'Do you see?' he said to Stella as he led her back to her litter. 'Do you finally understand? The army led by your villager friend is already decimated even before it meets mine. My plans are a thousand years in the making - and, thanks to you, I am aware of what my Enemy intends to do. His plans are set in motion. They are not easily changed, depending as they do on weak-willed mortals, whereas my plans are flexible. Now I have you here, I am ready to capture the Right Hand of the Most High for my own. I will have a hand in which to hold the Jugom Ark!

And you,' his voice lowered to an intimate murmur as he turned to her, 'I have foreseen that you are the one who will bring him to me.'

Leith's army crossed the Aleinus for the last time at Turtu Donija, the chief city of Piskasia.

The citizenry came out of their homes and down from the terraced fields to watch the soldiers make their way carefully over the narrow swingbridge.

The entertainment lasted all of the day, with the last of the wagons coaxed across the rickety structure just before true night settled on the wide valley.

The Falthan leaders did not make the journey across the bridge until early the next morning.

Forewarned by Mahnum's knowledge, they expected stern resistance, or at the very least some sort of deceit or delaying tactic, from the Piskasian monarch named as traitor by the Destroyer, but there had been no opposition thus far to their journey through the Fisher-country. As far as they could tell, they had been observed by no one other than a few farmers and fishermen. They experienced no opposition even in the sprawling town itself. With a desire to dispense some justice, to avenge the martyr's death of the Arkhos of Piskasia - who had remained true even when his king played his country false - Leith took the time to bring his leaders and a small troop of mounted Instruian Guard to the main palace. They found it empty, deserted with signs of haste. Good. The king had heard of their coming, it seemed, and fled.

They stayed in the castle that night, eating what remained in the king's larder, and sitting up late beside a warm fire. And early next morning they woke to the sound of a crowd.

Five thousand men filled the city square, armed with every conceivable kind of crude implement that might be considered a weapon, and they uttered a thin cheer as the Company filed out of the palace gate. An obviously reluctant man, spokesman for this impromptu army, shuffled forward to meet them. The Company remained alert in case this was some kind of trick, though they thought it unlikely.

The greasy-haired man cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the flickering Arrow and at the swords of the mounted guardsmen. 'We hear about your army,' he said awkwardly, as if unfamiliar with the common Falthan tongue. 'You go to fight the Bhrudwans, people say.

Well, we know about Bhrudwans here. They come through Piskasia on their way west to the slave-markets of Hamadabat. They lie, they steal, they treat us like dirt. Our king, he will not protect us, so we drive him away. Now we want to come with you and fight the Bhrudwans so they do not invade our lands.' Having said his piece, he stepped quickly back into the throng.

Leith turned to his generals. More soldiers would be a good thing - the number here in the square would come close to replacing the men lost in Vulture's Craw - but their attire and bearing did not inspire confidence. The Falthan leaders conferred and Jethart stepped forward.

He spoke quietly, but his voice carried all the way across the square. Someone must be enhancing. Automatically Leith searched behind him for Hal, but he had not accompanied them to the castle, and neither had his parents. He began to search his memory: when had he last seen any of them?

'If you go off to fight the Bhrudwans, one or two of you may be lucky enough to straggle back to your homes alive,' the old warrior said flatly. 'The rest won't. We would have to give you food and weapons, and spend much effort in trying to get you to the right place on the battlefield, yet you will still die.'

A few men in the crowd began to grumble angrily at these words.

'I do not doubt your courage. How could I? Here you are, ready to give your lives. But you would be far better remaining here, protecting your families, preparing your homes for winter, so that if a few Bhrudwans do eventually break through our lines, you will be ready for them.'

The muttering increased in volume, and it became apparent the crowd had no mind to listen to craven, if sound, advice. Not wanting a conflict, and genuinely concerned about their ability to escape unscathed if they remained to debate the issue, the leaders of the Falthan army took to their horses and rode for the bridge.

