does send assassins.'

'Easy for you to say, Aric. Did you hear about his hunting down of the raiders who attacked his lands? Thirty of them, it is said. And he killed them all.'

'Nonsense,' sneered Aric. 'There were around a dozen, and I don't doubt that the Grey Man had most of his guards with him. It is just a lie put about to enhance the Grey Man's reputation.'

'A lie, eh? I suppose it was a lie that he killed Jorna with a single blow to the neck and then slew Parellis with his own sword. As I understand it, he did not even break sweat.'

'Two stupid boys,' said Aric. 'Gods, man, I could have done the same. What possessed you to use such simpletons?'

'It was an error,' said Vanis. 'I thought they were planning to surprise him in the grounds of his palace. I did not expect them to make the attempt at a ball in front of a hundred witnesses!'

'Ah, well, it is over now,' said Aric smoothly. The Grey Man gave in without a struggle. Not even a raised word. Have you thought what you will do with Parla's fifteen thousand?'

'Thirty thousand,' corrected Vanis.

'Minus my commission, of course,' said Aric.

'There are those who might feel that your commission is a little excessive, my friend,' said Vanis, struggling to control his anger.

Aric laughed. 'There are also those who believe that, as chief magistrate of Carlis, I should be investigating what caused those two hitherto exemplary boys to commit such a deed. Are you one of those?'

'You have made your point,' muttered Vanis. 'Fifteen thousand it is.'

Even now, some hours later, the conversation left a bad taste in his mouth.

Vanis finished a third cup of Lentrian Fire, and heaved himself once more to his feet. Moving somewhat unsteadily across the room, he pulled open the door and staggered to his bedchamber. The satin sheets on his bed had been pulled back and Vanis peeled off his robe and slippers and sat down heavily, his head spinning. He fell back on to the pillow and yawned.

A shadowy figure moved to the bedside. 'Your nephews are waiting for you,' said a soft voice.

Three hours after dawn a servant brought a tray of fresh-baked bread and soft cheese to the bedroom of the merchant Vanis. There was no reply to his gentle tapping, and he knocked louder. Thinking his master in a deep sleep the servant returned to the kitchens. Half an hour later he tried again. The door was still locked, and no sound came from inside.

He reported this to the head manservant, who, with a duplicate key, opened the door.

The merchant Vanis was lying back on blood-drenched sheets, his throat cut, a small, curved knife held in his right hand.

Within the hour the chief magistrate, Lord Aric, was at the property, along with the dark-bearded Eldicar Manushan, two officers of the watch and a young surgeon. The magicker ordered the little page-boy, dressed now in a tunic of black velvet, to wait outside the door. 'Not a scene to be witnessed by a child,' Eldicar told him. The boy nodded and stood outside with his back to the wall.

'It seems fairly obvious,' said the surgeon, stepping back from the body. 'He cut his own throat and died within a few heartbeats. The knife, as you can see, is very sharp. There is only the one cut – a deep slash that opened the jugular.'

'Strange that he removed his robe first, don't you think?' offered Eldicar Manushan, pointing to the garment on the floor by the bed.

'Why strange?' asked Aric. 'He was getting into bed.'

'To die,' said the magicker. 'Not to sleep. This means he knew his body would be found. Let us face it, gentlemen, Vanis was not a handsome man. Bald, monstrously fat and ugly would be an accurate description. Yet he disrobes, sits down upon white satin sheets and ensures he will be found in the most disgusting of positions. One would have thought he would have left his clothes on. A second thought concerns the wound itself. Very messy and painful. It takes a man of great courage to open his throat. Just as effective would be to open the arteries at the wrist.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' said the surgeon. 'This is all very interesting. But what we have here is a man dead in a locked bedroom, the instrument of his demise in his hand. We will never know what was going on in his mind at the time of his death. I understand his beloved nephews were killed only days ago. His brain was obviously unhinged by grief.'

Eldicar Manushan laughed, the sound horribly contrasting to the bloody scene within the room. 'Unhinged? Indeed he must have been. For he was so frightened of the thought of being killed he surrounded his house with guards and dogs. Then, once he was safe, he cut his throat. I would agree that sounds unhinged.'

'You believe he was murdered, sir?' asked the young surgeon, icily.

The magicker walked to the window and gazed down at the grounds below the balcony. He swung back. 'If he was murdered, young man, then he would have to have been killed by a man who could move in utter silence through a screen of guards and vicious dogs, scale a wall, commit the deed and depart without being seen or scented.'

'Precisely,' said the surgeon, turning to Lord Aric. 'I shall send for the morgue wagon, my lord, and prepare a report.'

With that the young man bowed to Aric, nodded towards Eldicar Manushan, and left the room.

Aric looked at the grotesque bloated body upon the bed, then swung to the two officers of the watch. 'Go and question the servants and the guards. See if anyone heard or saw anything – no matter how inconsequential it may have seemed at the time.'

The men saluted and walked away. Eldicar Manushan moved from the window and pushed shut the bedroom door. 'Would you like to know what really happened?' he asked softly.

'He killed himself,' whispered Aric. 'No one could have got to him.'

'Let us ask him.'

Eldicar stepped to the bedside and laid his hand upon the dead merchant's brow. 'Hear me,' whispered the magicker. 'Return from the Void and flow once more into this ruined shell. Come back to the world of pain. Come back to the world of light.'

The bloated body spasmed, and a choking, gargling noise came from the throat. The body began to tremble violently. Eldicar thrust his fingers into the man's mouth and dragged out a rolled-up ball of parchment. Hissing breath blew from the dead man's lung, and the remnants of his blood bubbled from the wound in his throat.

'Speak, Vanis,' ordered Eldicar Manushan.

'Grey . . . Man . . .' croaked the corpse. The body sagged back, arms and legs twitching. Eldicar Manushan clapped his hands twice. 'Return to the pit,' he said coldly. All movement ceased.

The magicker glanced at the ashen face of Lord Aric, then lifted the wet ball of parchment he had pulled from the merchant's throat. He opened it and spread it on the bedside table.

'What is it?' whispered Aric, taking a scented handkerchief from his pocket and holding it to his nose.

'It appears to be the contract for the debt the Grey Man waived. It contains all the promises made by Vanis for repayment.' Eldicar laughed again. 'One might say that Vanis was forced to eat his words before his demise.'

'I shall have him arrested!'

'Do not be a fool. I told you the game was not yet over. What evidence will you offer against him? Will you say that the dead man spoke to you? I do not wish that to happen. Great events will soon be upon us, Aric. The dawn of a new age. This matter is closed. As the surgeon said, Vanis took his life in a moment of terrible grief.'

'How did the Grey Man do it? The guards, the dogs . . .'

'What do we know of him?'

'Very little. He came here some years ago from the south. He has business interests in all the great trading nations, Gothir, Chiatze, Drenan, Ventria. He owns a huge fleet of merchant vessels.'

'And no one knows where he comes from?'

'No – not for sure. Lalitia enjoys his favours, but when I spoke with her she said he never talks about his past. She believes he has been a soldier, though she does not know with which army, and he speaks with knowledge about all the countries with which he has dealings.'

'A wife, children?' asked Eldicar.

'No. Lalitia says he once spoke of a woman who died. But he has been bedding Lalitia for more than a year now, and still she has managed to elicit no useful information.'

'Then I fear it will remain a mystery,' said the magicker. 'For within a few days the Grey Man will be gone from this world – as indeed will many others.'

