'It is not nonsense!' said Obrin. 'We need heroes.'

'Of course we do,' Kollarin agreed. 'The nonsense is that sometimes they are the enemy. What then do we do, Obrin?'

'I'm not a philosopher. I live by my own rules. I steal from no man, and I commit no evil. God will judge me on that whefi my time comes.'

'I am sure that He will judge all of us, my friend. Tell me, what do you think He will think of us when young Fell is brought before him? When his body lies broken and blinded on the Citadel rack and his spirit floats up to paradise?'

Obrin was growing more uneasy, yet he did not walk away, though he wanted to.

'How should I know?'

'I think you know,' said Kollarin sadly.

'What do you want me to say?' stormed Obrin. 'That he has been treated unjustly?

Yes, he has. That he doesn't deserve to die? No, he doesn't. None of it matters.

The Baron is the law, he gave me my orders and it is my duty to obey them. What of you? You took his money, and agreed to hunt down the clansman. Why did you do it?'

Kollarin smiled. 'I had my reasons, Obrin. Did you hear about what happened to the woman?'

'It is said they raped her but I find it hard to believe. Will Stamper was not that kind of man. We were friends, I knew him.'

IV).

'He did it,' said Kollarin. 'I was in that cell. I read it in the blood. They all did it.

And they cut her, and they bit her, and they beat her with fists. And all because she tried to stop the Baron stealing her hawk. Heroic, eh?'

Obrin said nothing for a moment. The light was failing and the camp-fires cast a gentle glow over the hollow. 'I can't change the world,' he said sadly. 'Fell rescued the woman and I'm glad that he did. Now he has to pay for it, which saddens me.

But in my life I've seen a lot of good men die, Kollarin. And a lot of evil men prosper. It is the way of things.'

'You'll see worse yet,' said Kollarin coldly.

'Like what?'

'The invasion in the spring, when the Baron leads an army to annihilate the Highlanders. You'll see the burning buildings, hear the screams of women and children, watch the crows feast on the bodies of farmers and shepherds.'

'That's just a rumour!' snapped Obrin. 'And a stupid one at that! There's no one for the army to fight here.'

'I am Kollarin the Finder,' said the man in green, rising. 'And I do not lie either.'

Obrin stood and walked down the hill. A soldier offered him a bowl of stew, which he accepted, and for a while he sat with his men, listening to them talk of whores they had known, or lands they had campaigned in. Then he ladled more stew into his bowl and walked to where Fell was tied. The clansman looked up at him, but said nothing.

Obrin squatted down. 'I have some food foryou,' he said, lifting the bowl to Fell's lips. The clansman turned his head away and Obrin laid down the bowl. 'I'm sorry, Fell,' he said softly. 'I like you, man, and I think you did right. I hope to God the woman gets far away from here.' The clansman's eyes met his, but no words were spoken by him.

Returning to the fire, Obrin ordered the cooking pots cleaned and stowed, then set sentries for the night. Kollarin was once more sitting by the stream, his green cloak wrapped about his shoulders.

Using his saddle for a pillow, Obrin removed his chain-mail shoulder-guard and his breastplate, unbuckled his sword and dagger belt and settled down to sleep.

In all his seventeen years of soldiering sleep had always come easily. In the blazing heat of the Kushir plains, in the harsh, bone-biting cold of the Cleatian mountains, at sea in a gale-tossed ship, Obrin could just close his eyes and will his body to 120.

rest. It was, he knew, a vital skill for a veteran. In sleep a man regained his strength and rested his soul. In war a soldier's life depended on his power, speed and reflexes. There were few second chances for a tired warrior on a battlefield.

But sleep was slow to come tonight.

Obrin lay on his back, staring up at the bright stars and the lantern moon.

He was walking along a narrow trail, beneath an arched tunnel made up of the interlinked branches of colossal trees on both sides of the way. Obrin stopped and glanced back. The tunnel seemed to stretch on for ever, dark and gloomy, pierced occasionally by a shaft of moonlight through a gap in the branches.

Obrin walked on. There were no night sounds, no owl calls, no rustling of wind in the leaves. All was silence, save for his soft footfalls on the soft earth. Ahead was a brilliant shaft of moonlight, a beautiful column of light that shone upon a cross- roads. Obrin approached it, and saw a warrior sitting on a rock by the wayside.