A day north of Turtu Donija it became clear the Falthan army was being followed. A rag-tag collection of Piskasians, far more than had gathered in the square, pursued them on foot and by horse. 'We will have to feed them,' Leith was told; 'they will hold us up. This is a disaster.'

But there appeared to be no Piskasian leaders to talk with, and no time to stop and talk to each one of the Piskasians individually.

Twenty-three days to go. The land either side of the much narrower, swifter Aleinus River looked desolate, empty of habitation, with few trees save the occasional gnarled survivor of better times. It began to rain lightly on the second day out of Turtu Donija; just a drizzle, but driven by an insistent east wind. The rain tasted stale, as though the water had been locked up in the clouds for years. Twenty-two days to go. On either bank of the Aleinus could be seen evidence of a huge flood that, according to locals they met, had torn through the area the previous spring. Trunks of huge trees, bleached by the sun, were strewn about like kindling wood, and large areas of raw earth exposed many spans above the river's dull surface. Anxiety rose within the leadership as for days the soldiers were forced to pick their way through veritable forests of driftwood as the cold rains fell. Eighteen days to go. The rains ceased on the same day a small town came into view on the opposite bank: someone told Leith it went by the name of Saumon, but he was so tired he hardly took it in. Up at dawn, pausing only for a hasty morning meal, riding from dawn to dusk, listening, consulting, counting and planning until his head swirled. Sixteen days to go. The informal Piskasian army had by now fallen some distance behind. On the advice of his generals Leith gave the order prohibiting the wagons from stopping for them. In this way, it was hoped, the Piskasians would be persuaded to return home. The snow-coated Wodranian Mountains that had overseen their progress all the way through the Fisher-lands now faded from view, drawing away leftwards from the river. Thirteen days to go. A small band of badly-equipped mercenaries came out of the Wodranian Mountains and offered their services to the Falthan army. Leith accepted despite the counsel of his generals: the Arrow had picked the Wodrani out, after all. Unity, he told his leaders. Finally they came to the end of the long Piskasian valley that ran south-west to north-east for nearly two hundred leagues. Nestled in a small hollow lay the tiny village of Adolina, a collection of low huts with tall chimneys, a league or so from the banks of the Aleinus. Leith's mighty army was exhausted, and there were still eleven days to go.

Wrapped in heavy robes to ward off the winter cold, the three conspirators met in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the Granary district. Part of the roof was open to the grey sky, and the cold flagstoned floor bore scorchmarks from burned beams fallen from the ceiling. They circled the small table in the centre of the room, as though they held swords in their hands and looked for a chance to strike. There were no chairs, and no one would have sat if there had been. 'You owe me your loyalty,' the fat man wheezed, pointing a pudgy finger at the older, thinner man. 'I rescued you from that dungeon, where they left you to moulder. You are mine, and your people are mine.'

The bird-like man sputtered, the skin around his throat tightening as he tried to formulate a reply.

'Don't worry,' the big man laughed, the sound a rasp to their ears. 'My leadership will not be onerous. Your wants and my wants are the same, after all; to be rid of these cursed northerners, and to lead this addled City into a new Golden Age. Now the northerners are gone, the City is a ripe ear of wheat ready to be harvested.'

The third man, silent until now, raised his hand. Unlike his co-conspirators he had a fair face, a liquid voice and a serenity that lent his words extra power. Glimpses of his habitual blue robe could be seen underneath a nondescript brown cloak.

'We both acknowledge you as the leader here,' said the third man, his blond hair flicking across his forehead as he leaned forward. 'There is no issue about this. Neither the Escaignian nor I have the stomach for what must be done, and I do not want the guilt on my soul. The Most High has told me that the fire will come to Instruere; and although I have listened with all my might, cloistering myself so as to hear any whisper, He speaks to me no longer. This can only be because something has happened that does not meet with His approval, so He waits until the wrongs are put to rights. The northerners and that deceiver Tanghin are wrongs, and though Tanghin has burned, the northern peasants still survive. They also must burn.'

The circling around the table continued.

'And so they shall!' cried the huge man, his eyes black caverns into a realm of nothingness.