Just before dawn a blond-haired man wearing a red shirt, embroidered with the coiled snake emblem of Vanis the merchant, rowed a small boat to the edge of the beach below Waylander's palace. Stepping into the shallow water he dragged the boat free of the tide then walked up the steps and through the terraced gardens. As he approached the rooms of the Grey Man he pulled a black skull-cap from his head. The blond hair came away with it.

Pushing open the door of his rooms Waylander returned the skull-cap to a hidden drawer at the rear of an old wooden cabinet, then stripped off his clothing. The red shirt he rolled into a ball and tossed into the fireplace, atop the dried logs. Taking a small tinder box from beside the hearth he struck flint and lit the fire.

Waylander's mood was dark and he felt the heaviness of guilt upon him, though he did not know why. Vanis deserved to die. He was a liar, a cheat and a would-be murderer who had caused the death of two innocent boys. In any civilized society he would have been placed on trial and executed, Waylander told himself.

So why the guilt? The question nagged at him.

Was it, perhaps, because the kill had been so easy? Moving through to the small kitchen, he poured himself some water and drank deeply. Yes, it had been easy. Always the miser, Vanis had hired cheap guards, getting one of his servants to conduct the negotiations. There was no guard commander, the men having been hired singly from the taverns and docks, and told to patrol the grounds. It was after dark when Waylander, dressed as a guard, had scaled the wall and made his way to the tall oak some twenty feet from the house. Once there he had sat quietly in plain sight, crossbow in hand, watching the wall. One by one the hired men moved below him, occasionally glancing up and waving. The dog handler had also been hired independently, but in order for his dogs not to savage the guards he had walked the beasts around the grounds, letting them pick up the scent of every man dressed in a red tunic shirt. Thus when the man was on his rounds Waylander climbed down, chatted to him and patted the dogs, who sniffed at his boots, then ignored him.

After that it had been simplicity itself, waiting in the tree until the depths of the night, then scaling the wall and hiding patiently behind the velvet curtains alongside the merchant's bed.

He had not made Vanis suffer. The kill had been swift – one fast sweep and he had sliced the knife through the merchant's jugular. There was no time for Vanis to make a sound and he fell back on the bed, his blood pumping to the satin sheets. As a last flourish Waylander thrust the crumpled contract deep into the dead man's throat. Moving to the balcony he waited for the guards to pass, then climbed down to the gardens below.

Once over the wall he had strolled through the near-deserted streets of Carlis, climbed into the small boat he had left moored in the harbour, and rowed across the bay.

It was while in the boat that the guilt had come. He had not recognized the emotion at first, putting it down to the same malaise he had been suffering for months now; a dissatisfaction at his life of riches and plenty. But it was far more than that.

Yes, Vanis had deserved to die, but in killing him Waylander had returned, albeit briefly, to a way of life that had once filled him with contempt and shame: the dark days when he had been Waylander the Slayer, a killer for hire. He knew at that moment why the guilt was growing. The deed had reminded him of an innocent, unarmed man, whose murder by Waylander sparked a terrible war and the death of thousands.

There is no comparison, he tried to tell himself, between a Drenai king and a fat, murderous merchant.

Stepping naked into the dawn's golden light, Waylander made his way around the terrace to where a small waterfall was bubbling over the rocks. Wading into the shallow pool below it, he stood under the cascading water, half hoping that it would wash away the bitterness of his memories. No man could reshape the past, he knew. If it could be done he would ride back to the little farm and save Tanya and the children from the raiders. In his nightmares he still saw her tied to the bed, the gaping, bloody wound in her belly. In reality she had been dead when he found her, but in his dreams she was alive and crying for help. Her blood had flowed across the floor, up the walls and over the ceiling. Crimson drops fell like rain upon the room. 'Save me!' she would cry. And he would scrabble at the blood-drenched ropes, unable to untie the knots. Always he would wake trembling, his body bathed in sweat.

The waterfall flowed over him, cold and refreshing, washing the dried blood from his hands.

Leaving the water, he sat down on a white marble boulder, allowing the sun to dry him. A man could always make excuses for his actions, he thought, seeking some sense of self-worth for his stupidities or meanness of spirit. Ultimately, however, a man's actions were his own, and he would have to answer for them at the Court of the Soul.

What will you say? he wondered. What excuses will you offer?

It was true that had the raiders not killed his family Dakeyras would never have become Waylander. Had he not become Waylander he would not have taken the life of the last Drenai king. Perhaps then the terrible war with Vagria would never have happened. Hundreds of villages and towns would not have been burned, and scores of thousands would never have died.

Guilt merged with sorrow as he sat in the sunshine. It seemed incredible now to Waylander that he had once been a Drenai officer, in love with a gentle woman who wanted nothing more than to raise a family on a farm she could call her own. He could hardly even recall the thoughts and dreams of that young man. One fact was certain. The young Dakeyras would never have donned a disguise to butcher an unarmed man in his bed.

Waylander shivered at the thought.

He had, over the years, tried to change his life so many times. He had allowed himself to care for another woman, Danyal, and had helped her to raise the two orphan girls, Miriel and Krylla. After the Vagrian War he had built a cabin high in the mountains, and assumed the life of the peaceful Dakeyras, a family man. He had almost grown content. After Danyal died in a riding accident he had raised the girls alone. Krylla wed a young man and they moved away to a distant land to build a farm and start a family.

Then the killers had come into the mountains. Dakeyras had no idea why Karnak, the ruler of the Drenai, should send assassins after him. It made no sense. Until the day he discovered that Karnak's son had unwittingly caused the death of Krylla during a drunken chase. Terrified that this action would result in Waylander seeking revenge, Karnak took precipitate action. Assassins were despatched to kill him. They failed. They died. And the days of death and blood had returned.

Eventually Waylander moved to the distant Gothir city of Namib, where he tried to rebuild his life. Once more assassins came for him. He led them deep into the forests outside the city, killing three and capturing the fourth. Instead of executing the last man he made a deal with him. Karnak had offered a fortune in gold for the head of Waylander. Proof of the killing would come with the handing over of his famed double-winged crossbow. One of the dead assassins bore a passing resemblance to Waylander, so he cut the head from the corpse and placed it in a sack. Then he gave his crossbow to the survivor. 'With these you will become rich,' he said. 'Is our business concluded?'

'Aye, it is,' said the man, who returned to Drenan and pocketed his reward. The skull and crossbow had then been exhibited in the Marble Museum.

Once more Waylander had journeyed to far places, choosing the distant realm of Kydor and attempting to immerse himself in a life of riches and plenty.

Yet now he had become the assassin once more. Not through necessity but through false pride.

It was not a pleasant thought.

Perhaps, he thought, when the ship comes in ten days' time, and I journey across the ocean, I will find a life that does not involve violence and death. A world without people, a vast land of soaring mountains and trickling streams. I could be content there, he decided.

Deep inside he could almost hear the mocking laughter.

You will always be Waylander the Slayer. It is your nature.

Ustarte the Priestess stood by the window. Far below her she could see the Grey Man sitting beside the waterfall. Even from here she could feel his shame. She turned from the window. Her three shaven-headed acolytes waited silently at the table. Their thoughts were troubled, their emotions strong. Prial was the most fearful, for he was the most imaginative. He was remembering the cage and the whips of fire. His heart was beating wildly.

The powerful, brooding Menias also felt fear, but it was leavened by frustration and anger. He hated the Masters with all of his being, and dreamt of the day he could Change and tear into them, ripping the flesh from their bones. He had not wanted to escape through the gateway. He had urged them all to remain and fight on.