The man was huge, his long white hair gleaming in the moonlight. He wore his beard in two white braids which hung to his silver breastplate. A double-handed claymore was plunged into the earth before him, its hilt a glistening silver, while a huge crimson stone was set into the pommel.

'It is a fine weapon, 'said Obrin.

The man stood. He towered over Obrin by a good Southland foot. 'It has served me well,' he said, his voice rich and deep. Obrin looked up into his pale, deep-set eyes. They were the colour of a winter storm-cloud, grey and cold. Yet Obrin felt no fear.

'Where are we?' he asked.

The tall warrior extended his arm, sweeping it across the three paths that began in the pillar of light. 'We are at the cross-roads,' said the warrior. Obrin's attention was caught by the man's single gauntlet of red iron. It was splendidly crofted, seemingly as supple as leather.

'Who are you?' he asked 'A man who once travelled,' answered the warrior. 'Many paths, many roads, many trails. I walked the mountains, Obrin, and I rode the lowlands. Many paths, some crooked, some straight. All were hard.'

'The warrior's paths,' said Obrin. 'Aye, I know them. No hearth, no home, no kin.

Only the Way of Iron.' Weariness settled upon him and he sat down.

121.

The warrior seated himself beside the Southlander. 'And which path do you walk now?' asked the stranger.

'Igo where lam sent. What else can a soldier do? Seventeen yean I have served the Baron. I have matched friends die, and my boots have collected the dust of many nations. Now I have an aching shoulder and a knee that does not like to march. In three years I can claim my hectare of land. Maybe I will - if I can still remember how to farm. What of you? Where are you going?'

'Nowhere I haven't teen,' answered the man. 7 too wanted to farm, and to breed cattle. But I was called upon to right a wrong. It was a small matter. A nobleman and his friends were hunting, and they rode through afield and trampled a child playing there. Her legs were broken badly and the family had no coin to pay for a Wycca man to heal her. I went to the nobleman and asked for justice.'

Obrin sighed. 'I could finish that story for you, man. There's no justice for the poor. Never was, never will be. Did he laugh in your face?'

The giant shook his head. 'He had me flogged for my impudence.'

'What happened to the girl?'

'She lived. I went back to the nobleman and this time he paid.'

'What brought about his change of heart?'

'There was no change of heart. I left his head on a spike, and I burned his home to the ground. It was a grand fire, which burned bright and lit the sky for many a mile. It also lit men's hearts, and that fire burned for thirty years.'

'By God, did they not hunt you?'

'Aye. And then I hunted them.'

'Andyou were victorious?'

'Always.' The warrior chuckled. 'Until the last day.'

'What happened-then?'

Idly the warrior drew his sword from the earth and examined the glistening blade. The ruby shone like fresh blood, the blade gleaming like captured moonlight. 'The war was over. Victory was won. The land was at peace, and free. I thought my enemies were all dead. A dreadful mistake for a warrior. I was riding across my lands, gazing upon High Druin, watching the storm-clouds gather there. They surprised me. My horse was killed, but not before the gallant beast got me to the edge of the forest. They came at me in a pack: men I had fought alongside, even promoted. Not friends, you understand, but comrades-in-arms.

My heart was wounded each time I killed one of them. The wounds to my body were as nothing to my grief.'

'Why did they turn on you?'

The warrior shrugged, then thrust the sword once more into the earth. 7 122.

wasaking, Obrin. And I was arrogant and sure. I treated some of them with disdain. Others I ignored. There were always ten men queuing for every favour I could grant. And I made mistakes. Once I had freed them from the tyranny of the oppressor I became a tyrant in their eyes. Who knows, maybe they were right. I do not judge them.'

'How did you survive alone against so many?'

7 did not.'

Obrin was shocked. 'You . .. you are a spirit then?'

We both are, Obrin. But you have a body of flesh to which you will return.'

7 don't understand. Why am I here?'

7 called you.'

'For what purpose?' asked Obrin. 7 am not a king, nor of any worth.'

'Do not be so harsh on yourself, man,' said the warrior, laying his iron gauntlet on Obrin's shoulder. 'You have merely lost your way. And now you are at the cross- roads. You may choose a new path.'