'And not them alone. All those who oppose our rule will pay.' His face hungered with a frightening intensity, like a starving man contemplating a banquet of the finest food.

'You will gather the remnants of your followers,' he said, stopping his circling long enough to fix each of them with his terrible eyes. 'We do not need many, so speak only to those whose loyalty is unquestionable. Bring them here: we will meet here two nights from now, and I will tell you what we must do.'

'And Instruere will be ours?' asked the thin man, his face full of hope.

'Not just Instruere.' The reply was breathy with desire. 'Who knows how much of Faltha will be given into our hands?'

Remembering her time of imprisonment by Deorc, and recognising that though the conditions were different, the power-lessness was much the same, Stella reinstituted her disciplines. She forced herself to take an interest in the lands they travelled through, in the people she could see, in those few she came in contact with; excepting the Destroyer, of course. She tried to glean any hints she could about the condition and location of the Falthan army. She stretched her muscles, aware her futile week on the run had revealed her lack of fitness. And she looked for any way to slow the progress of the Bhrudwans - not that she expected to get the opportunity.

Currently the eunuch shared her litter. He brought her some appalling gruel, salty and full of lumps. She had eaten as much as she could take, then offered the rest to her jailer, who ate eagerly. The plump man had said little since her recapture, but had obviously suffered some kind of punishment: his eyes had a haunted cast to them, and his cheeks were sunken in his sad face. Perhaps he accepted her scraps because he was being deprived of food.

'You won't talk about yourself,' she said to him, her voice coaxing. 'You are not just your master's tool. Where were you born?'

The unhappy cast to his face deepened. Stella sensed he both wanted and feared to speak. She watched while the warring within him went on. Finally he sighed, shrugged his shoulders and spoke.

'I may talk of nothing other than what is necessary to the execution of my duties,' he said in his singsong voice. 'I cannot talk to you of myself.' There was definite regret in his words.

'Telling me about yourself is part of your duty,' said Stella earnestly, searching her mind for any justification. 'I will be more likely to confide in your master if I have already confided in you.'

'You wish to confide in me?' The words were soft, human, underlined by need. What horrible things had been done to this man?

'I wish us to talk with each other. Was it beautiful, the place you were born?'

He nodded almost imperceptibly; then, as if emboldened by his own action, nodded again.

'Yes,' he whispered. 'It was beautiful.'

She watched his eyes, looking for any sign of the Destroyer's sudden possession, but there was none. 'How was it beautiful?'

'The sea there is a glorious eggshell blue, and the waters are warm. The sun plays on the sea like a happy child. If I could have any wish, I would return home to the sea just once before I die.'

'When were you last there?'

'Many years ago.' His eyes filmed over: for a moment Stella started in fright, but the eunuch merely shuffled through his memories. 'Jena and I swam in the pools below her house. I remember laughing with her, I remember holding her. Later that summer I was chosen by the recruiters, and I travelled north with them to Malayu.' His eyes were now closed, and his face wore a look of pain, as though the memories troubled him.

'Recruiters?' She knew she had to be delicate, but there was so much at stake.

'My master is always looking for people of outstanding intelligence to serve him in Andratan.

My parents were so proud that I had been selected.' He paused, swallowed, then continued. 'I wonder if they are still alive.'

Stella began another question, but the eunuch continued on as though she had not spoken. 'At Andratan we were tested, and all but the most gifted were discarded. It is a place of unimaginable cruelty, my Lady; failure is never forgiven. They gelded me and shaved me, then brought me into the master's presence, where he bonded me to himself.' He opened his eyes. 'It was purest agony. He burns, he burns. Ah, Lady, kill yourself. Don't let him have you!'

A deep chill settled on her at these words. 'He has me already. Look at my prison!' She indicated the white lace and silk surrounding them.

'No, he has only imprisoned your body. Never let him trap your mind!'

Shocked, Stella reached out and took his fleshy hand in her own. 'I am so sorry. What can I do?'

The eunuch leaned forward so she could hear his tortured whisper. 'Kill me. Take my life!