Corvidal was the calmest of the three, but then he was the most content. All he desired was to be in the company of Ustarte. The priestess felt his love, and though she could not return it in the way he desired she still found great joy in it, for it had freed him from the hatred that still chained Menias. The simple fact that love could conquer hate gave Ustarte hope.

'Do we go?' asked the golden-eyed Prial.

'Not yet.'

'But we have failed,' said Menias, the shortest and heaviest of the three. 'We should go home, find others who have survived, and continue the fight.'

Ustarte returned to the table, her heavy red silk gown rustling as she moved. The dark-eyed, slender Corvidal rose and drew back her chair. She glanced into his gentle face and smiled her thanks as she sat down. How could she tell Menias that none of the others had survived, that she had felt their death even from beyond the gateway. 'I cannot just leave these people to the fate awaiting them.'

They sat in silence once more. Then Prial spoke. 'The gateways are opening. The killers in the mist have already been seen. The Kriaz-nor will follow soon. The puny weapons of this world will not stop them, Ustarte. I have no wish to view the horrors to come.'

'And yet the people of this world defeated them three thousand years ago,' she said.

'They had greater weapons then,' said Menias, his voice deep and low.

She felt the frustration in him, and the anger. 'Where did they gain the knowledge for such weapons?' she countered. 'And where are those weapons now?'

'How can we know?' put in Corvidal. 'The legends speak of fantastic gods, demons and heroes. There is no history of that period in this world. Only fable.'

'And yet there are clues,' said Ustarte. 'All the legends speak of a war among the gods. That suggests to me that there was discord in Kuan-Hador, and that at least some of them sided with humanity. How else could they have created the swords of light? How else could they have won? Yes, we have failed in our attempt to prevent the opening of the gates, and we have failed so far in our search to discover what happened to the weapons humanity used to win the first war. However, we must go on.'

'It is too late for this world, Ustarte,' said Prial. 'I say we should use the last of the power to open a gateway.'

Ustarte considered his words, then shook her head. 'What power remains in me I will use to aid those who will fight the enemy. I will not run.'

'And who will fight?' asked Menias. 'Who will stand against the Kriaz-norl The Duke and his soldiers? They will be cut down – or worse. They will be captured and Joined. Other nobles will be seduced by promises of riches or extended life, or power within the new order. Humans are so easily corrupted.'

'I think the Grey Man will fight,' she said.

'One human?' asked the astonished Menias. 'We risk our lives because of your faith in one human?'

'There will be more than one,' she said. 'There is another clue that links the legends. All the stories speak of the return of the heroes. They die, and yet people believe they will come again when the need is upon the land. It is my belief that those who aided humanity subtly Joined the heroes they used, so that when the evil returned their descendants would have the power to combat it.'

'With respect, Great One,' said Corvidal, 'that is a hope not a belief. There is not a shred of true evidence to substantiate such a hypothesis.'

'It is more than a hope, Corvidal. We know the power of Joining for that is how we exist. We also know that our rulers ensure that no Joining can ever sire – or bear –children. They dare not risk creating beings who could decide their own destiny. But I think this is what the Ancients did, enhancing their human allies and allowing the talents to be passed from generation to generation. We see it around us even now. Nadir shamen who can meld man and wolf into fearsome creatures. Source Priests whose spirits can soar and whose powers can heal terrible diseases. We know from our studies that before the coming of the Ancients mankind had few of these gifts. The Ancients imbued certain members of the human race with them. The Ancients told their allies that, in times to come, if the evil returned, these powers would flower again. Hence the legends of the return of kings and heroes. I sense it in the Grey Man.'

'He is merely a killer,' said Prial dismissively.

'He is more than that. There is a nobility of spirit in him, and a power not found in ordinary men.'

'I am not convinced,' said Prial. 'I stand with Corvidal on this issue. You are risking our lives on a forlorn hope.'

Seeing that they were all in agreement she bowed her head. 'I will open a gateway for you all to leave,' she said, sadly.

'And yet you will stay?' asked Corvidal softly.

'I will.'

'Then I will stay with you, Great One.'

Menias and Prial glanced at one another. Then Prial spoke. 'I will stay until the arrival of the Kriaz-nor. But I have no wish to throw away my life needlessly.'

'And you, Menias?' asked the priestess.

He shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'Where you are, Great One, there shall I be.'

Yu Yu Liang cleared his throat and spat into the sea. He was miserable. It seemed to him that his quest to become a hero was not all he had anticipated. As a ditch-digger he received a small amount of coin at the end of the week, which he would use on food, alcohol, lodging and pleasure-women. There was always enough food, never enough women and far too much alcohol. But, looking back, it had not been as unpleasant a life as it had seemed while he was living it.

Picking up a flat rock, Yu Yu threw it far out over the waves. It struck once, skimmed for another twenty feet, then disappeared below the surface.

He sighed. Now he had a sharp sword, no money, no women, and was sitting in the sunshine of a foreign land wondering why he had travelled this far. He had not intended to leave the lands of the Chiatze. His first thought had been to strike out for the mountains to the west and join a band of robbers. Then he had come upon the battlefield, and the dead Rajnee. He recalled the moment when he had first seen the sword. It was jutting from the earth just behind a bush. Sunlight had glanced from the blade as Yu Yu was robbing the corpse. The Rajnee was carrying no coin, and Yu Yu had pushed himself to his feet and walked to the sword. It was quite beautiful, the blade gleaming, the long, two-handed hilt wondrously fashioned and leatherbound. The pommel was of silver, embossed with a mountain flower. Reaching out, Yu Yu drew the sword from the earth.

He then forgot his original purpose and decided to head north-east, filled with a desire to see foreign lands. It was most peculiar, and sitting in the sunshine of the Bay of Carlis he could not, for the life of him, remember just why he had thought it was such a fine idea.

Two days later something even more mysterious occurred. He came upon a merchant who was travelling in a cart with two pretty daughters and a retarded son. The wheel had come off the cart and the group were sitting by the roadside. In his new life as a robber and an outlaw Yu Yu should have stolen the man's gold, ravished his daughters and left the scene richer and more relaxed. Indeed this had been his plan, and he had marched forward, adopting what he considered to be a menacing expression. Then, to show his intent, he grasped the hilt of the sword, ready to draw it and terrify his victims.

An hour later he had repaired the cart, and escorted the merchant to his home village some six miles to the east. For this he received a fine meal, a kiss on the cheek from both daughters, and a small sack of supplies from the merchant's wife. You are too stupid to be a robber, he had told himself, as he resumed his journey.

And now that stupidity had brought him to Kydor, a land where men bearing Chiatze features stood out like . . . like … he struggled for a simile, but could only come up with 'warts on a whore's arse'. This was not entirely pleasing and he stopped thinking of similes. However, the point was a good one. How could a Chiatze warrior become a robber in a land where he would be instantly identified wherever he went? It was a nonsense.

At that moment a young, blond-haired woman emerged on to the small beach. To Yu Yu's surprise she ignored him and began to remove her dress and undergarments. Once naked she ran across the sand and dived into the water. Coming to the surface she swam in long, easy strokes, curving round to approach Yu Yu's position. Treading water, she threw back her head, and swept her hands through her wet hair. 'Why are you not swimming?' she called out to him. 'Are you not hot sitting there in wolf fur?'

Yu Yu admitted that he was. She laughed and swung away, swimming out into deeper water.