Obrin gazed around him. All the pathways looked the same, interminable tunnels beneath arched trees. 'What difference does it make?'he asked. 'They are identical.'

The warrior nodded. 'Aye, that is true. All roads lead to death, Obrin. It is inescapable. Even so, there is a right path.'

Obrin laughed, but the sound was bitter and harsh. 'How would I know it?'

'Ifyou cannot recognize it, then you must find a man already upon it and follow him. You will know, Obrin. Let the heart-light shine. It will light the way.'

Obrin awoke with a start. The dawn light was streaking the sky, though the stars had not yet faded. His thoughts were muddled and his mouth felt as if he'd swallowed a badger. With a groan he sat up. His right shoulder ached abominably. Rising from his blankets, he walked to a nearby tree and emptied his bladder. Everyone else was still asleep, including the prisoner. Obrin hawked and spat, then stretched his right arm over his head, seeking to ease the ache.

The hill sentry walked down and saluted.'Nothing to report from the watch, sergeant,' he said, 'but there are riders to the south.'

'Clansmen?' This was unlikely, for there were few horses in the mountains.

'No, sir. Soldiers from Citadel, I think. Too far away to be sure.'

123 *(jet a breakfast fire going,' ordered Obrin. Moving to the stream, he stripped to the waist and washed in the cold water, splashing it over his face and hair.

Kollarin joined him. 'Sleep well, sergeant?' 'I always sleep well.' 'No dreams?'

Obrin cupped some water into his hands and drank noisily. There was an edge to the man's voice, like a plea of some kind. Obrin looked at him. 'Yes, I dreamt,' he said. 'You?'

Kollarin nodded. 'Did it make sense to you?'

'Are dreams supposed to make sense?'

Kollarin moved in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'He has come to me before - back in Citadel when I was hunting the woman. He told me to leave her be. That is why I only agreed to hunt down the man. Do you know who he is?'

'I thought you only read minds for coin,' Obrin reminded him. The sergeant stood and shivered as the cold morning breeze touched his wet skin. Hastily he donned his shirt, then returned to his blankets and put on his armour. Kollarin remained by the stream.

A soldier with a swollen nose approached Obrin. 'All quiet in the night,' he said, his voice thick and nasal.

'How's the nose, Bakker?'

'Hurts like Hell. I was tempted to cut the bastard's throat last night, but I reckon I'll just get myself dungeon duty and watch the torturer at work on him.'

'We ride in one hour,' said Obrin.

They breakfasted on porridge and black bread, but the prisoner steadfastly refused the food Obrin brought to him. With the meal finished, the cooking pots cleaned and stowed, Obrin's men prepared for the journey back to Citadel.

'Riders coming!' shouted one of the men. Obrin wandered to the edge of the hollow and waited as the ten-man section rode in. They were led by Lieutenant Masrick. Obrin saluted as the man dismounted.

'I see you caught him,' said the officer, ignoring the salute. 'About time, sergeant.

Has he told you where the girl is?'

'No sir. I was ordered to bring him back, not interrogate him.'

Masrick swung to Bakker, who was just about to douse the breakfast fire. 'You there! Keep that fire going.' Slipping his dagger 124.

from its sheath, he tossed it to Bakker. 'Heat the point. I want it glowing red.'

Masrick strode to where Fell was tied, then aimed a savage kick into the prisoner's belly, doubling him over. 'That,' said the officer, 'is for nothing at all.

What follows will, however, have value. Are you listening, clansman?'

Fell raised his head and met the officer's stare. He said nothing. Masrick knelt before him and punched him full in the face. Fell's head snappped back, cannoning against the tree-trunk. 'You killed a cousin of mine. He was a wretch, but he owed me money. That was bad. But it will be worth much more to me to find the woman and bring her back to the Baron. I think you'll help me. All you clansmen think you are tough. But trust me, when I have burned out your left eye you'll do anything to save the sight in the other."

The soldiers had gathered round the scene in a sweeping half-circle. Obrin gazed at their faces.They were eager for the entertainment. Kollarin was standing back from them, his expression impossible to read. Bakker brought the heated knife to the officer; the hilt was wrapped in a rag, the point hissing as Masrick took it.

'Lieutenant!' Obrin's voice barked out. Masrick was startled and he almost dropped the knife.

'What? Make it quick, man, the knife is cooling!'