End my suffering. He has set a prohibition in my mind so I cannot lift a finger to harm myself.

My only hope is to anger him enough that he will slay me.'

'What could you do?' she asked, horrified.

'What I have just done. Talked to you.'

'Will he kill you for talking to me?'

'He has dealt death to his servants for much less. Perhaps I will be fed to the fire. I would accept the pain if it will bring me release from his touch.'

Stella released his hand. 'And now he reaches out to touch the world. We must stop him.' She looked into his hopeless eyes. 'What is your name?'

For a moment he said nothing; then he spoke in a voice cracking with pain. 'I - I know it, Lady, but I may not say it. Should it pass my lips he would know, and there are many things he can do to increase suffering without extinguishing life. I have seen them all. I want to end my suffering, not prolong it. Forgive me.'

She nodded, and he put down her bowl. 'I must go,' he said. 'Look for me this evening. We will talk more, if he does not discover us.' He turned and struggled out of the litter.

'Goodbye,' Stella said quietly to his retreating back. 'Goodbye.' Come back soon.

Adolina was a beautiful place. Sheltered under the high plateau of the Nagorj, the northernmost town of Piskasia was a collection of steep-roofed homes separated by high hedges, of poplars and oaks, of gravelled roads and tree-lined lanes, all sparkling in the morning frost. A lump formed in Leith's throat as he rode up the wide road and into the village, at the head of a hundred horse. This looked so much, so very much like home.

Villagers came out of their homes to stare at the men and the horses. Leith stared back. That woman could be Merin, the Haufuth's wife - and the man at her side was large enough to be the Haufuth, if not so tall. There was Rauth from the village council; over here stood Stella's mother Herza. Those children playing around the feet of their elders, they could be Loulea's children.

Leith's gaze lifted from the village scene, following the spiralling chimney smoke up into the cold morning air, refocusing on the steel-blue slopes rising almost sheer behind the smoke, barren heights thrusting up until they met the overbright sky, their meeting a thin grey line.

Over that grey line the Bhrudwans will pour without warning. Down the slope they'll come shouting, obliterating anything not swift enough to get out of their way. Merin and Rauth and Herza will die, as will their children. Listen to them scream! The smoke turns thick and black, fire crackles at the base of the billowing clouds. The stony lanes run red. Then, suddenly, they are gone, as the Bhrudwans' grey shadow moves further down the valley. The village is quiet for a moment, save the groans of the dying and the sobbing of their children. The fires spread, shooting out from windows, licking at the eaves. Houses collapse in on themselves, timbers cracking, falling. Then silence. The snow begins, a light dusting as nature tries to bandage the wound.

It was a kind of double vision. Leith sat quietly on his horse and listened as Jethart spoke to the villagers, warning them of the trouble that might come; and at the same time, as though superimposed, he could see Loulea as well as Adolina and a hundred other villages, as though looking down a long tunnel, all burning, all overrun by the black tide.

The villagers would stay and fight, they informed the Falthans, and could not be deterred no matter what they were told. Some of the younger men had already run off, fetching rusty old swords which they now waved enthusiastically. On the brink of scolding them for their foolishness, Leith remembered the Company waving similarly rusty swords outside the Waybridge Inn at Mjolkbridge. Within a few days, he recalled, those swords were called on to defend against the men from Windrise.

But a few ragged bandits from Windrise cannot be compared to the Bhrudwan horde.

The Falthans were out of time: the difficult climb up the great Nagorj escarpment awaited them, and beyond it many days' hard slog to the Gap. They could debate with the Adolinan villagers no longer. Hopefully the Bhrudwans would never reach this gentle place.

The bulk of the great army passed to the west of the village, filing down narrow lanes or striking out across bare fields. They came together a league north of the town, at the very base of the escarpment, having replenished their wagons. Leith dearly wished he could protect this village, but he could not show favour even if he could afford to weaken his army. They left it behind, a group of homely dwellings in the wrong place.