As swiftly as he could Yu Yu struggled out of his clothes and hurled himself into the sea, landing on his belly, which was painful. Not, however, as unpleasant as what followed. He sank like a stone. Thrashing his arms wildly, he fought for the surface. His head broke clear and he sucked in a great gulp of air. For a moment he bobbed in the water, but then he breathed out and disappeared once more beneath the cold water.

Panic swept through him. Something grabbed his hair, hauling him up. He struggled wildly, and broke through the surface once more.

'Take a deep breath and hold it,' the woman ordered him. Yu Yu did so, and bobbed alongside her. 'It is the air in your lungs that lets you float.'

Reassured by her presence, Yu Yu relaxed a little. What she said was true. As long as he held air in his chest he floated.

'Now lean back,' she said. 'I will support you.' As she floated alongside him he felt her arms below his spine and he gratefully dropped back into them. Glancing to his right he found himself staring at a pair of perfect breasts. Air whooshed from his lungs and he sank. Her arms pushed him back to the surface and he spluttered for a while. 'What kind of an idiot leaps into the sea when he cannot swim?' she asked.

'I am Yu Yu Liang,' he managed to say, between great gulps of air.

'Well, let me teach you, Yu Yu Liang,' she said.

The next few minutes were a joy as she taught him a rudimentary stroke that allowed him to pull himself through the water. The sun was warm upon his back, the water cool upon his body. Finally she bade him make his way to the shallow water close to the beach. Then he watched as she waded back to where she had laid her clothes. Yu Yu followed her.

She climbed up the rocks to where a small waterfall cascaded down to the beach and washed the salt from her body. Yu Yu gazed on her beauty, almost awestruck. Then he scrambled up and also washed himself. They returned to the beach and the woman sat down on a rock, to let her body dry in the sunshine.

'You came in with the lord Matze Chai,' she said.

'I am . . . bodyguard,' said Yu Yu. The excitement caused by her nakedness made Yu Yu feel light-headed. His grasp of the round-eye tongue, feeble at best, came close to deserting him.

'I hope you fight better than you swim,' she said.

'I am great fighter. I have fought demons. I fear nothing.'

'My name is Norda,' she said. 'I work in the palace. All the servants have heard the stories of the demons in the mist. Is it true? Or were they merely robbers?'

'Demons, yes,' said Yu Yu. 'I cut arm from one and it burn. Then . . . gone. Nothing left. I did this.'

'Truly?' she asked him.

Yu Yu sighed. 'No. Kysumu cut arm. But I would have if closer.'

'I like you, Yu Yu Liang,' she said, with a smile. Rising to her feet, she dressed and wandered away back up the rocks to the path.

'I like you too,' he called. She turned and waved, then was gone.

Yu Yu sat for a while, then realized he was growing hungry. Putting on his clothes he thrust his scabbarded sword into his belt and walked back up the hill. Perhaps, he thought, life in Kydor will not be so unpleasant.

Kysumu was sitting on the balcony of their room. He was sketching the outline of the cliffs and town across the bay. He glanced up as Yu Yu entered. 'I've had a great time,' said Yu Yu. 'I swam with a girl. She was beautiful, with golden hair and breasts like melons. Beautiful breasts. I am a great swimmer.'

'I saw,' said Kysumu. 'However, if you wish to be a Rajnee you must put aside carnal desires, and concentrate on the spiritual, the journey of the soul towards true humility.'

Yu Yu thought about this, then decided Kysumu was making a joke. He didn't understand it, but laughed out of politeness. 'I am hungry,' he said.

Elphons, Duke of Kydor, angled his grey charger down the slope towards the grasslands of the Eiden Plain. Behind him came his aides and his personal bodyguard of forty lancers. At fifty-one Elphons had found the long journey from the capital tiring. A man of great physical strength, the Duke had lately been plagued by sharp pains in his joints, most especially in the elbows, ankles and knees, which were now swollen and tender. He had hoped that the journey from the damp and cold of the capital to the warmer climes around Carlis would relieve the problem, but so far there had been little change. He was also experiencing difficulty at times with his breathing.

He glanced back at the convoy of five heavy wagons, the first carrying his wife and her three ladies-in-waiting. His fifteen-year-old son, Niallad, was riding alongside the convoy, the sun glinting on his new armour. Elphons sighed and heeled his horse onward.

The weather had been clement during their mountain passage, but as they made their way slowly down towards the plain the temperature rose. At first it was a pleasant warmth, after the cold mountain winds, but now it was becoming intolerable. Sweat trickled down the Duke's broad face. He lifted his gold-embossed iron helm from his head and pushed back his hood of silver mail rings, exposing thick, unruly grey hair.

The slim, balding aide, Lares, rode alongside the Duke. 'Uncommonly hot, sire,' he said, pulling the stopper from his leather canteen and pouring water on to a linen handkerchief. This he passed to Elphons, who wiped it over his face and grey-streaked beard. Instantly the hot breeze felt cool against his skin. Unclipping his heavy red cloak he passed it to Lares.

Far below, Elphons saw the wagons of the merchant convoy enter the deep woods bordering the long Lake of Cepharis. His mood soured. They had first caught sight of the convoy earlier that morning, as a dustcloud on the horizon. Slowly they had gained on it, and were now a mere half-mile behind them. Elphons had been looking forward to arriving at the lake, divesting himself of his armour and swimming in the cool water, and did not relish the thought of sharing it with two score wagoners and their families. As always the young Lares was in tune with his master's thoughts. 'I could ride down and get them to move on, sire,' he said.

It was a tempting thought, but Elphons pushed it aside. The wagoners would be no less hot than he, and the lake was common ground. It would be enough for the Duke and his retainers to ride close and wait patiently. The wagoners would get the message and move on more swiftly. Even so, it meant that before the day was over the Duke and his retainers would be eating dust thrown up by the convoy.

Elphons patted the sleek neck of his charger. 'You are tired, Osir,' he said to the horse, 'and I fear I am not as light as once I was.' The horse snorted and tossed its head.

The Duke touched heels to the animal's flanks and began once more the long descent. A solitary cloud drifted momentarily between the sun and the land and Elphons enjoyed a few seconds of relief from the heat.

Then it was gone. With the prospect of the lake looming, Elphons drained the last of the water from his canteen, and swung in the saddle to watch his wagons making their slow and careful descent. There was scree upon the road and if not handled with skill a wagon could slide off and smash into shards on the rocky slope.

His wife, the silver-haired Aldania, waved at him, and he grinned back. As she smiled she looked young again, he thought, and infinitely desirable. Twenty-two years they had been wed, and he still marvelled at his luck in winning her. The only daughter of Orien, the last but one king of the Drenai, she had fled her own lands during the war against Vagria. Elphons had been merely a knight at that time, and had met her in the Gothir capital of Gulgothir. Under any normal circumstances a romance between a princess and a knight would have been short-lived, but with her brother King Niallad slain by an assassin, and the Drenai empire in ruins, there were few suitors for her hand. And after the war, when the Drenai declared for a republic, she was even less sought-after. The new ruler, the fat giant Karnak, made it clear that Aldania would not be welcome back home. So Elphons had won her heart and her hand, bringing her to Kydor and enjoying twenty-two years of great joy.

Thoughts of his good fortune made him forget burning heat and painful joints, and he rode for some time lost in the memories of their years together. She was everything he could have wished for: a friend, a lover, and a wise adviser in times of crisis. There was only one area in which he could offer any criticism. The raising of their son. It was the only subject on which they rowed. She doted on Niallad, and would hear no words said against him.

Elphons loved the boy, but he worried for him. He was too fearful. The Duke twisted in the saddle and glanced back. Niallad waved at him. Elphons smiled and returned the wave. If I could turn back the years, thought the Duke, I would throttle that damned story-teller. Niallad had been around six years of age when he had learned the full story of the death of his uncle, the Drenai king. He had suffered nightmares for months, believing that the evil Waylander was hunting him. For most of the summer the boy had taken to creeping into his parents' bedroom and climbing into bed between them.

Elphons had finally summoned the Drenai ambassador, a pleasant man with a large family of his own. He had sat with Niallad and explained how the monstrous Waylander had been hunted down and how his head had been cut off. The head had been brought to Drenan, where, stripped of skin, it had been displayed in the museum, alongside the assassin's infamous crossbow.

For a while the boy's nightmares ceased. But then news had come of the theft of the crossbow, and the murder of Karnak, the Drenai ruler.

Even now, nine years later, Niallad would not travel without bodyguards. He hated crowds and would avoid large gatherings when he could. On state occasions, when Elphons forced him to attend, he would stay close to his father, eyes wide with fear, sweat upon his face. No one mentioned it, of course, but all saw it.

Elphons returned his attention to the trail. He was almost at the foot of the slope. Shading his eyes he stared ahead at the wooded lake a quarter of a mile ahead. There was no one swimming. How curious, he thought. They must have pushed on. Hardy men, these wagoners. And yet they had women and children with them. One would have thought they would have appreciated a cooling swim. Perhaps they realized the Duke was close behind and were nervous about stopping. He hoped this was not the reason.

Lares moved alongside him and waved the troop of twenty soldiers forward. They cantered past the Duke and rode ahead to scout the woods.

Sadly such precautions were necessary. There had been three attempts on the Duke's life in the last two years. Such was the Angostin way. A man held power only as long as his strength and his guile held out. And his luck, thought Elphons. The four major Houses of Kydor were involved in an uneasy truce, but disputes broke out often, and battles were fought. Only last year Lord Panagyn of House Rishell had waged a short and bloody war against Lord Ruall of House Loras, and Lord Aric of House Kilraith. There were three battles, all indecisive, but Panagyn had lost an eye in the third, while Ruall's two brothers were both killed in the second. Lord Shastar, of the smaller House Bakard, had now broken his treaty with Panagyn and allied himself with Aric and Ruall, which suggested a new war was looming. This was why, Elphons believed, Panagyn had sent assassins against him. Angostin law stated that the Duke's forces could not be used in disputes between Houses. However, if the Duke was dead, his three thousand soldiers would likely join Panagyn. The man, though a brute, was a fighting soldier, and highly regarded by the troops. With them he could win a civil war and make himself Duke.

Sooner or later I will have to kill Panagyn, he thought, for if he ever slays me he will see my son murdered on the same day. Elphons found the fear of such an outcome weighed heavily upon him. Niallad was not ready to rule. Perhaps he never would be. The thought made him shiver.

He looked up at the sky. 'Just give me five more years,' he prayed to the Source. In that time Niallad might change.

The Duke drew rein as his cavalrymen fanned out and entered the wood. Within moments they were galloping their mounts away from the trees and back to the convoy. The captain, a young man named Korsa, dragged his mount to a halt before him. 'There has been a massacre, my lord,' he said, forgetting to salute.

Elphons stared hard into the young man's ashen face. 'Massacre? What are you talking about?'

'They are all dead, sire. Butchered!'

Elphons heeled the charger into a run, his forty lancers swinging their mounts and following him.

The wagons were all drawn up within the trees some fifty feet from the water's edge, but there were no horses. Blood was everywhere, splashed against tree-trunks, pooling on the earth. Elphons drew his longsword and gazed around the scene. Lares and Korsa dismounted, while the other cavalrymen, weapons in their hands, sat nervously awaiting a command.

A cold winter wind blew across the lake. Elphons shivered. Then he climbed down from his mount and walked to the water's edge. Amazingly there was ice upon the water. It was melting fast. He scooped some into his hand. The mud beneath his feet crunched as he moved. Sheathing his sword he walked back to where Lares and Korsa were examining the traces of an overturned wagon. Blood was smeared upon the smashed wood, and a blood trail, like the crimson slime of a giant worm, could be seen leading away from the wagons and deeper into the trees. Several bushes had been uprooted.

Elphons turned to one of the soldiers. 'Ride out and keep the wagons back from here,' he said. Gratefully the man swung his horse and rode away.

Melting ice was everywhere. The Duke scanned the ground. It was badly churned, but he found a clear imprint just beyond the wagon. It was like the mark of a bear, only longer and thinner: four-toed and taloned.

In the space of a few moments something had descended upon forty wagoners and their families, killed them and their horses and dragged them away into the woods. It couldn't have happened without a sound. There must have been screams of terror and pain. Yet, only a few hundred yards away, Elphons had heard nothing. And how could ice form in this cloying heat?

Elphons followed the blood trails for a little way. Dead birds littered the ground, frost upon their feathers.

Lares crossed the blood-covered ground. The young man was trembling. 'What are your orders, sire?'

'If we skirt the lake to the north how long till we reach Carlis?'

'By dusk, sire.'

'Then that is what we shall do.'

'I cannot understand how we heard nothing. We had the woods in sight all the time.'

'Sorcery was used here,' said the Duke, making the Sign of the Protective Horn. 'Once my family is safe in Carlis I'll return with Aric's forces and a Source priest. Whatever evil is here will be destroyed. I swear it.'

It was still early when Waylander strolled into the North Tower library, climbing the cast-iron spiral staircase to the Antiquities section on the third floor. The three acolytes of the priestess Ustarte were sitting at the central table, examining tomes and parchment scrolls. They did not look up as he entered.

Strange men, he thought. Despite the thick stone of the tower the heat was already rising within the chamber, and yet they were garbed in heavy grey-hooded robes, silk scarves around their necks, and each wore thin grey gloves. Waylander did not acknowledge them as he moved past, but he felt their eyes upon his back. He allowed himself a wry smile. He had never been loved by priests.

Waylander paused and scanned the shelves. More than three thousand documents were stored here, ancient skin-bound volumes, fading parchments, even tablets of clay and stone. Some were beyond deciphering, but still drew scholars from as far afield as Ventria and the distant Angostin homeland.

His search would have been so much easier had the old librarian, Cashpir, not succumbed to a fever and taken to his bed. His knowledge of the library was phenomenal, and it was through him that Waylander had gathered so many of the precious tomes. He tried to recall the day he had read of the shining swords. There had been a storm raging, the sky black and heavy. He had sat where the priests were now, reading under lantern-light. For three days he had been racking his mind for any bright shard of memory.

He glanced towards the open window, and the new wooden shutters. Then it came to him.

The old shutters had been leaking, and water had splashed to the shelves close by, damaging the documents stored there. Waylander and Cashpir had moved some of the scrolls to the table. It was one of these he had been idly scanning. The area of the shelf closest to the window was still empty. Waylander walked across the chamber to the small office used by Cashpir. The place was a mess, scrolls scattered everywhere, and he could hardly see the leather-topped desk beneath the mass of books and parchment. Cashpir had an amazing mind, but no talent whatsoever for organization.

Waylander walked round the desk and sat down, picking through the parchments that lay there, recalling what had pricked his original interest on the day of the storm. One of the scrolls had told of giant creatures, melded from men and beasts. Waylander himself had been hunted by just such creatures twenty years before – sent to kill him by a Nadir shaman.