The Falthan army travelled one of only two ways to enter Sna Vaztha, the largest and most isolated of the Sixteen Kingdoms, more isolated - by mountain and ice - than even desert-bound Sarista a thousand leagues to the south. The path zigzagged up the steep face of the escarpment, clinging on like a vine to a garden wall. The army halted for their midday meal facing the most staggering vista Leith had yet seen, the view owing as much to the crisp, cold air as to the scene itself. To their left the Aleinus River emerged from Sivera Alenskja, a sheer-sided, narrow-throated gorge cut into the escarpment, a jagged slash into blackness, while ahead and below them the wide Piskasian valley was laid out tike the whole world in miniature. Sunlight and shadow picked out every fold of the land; and, if Leith concentrated, he could make out the thin ribbon of the Aleinus River winding away to the horizon.

All afternoon they climbed the road, spiralling upwards like smoke from a chimney. At the head of the army, Leith could look down and see his men spread out along the road, seemingly almost all the way back to Adolina, which from this height was no more than a tiny dark patch at the foot of the slope. Up and further up they climbed, and by dusk, after seven leagues of hard toil, the escarpment stretched as far above them as ever.

Ten days to go. After a bitterly cold dawn, the beginnings of a west wind began to swirl about them. Tents were packed in silence, whether in awe of the stupendous landscape on which they clung like flies or in trepidation of the prospect of another day's footslogging, Leith did not know. The leaders of the army set a fast pace, determined not to sleep a second night on the great slope, and within the hour fifty thousand men panted and gasped like new recruits on their first march. 'It is the height,' his generals told Leith. 'The air is thinner up here. We must not tax the men too greatly.' But he drove them on, turning right and then left up the escarpment, not allowing even a moment's respite for a midday meal. At last, at the bitter end of the afternoon and just as he was about to give up and call a halt, the road levelled out and deposited them on the Nagorj.

Up here on the wide, featureless tableland the west wind howled as though an army of wolves snapped at their heels. They tried setting up camp, but after the first three tents were carried off into the eastern gloom, it was decided to trek back down the road and shelter just below the level of the plateau. An unpleasant night followed. The constant howling on the tableland above them ensured none but the most exhausted soldiers found sleep. Most lay wide awake on their pallets, longing for the comparative comfort of Adolina two days' march back down the escarpment.

Nine days to go. The target they had set for themselves might not be accurate, but it was all they had until more of their scouts returned. The strategists sent more scouts ahead, to warn the main army in case the Bhrudwans had already won the passage of the Gap. Ninety-one days gone, nine to go. The time saved rafting up the Aleinus had been more than lost in Vulture's Craw, but they had clawed back a few precious days with their hurried journey through Piskasia. Now they were more or less back to their original schedule. The March of a Hundred Days would soon succeed - or fail.

The eunuch did not return that afternoon, nor the next. Food was thrust into the litter through the curtain by servants not seen before, and though Stella scanned the horizons from her confines she saw nothing of him.

The Bhrudwan army now marched through a truly otherworldly landscape. Whenever Stella peered from her litter it was to gaze out on a rocky, greyish plain. Some distance to her right a small stream twisted and turned its way across the rock like a snake in a hurry to get out of the cold wind. It had dug for itself a narrow channel perhaps ten bodylengths wide and five deep.

Where the stream sliced into the rock it exposed virulent layers of poisonous-looking reds and ochres, quite unlike anything she had seen before, the stream a knife cutting through a rotten onion. With such inimical bedrock, it was no wonder little grew on the dry grey plain. No grass, no trees, nothing - except an extraordinary assortment of sharp-spined plants, some as high as trees, some low and spreading. Their browns and greens were the only relief from the grey tedium stretching into the distance, their spiky fingers thrusting upwards as though to pierce the iron-grey cloud canopy in their quest for water. In a few places rock and plant alike were overrun by what at first sight looked like sandhills, but were clearly made of pale flakes of some strange substance, as she discovered when they passed close enough for her to scoop some up in her hand. The flakes smelled faintly of - she struggled to remember - the sulphur on the slopes of Steffi mountain in Withwestwa Wood. She was about to discard the handful of flakes when they began to move - and a fat-legged spider bigger than her thumb emerged from under them, pincers clicking.