He studied the scrolls, examining each one before laying it on the floor at his feet. Finally he lifted a yellowing parchment and recognized it immediately. The ink had faded badly in places and one section of the parchment had been stained by fungus. Cashpir had treated the rest with a preservative solution of his own design. Waylander took the scroll back into the main library and walked to the window. In the sunlight he read the opening lines.

Of the glory that was Kuan-Hador there are only ruins now, stark and jagged, testimony to the fruitless arrogance of man. There are no signs of the God-Kings, no shadows of the Mist Warriors cast by the harsh sunlight. The history of the city is gone from the world, as indeed are the stories of its heroes and villains. All that remains are a few contradictory oral legends, garbled tales of creatures of fire and ice, and warriors with swords of shining light who stood against demons shaped from both men and beasts. Having visited the ruins one can understand the birth of such legends. There are fallen statues that appear to have the heads of wolves and the bodies of men. There are the remains of great arches, built, as far as one can ascertain, for no purpose. One arch, named by the Historian Ventaculus as the Hador Folly, is carved from a sheer cliff of granite. It is the most curious piece, for when one examines it one finds that the pictographic carvings upon the inner arch pillars vanish into the rock, almost as if the cliff had grown over it like moss.

I have copied separately many of the pictographs, and several of my colleagues have spent decades trying to decipher the complex language contained in them. So far complete success has eluded us. What is apparent is that Kuan-Hador was unique in the ancient world. Its methods of architecture, the skill of its artisans, are apparent nowhere else. Many of the stones still standing are blackened by fire, and it is likely that the city was destroyed in a great conflagration, perhaps as the result of a war with neighbouring civilizations. Few artefacts have been recovered from Kuan-Hador, though the King of Symilia has in his possession a mirror of silver that never tarnishes. This, he claims, was recovered from the site.

Waylander paused in his reading. There followed a series of descriptions of site examinations and a suggested layout of the city. Bored by the scholarly writing Waylander skimmed through the text until he came to the concluding paragraphs.

As is ever the case when a civilization falls, tales abound that it was evil. Nomads who inhabit the areas that once were the realm of Kuan-Hador talk of human sacrifice and the summoning of demons. There is no doubt that the city boasted great magickers. I suspect, from the statues and those pictographs we have been partly able to decipher, that the rulers of Kuan-Hador did indeed have some understanding of the vile art of meld-magic. It is entirely probable that more recent examples of this abhorrent practice – among the Nadir and other barbaric peoples – are legacies of Kuan-Hador.

I have listed separately some of the oral legends pertaining to the fall of Kuan-Hador. The one most told concerns the return of the shining swords. Among the nomads of the Varnii – distant relatives of the Chiatze – the shamen speak a succession of doggerel verses at season feasts. The first and last verse read:

But seek ye not the Men of Clay,

Who buried lie in crafted night,

Their shining swords are put away,

Their eyes are closed against the light.

Death must await these Men of Clay,

Who stand in rows of ghostly white,

And will until that dreadful day,

When they awake to one last fight.

A more complete translation can be found in Appendix 5. The Historian Ventaculus produced an appealing essay on the song, claiming it to be a metaphor for the death and resurrection of those of heroic virtue, a faith system not unusual among warrior peoples.

Waylander put the scroll back in its rightful place on the shelf and strolled from the library. Minutes later he emerged on to the central terrace outside the Banquet Hall. Kysumu was waiting there, standing by the balustrade and staring out over the bay and the sea beyond. As Waylander approached the little swordsman turned. He bowed deeply. Waylander returned the compliment.

'I have found little,' he told the Rajnee. 'There are stories of an ancient city that once ruled this land. Apparently it was destroyed by warriors with shining swords.'

'A city of demons,' said Kysumu.

'So it is said.'

'They are returning.'

'That is quite a leap of imagination,' said Waylander. 'The city fell around three thousand years ago. The scroll I examined was written a thousand years ago. One attack on a merchant and his bodyguards is too little to convince me.'

'I also discovered a scroll,' said Kysumu. 'It talked of nomads avoiding the ruins because their legends say the demons were not all slain, but had escaped through a gateway to another world, one day to return.'

'Even so, the evidence is small.'

'Perhaps,' said Kysumu. 'But when I see birds flying south I know winter is coming. They do not need to be large birds, Grey Man.'

Waylander smiled. 'Let us say you are correct, and the demons of Kuan-Hador are returning. What is your plan?'

'I have no plan. I will fight them. I am Rajnee.'

'Matze Chai tells me you believe your sword brought you here.'

'It is not a belief, Grey Man, it is a fact. And now that I am here I know it is right. How far are the ruins from the palace?'

'Less than a day's ride.'

'Will you loan me a horse?'

'I'll do better than that,' said Waylander. 'I'll take you myself.'

If one fact of life was incontrovertible for Yu Yu Liang it was that one golden ounce of good luck was invariably followed by several pounds of bad. Usually, in his experience, falling upon him from a great height. Or, as his mother would say, 'When the emperor's parade passes by, the horse-turd collectors are not far behind.'

The blonde-haired Norda had left his bed only moments before, and Yu Yu was happier than he had been in months. This was despite the initial criticism offered by the woman. 'You are not in a race,' she had whispered to him, as he clung to her.

He had paused, his heart pounding wildly. 'A race?' he managed to say, between great gulps of air.

'Be slow. We have plenty of time.'

If Nashda, the crippled god of all labourers, had appeared in his room offering him immortality at that moment it could not have been sweeter. First, there was this beautiful woman lying beneath him, her golden legs around his hips. Second, there was not a queue of impatient ditch-diggers outside the door shouting for him to hurry. Third, as far as he knew, this glorious creature desired no money from him. Which was fortuitous since he had no money. And now to be told he had plenty of time . . . Could Heaven be any sweeter?

He took her advice. There were many new joys to discover, and some obstacles to overcome. Kissing a woman who still had all her teeth was surprisingly pleasant. Almost as pleasant as the fact that there was no sandglass on the table beside the bed, swiftly trickling his time away.

If life could get better than this, Yu Yu Liang did not know how.

The first indications that there was a price to be paid for such pleasure came just after she left, when he pulled on his harsh, woollen shirt. His upper back tingled with pain from the scratches to his skin. She had also bitten his ear, which had been most pleasurable at the time, but now throbbed a little.

Even so Yu Yu was whistling a merry tune as he stepped from the room – to find himself facing three of the Grey Man's guards.

The first, a stocky man with tightly curled golden hair, was staring at him malevolently. 'You have made a bad mistake, you slant-eyed pig,' he said. 'You think you can come here and force yourself on our women?'

In Yu Yu's village there had been a Source temple, and many of the children had attended school there. They had no wish to learn the tongue of the round-eye, but the priests had supplied two meals a day, and for this it was worth putting in a little study. Yu Yu had been a quick learner, but lack of practice since then meant he needed a little time to translate complicated sentences. Apparently he had committed some kind of error and was being accused of stealing a woman's one-eyed pig. He looked into the man's face and saw the hatred there, then flicked his gaze to the man on either side. Both were staring at him through narrowed eyes. 'Well, now you are going to learn a little lesson,' continued the first man. 'We're going to teach you to stick with your own kind. Understand, yellow man?'

Despite having no knowledge of the pig theft, Yu Yu understood only too well the lesson they were about to deliver.

'I said, do you understand?'

The man's hatred turned briefly to shock, and then to blank emptiness as Yu Yu's left fist cannoned into his nose. He was already unconscious as the right cross followed. The guard hit the floor, blood seeping from his nostrils. A second guard lunged forward. Yu Yu butted him full in the face then brought his knee up into the man's groin.

The guard gave a strangled cry of pain and sagged against the Chiatze. Yu Yu pushed him away and downed him with a left hook to the jaw.

'You give lessons too?' Yu Yu asked the last guard.

The man shook his head vehemently. 'I didn't want to be here,' he said. 'It wasn't my idea.'

'I don't steal pigs,' said Yu Yu, then stalked away down the corridor, his good mood evaporating. There were scores of guards in the Grey Man's palace and when next they came it would be in greater numbers. This meant, at best, a bad beating.

Yu Yu had suffered such beatings before, blows and kicks raining in on him. The last such attack, just over a year ago, had almost killed him. His left arm had been broken in three places. Several ribs had been snapped, one of which had pierced his lung. It took months to recover, months of hardship and hunger. Unable to work he had been reduced, at first, to begging for rice at the poorhouse. Finally he had journeyed back to the Source temple. Some of the priests still remembered him, and he had been welcomed warmly. They tended his broken bones, and fed him. When his strength returned he journeyed back to the site of his beating and sought out singly each of the eight men involved in the attack. And he thrashed them. The last had been the most difficult. Shi Da was six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled and supremely tough. It had been his kicks that had snapped Yu Yu's ribs. Yu Yu had given a lot of thought to challenging Shi Da. It was a matter of honour that a challenge should be made, but the timing had to be exactly right.

So Yu Yu had walked up behind him in the Chong tavern and thwacked a heavy iron bar across the back of the man's head. As he slumped forward Yu Yu struck him twice more. Shi Da had fallen to his knees, barely conscious. 'I challenge you to man-to-man combat,' said Yu Yu, in the time-honoured fashion. 'Do you accept?'

A low garbled grunt of incomprehension came from the giant.

'I shall take that as a yes,' said Yu Yu. Then he kicked Shi Da in the jaw. Shi Da had hit the floor hard, then slowly rolled to his knees. Amazingly the big man climbed to his feet. Panicked, Yu Yu had dropped the iron bar and rushed in smashing blows left and right into Shi Da's face. Shi Da landed one clumsy punch before pitching sideways to the floor.

In his relief Yu Yu felt magnanimous and only kicked the unconscious man a few times. It was a mistake. He should have knelt by him and beaten him to death. When Shi Da recovered he put out the word that he would cut Yu Yu Liang's heart from his body and feed it to his dogs.

That was the day when Yu Yu decided upon an outlaw's life in the mountains.

Now, in a foreign land, he had made more enemies. And he still did not know why. With a little more time to work on the translation Yu Yu realized that the man had called him a slant-eyed pig, and that the problem was, in fact, not about theft, but about making love to the blonde woman. It seemed peculiar to Yu Yu that the shape of his Chiatze eyes, or the golden colour of his skin, should preclude him from forming friendships with Kydor women. And why would he want to stick with his own kind? It was a mystery. Yu Yu had been a ditch-digger for nine years and had never met another ditch-digger he found remotely attractive.

Except for Pan Jian.

She was the only female ditch-digger he had ever known. A monstrous woman with huge arms and a flat round face that boasted several chins, two of which sported large, matching warts. One evening, when drunk and broke, he had propositioned her.

'Pay me a compliment,' she told him, 'and I'll think about it.'

Yu Yu stared at her through bleary eyes, searching for some evidence of femininity. 'You have nice ears,' he said at last.

Pan Jian had laughed. 'That will do,' she told him, and they had rutted in a ditch.

She had been dismissed two days later for arguing with the foreman. It was a short argument. He pointed out he had seen cows with smaller and more attractive arses than hers, and she had broken his jaw.

As Yu Yu climbed the stairs to the upper level he found himself remembering her fondly. Although making love to her was like clinging to the back of a greased hippo, the ride had been enjoyable, and he had discovered in Pan Jian an unexpected tenderness. Afterwards she had talked of her life, and her hopes and her dreams. It had been a gentle night, of balmy soft breezes and a bright hunter's moon. Pan Jian had spoken of finding a small place near the Great River and starting a business, cutting rushes and weaving hats and baskets. Her hands were as big as shovels and Yu Yu had great difficulty picturing her creating delicate articles from straw. But he said nothing. 'And I'd like a dog,' she said. 'One of those small dogs that the magistrate has with him. A white one.'

'They are very expensive,' said Yu Yu.

'But they are so pretty.' Her voice was wistful, and suddenly in the moonlight her face did not seem ugly to him at all.

'Have you ever had a dog?' he asked.

'Yes. It was a mongrel. Very friendly. Followed me everywhere. She was a lovely dog. Big brown eyes.'

'She died?'

'Yes. You remember that awful winter four years ago? The famine?'

Yu Yu had shivered. He remembered, all right. Thousands had died of starvation.

'I had to eat her,' said Pan Jian.

Yu Yu nodded sympathetically. 'How did she taste?'

'Pretty good,' said Pan Jian. 'But a bit stringy.' Lifting one enormous leg, she pointed down at her fur-edged boot. 'This was her,' she said, stroking the fur. 'I made them so I wouldn't forget her.'

Yu Yu smiled as he recalled the moment. That was always the way with women, he thought. No matter how tough they seemed they were cursed with sentimentality.

Emerging into the entrance hallway, Yu Yu saw the Grey Man and Kysumu walking out into the sunshine. He hurried across to join them. 'Are we going somewhere?' he asked.

'Do you ride?' asked the Grey Man.

'I am a great rider,' said Yu Yu.

Kysumu stepped in. 'Have you ever ridden a horse?'

'No.'

The Grey Man laughed, but there was no mockery in the sound. 'I have a grey mare famous for her gentle and patient nature. She will teach you how to ride.'

'Where are we going?' asked Yu Yu.

'We are hunting demons,' said Kysumu.

'My day is complete,' said Yu Yu Liang.

They rode for some hours. Initially Yu Yu felt comfortable in the deep saddle. It was exhilarating being so high above the ground. Until, that is, they reached small inclines or depressions where the horses picked up the pace. Yu Yu was bounced painfully around on the saddle.

The Grey Man dropped back and dismounted, adjusting Yu Yu's stirrups, which were, he said, a little high. 'It is not easy to find the rhythms of the trot,' he said, 'but it will come.'

It could not come soon enough for Yu Yu. After two hours of riding his buttocks were bruised and painful.

Instead of moving directly to the ruins the Grey Man led them along a ridge of high ground overlooking the Eiden Plain. From here an observer could make out the original lines of Kuan-Hador, depressions in the land, showing where mighty walls once stood. From this height the lines of streets could also be seen, linking the edges of ruined buildings. Further to the east, where the city had once abutted the granite cliffs, there were the remains of two round towers, one seeming to have snapped across the middle, huge stones littering the ground for two hundred feet.

The ruins covered a vast area, vanishing into the distance. 'This was once a huge city,' said Kysumu. 'I have never seen the like.'

'It was called Kuan-Hador,' said the Grey Man. 'According to some historians, more than two hundred thousand people lived here.'

'What happened to them?' asked Yu Yu, drawing alongside.

'No one knows,' the Grey Man told him. 'Many of the ruins show signs of fire damage, so I would guess it fell during a war.'

Kysumu half drew his sword. The steel shone in the sunlight, but not with the glittering blue radiance it had displayed during the demonic attack.

'It looks peaceful now,' said Yu Yu Liang.

The Grey Man heeled the steeldust forward and rode out on to the slope. The horses placed their hoofs warily on the scree-covered trail, moving with care. At the rear Yu Yu was growing hot, and undid the brass clasp of his wolfskin cloak, intending to place it over his saddle pommel. The wolfskin fluttered up, alarming the grey mare, who reared and leapt from the trail directly on to the steep slope below. Immediately she began to slide, dropping her haunches. 'Keep her head up!' yelled the Grey Man.

Yu Yu did his best – and the descent continued at breakneck speed. The mare fought for balance on the sliding scree, righted herself then, still panicked, began to run. Yu Yu clung on in frightened desperation as the descent continued in a cloud of dust. He was almost unseated twice as the mare lurched. Dropping the reins, Yu Yu grabbed the saddle pommel.

The grey mare slowed and stood on trembling legs, steam snorting from her nostrils. Gingerly Yu Yu patted her neck, then gathered up the reins. As the dust cleared he saw they had reached the plain. Turning in the saddle he saw the Grey Man and Kysumu high above, still picking their way down the slope. Yu Yu's heart was thudding in his chest, and he felt light-headed.

Some minutes later the Grey Man rode up. 'You should step down now and let the mare rest,' he said.

Yu Yu nodded, tried to move, and let out a grunt. 'I can't,' he said. 'My legs won't work. They seem to be stuck to saddle.'

'The muscles of your inner thigh have been overstretched,' said the Grey Man. 'It is a common problem for new riders.' He dismounted then moved alongside Yu Yu. 'Just topple and I will catch you.'

With another grunt Yu Yu leant to his left. The Grey Man took hold of his arm and eased him down. Once on flat ground Yu Yu felt a little better, but it was difficult to walk. Rubbing his tortured muscles he grinned up at the Grey Man. 'My cloak frightened her,' he said.

'She is none the worse for it,' said the Grey Man. 'But this must be a lucky day for you. If she had fallen and rolled that pommel would have ruptured your spleen.'

Kysumu rode up, carrying Yu Yu's cloak. 'Did you see my ride?' asked Yu Yu.

The grey-garbed Rajnee nodded. 'It was very impressive,' he said, stepping from the saddle. He half drew his sword again, gazing at the blade. It remained silver steel, with not a hint of unearthly radiance.

'Maybe they have gone,' said Yu Yu hopefully.

'We shall see,' answered Kysumu.

Having tethered the horses the Grey Man and Kysumu began to scout the ruins. Yu Yu, his thighs still throbbing, wandered to the remains of what had once been a large house, and sat down upon a ruined wall. It was hot here, and the events of the day – the love-making, the fight, and the wild ride down the slope – had sapped his energy. He yawned and glanced around for the others. The Grey Man was some way to the east, climbing over a pile of ruins. Yu Yu could not see Kysumu.

Removing his sword-belt he lay down in the shade, rolled his cloak for a pillow, and dozed.

He awoke with a start as Kysumu climbed over the low wall.

Yu Yu felt curiously disorientated. Rising to his feet he stared around the ruins. 'Where is he?' he asked.

'The Grey Man has ridden further to the east to scout the woods.'

'No, not him. The man with the golden robe.' Yu Yu walked to the wall and peered out over the plain.

'You were dreaming,' said Kysumu.

'I suppose I must have been,' agreed Yu Yu. 'He was asking me questions and I had no answers.'

Kysumu pulled the stopper from a leather water-bag and drank sparingly. Then he passed it to Yu Yu.

'No demons, then?' said Yu Yu happily.

'No, but there is something here. I can feel it.'

'Something . . . evil?' asked Yu Yu nervously.

'I cannot tell. It is like a whisper in my soul.'

Kysumu sat quietly, eyes closed. Yu Yu drank more water, then glanced up at the fading sun. It would be dusk soon, and he had no wish to be in these ruins once night had fallen.

'Why do you want to find these demons anyway?' he asked the Rajnee.

Kysumu's face twitched. His dark eyes opened. 'Do not disturb me when I am meditating,' he said, without anger. 'It is painful.'

Yu Yu apologized, feeling foolish.

'You were not to know,' said Kysumu. 'But to answer your question I do not want to find demons. I am Rajnee. I swore an oath to stand against evil wherever I found it. This is the way of the Rajnee. What we experienced in the camp of Matze Chai was evil. Of that there is no doubt. And that is why my sword brought me here.' He looked closely at Yu Yu. 'It is why you are here too.'

'I don't want to fight evil,' said Yu Yu. 'I want to be rich and happy.'

'I thought you wanted to strut through marketplaces with people pointing at you and saying your name with pride.'

'That too.'

'Such respect has to be earned, Yu Yu. Were you a good ditch-digger?'

'I was a great—'

'Yes, yes,' interrupted Kysumu. 'Now think about the question, and answer it with seriousness.'

'I was good,' said Yu Yu. 'I worked hard. My foreman praised me. When times were tough I would always be employed ahead of other men. I was not lazy.'

'You were respected as a ditch-digger?'

'I was. But I was also paid for being a ditch-digger. Who will pay me for being a hero and fighting demons?'

'The payment is greater than a mountain of gold, Yu Yu. And more beautiful than the richest gems. Yet you cannot touch it, or hold it. It swells the heart and feeds the soul.'

'It doesn't feed the body, though, does it?' said Yu Yu.

'No, it does not,' agreed Kysumu. 'But think back to how you felt when we fought the demons in the camp of Matze Chai, when the sun came up and the mist departed. You recall how your heart swelled with pride, because you had stood your ground and survived?'

'That was good,' agreed Yu Yu. 'Almost as good as making love to Norda.'

Kysumu sighed.

Yu Yu walked to the edge of the broken wall. 'I cannot see the Grey Man. Why did he go off on his own?'

'He is a solitary man,' said Kysumu. 'He works better alone.'

The sun dipped below the western ridges. 'Well, I hope he gets back soon. I do not want to spend a night here.' Yu Yu picked up his cloak and shook it out, then swirled it around his shoulders. 'What is a pria-shath?' he asked.

Kysumu's face registered shock. 'Where did you hear that word?'

'The golden man in my dream. He asked if I was a pria-shath.'

'And you have never heard it before?'

Yu Yu shrugged. 'I don't think so.'

'What else did he ask?'

'I don't remember. It is all very hazy now.'

'Try to think,' said Kysumu.

Yu Yu sat down and scratched his beard. 'He asked me a lot of questions, and I didn't know the answers to any of them. There was something about the stars, but I don't recall exactly. Oh . . . and he told me his name . . . Qin someone . . .'

'Qin Chong?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'Later. Keep thinking of the dream.'

'I told him I was a ditch-digger, and I didn't know what he was talking about. Then he said, "You are the pria-shath." That was when you woke me. What is a pria-shath?'

'A Lantern Bearer,' said Kysumu. 'He was seeking me. That must be why the sword brought me here. I shall contact this spirit myself. It means going into a trance. You must stand guard over me.'

'Guard? What happens if the demons come? You will wake, yes?'

'It depends on how deep the trance. Now do not speak again.' With that Kysumu dipped his head and closed his eyes.

The last of the sunlight blazed up from behind the mountains, then darkness descended upon the Eiden Plain.

Yu Yu sat miserably upon a broken wall, and longed for a return to the lands of the Chiatze, with a good shovel in his hands and a deep ditch waiting to be dug. He wished in that moment he had never found the Rajnee sword, and had stayed on to face the wrath of the giant, Shi Da.

'You have brought me nothing but trouble,' he said, glancing down at the sword in his lap.

Then he swore.

A soft blue light began to glow along the length of the blade.