With a convulsive jerk she sent it on its way back to its grey home, scattering flakes all through her litter.

A strong wind blew up from somewhere ahead of them, raising clouds of abrasive dust that stung the eyes. Within the hour progress slowed to little more than a child's crawl. The litter now shook in an alarming fashion. After a few minutes of worry about her own safety, Stella realised her four bearers undoubtedly suffered in the dust storm outside, but when she tried to see how they fared, the wind and the glass-like shards beat her back. The northern girl pulled her silken curtains tightly closed and prayed for the safety of her bearers, who were almost certainly victims of the Destroyer, undeserving of the treatment they received. Paradoxically, she prayed the wind would continue, even intensify. She didn't really believe in the Most High any more, not after the falsity of Tanghin of the Ecclesia, but she prayed nonetheless.

It felt to Leith like he travelled with a huge hand on his back, propelling him forward. The horses were restive, spooked by the howling wind, which was even greater today than on each of the preceding four days. According to his generals, his army had made over fifteen leagues on each of the last three days: indeed, they told him, it was almost impossible to make less progress, blown along before the wind like thousands of autumn leaves. It should make things easier, Leith considered, but it has not. The wild calling of the wind wore away at everyone, setting their teeth on edge, shoulders clenched as though warding off the attack of a dangerous beast.

The Nagorj sapped his army. Perhaps it might be a place of beauty in summer, albeit of a harsh, minimalistic kind, but in winter it became a soulless land, cold and cruel, empty .of anything remotely human save the road stretching in front of them. Even the road seemed a bizarre artefact, made of crushed shells - where had the builders gotten shells from with no ocean within five hundred leagues? - and ran arrow-straight ahead of them. Some time in the last day it had turned, unnoticed, and now sped towards Sna Vaztha many days to the north.

The land on either side of the road had been leached of all colour: some small, green and prickly bushes provided the only relief from a tombstone-like greyness matching the overhanging sky. No wonder this place was known as the Eater of Travellers.

'Leith, can you spare me a moment?' A polite but firm voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

'Farr! What is it? How do things go with the losian army? Do they think we're going to make it in time?'

The Vinkullen man laughed, but it sounded strained. 'The Fodhram are exhausted but aren't prepared to admit it. Otherwise, everything is fine - as fine as it can be up here on this awful place. Look, Leith, I haven't come to talk to you about the losian.'

'Oh? What is it then?'

'It's about your brother.' Farr thrust out his chin a fraction, no doubt unconsciously, but to Leith it seemed a prelude to him raising his fists.

'The talk around the campfires and in the tents is that you've treated him too harshly. He goes off by himself in the evenings - no one knows where - and often his bed is not slept in. His eyes are red and he avoids people. Leith. . . well, I can't put it any plainer than this. You spied on Wira and me when we argued over his drinking. No, don't deny it, I know it was you. No matter. You heard what was said. When he died, a heavy weight settled on my shoulders, a weight I can't shake off. Every day I wish I could speak to him, just a few moments would do, to tell him I loved him even though I didn't understand what he was doing.'

'Don't go on; I know what you're saying,' said Leith sourly. 'Who sent you? Kurr? The Haufuth?'

Farr shook the reins of his horse, which took a few nervous steps back. Dust blurred the mountain man's features, rendering him little more than a silhouette.

'You are mistaken if you think 1 could be ordered by any man,' he snapped. 'I came here at my own behest. I thought you were grown up enough to hear the truth, but I was wrong. Do you think it was easy telling you how I feel?' He sawed at the reins, jerking his mount away from Leith.

'Wait! Farr, wait! Why shouldn't he come to talk to me? Why do I have to be the one?' But the Mjolkbridge man had gone, and Leith's voice sounded petulant even to his own ears.

Jethart had told him about the loneliness of command. But Leith had not imagined it would mean the loss of his friends. He missed the old days of the Company, the evening campfires in Withwestwa Wood, the conversations on the Westway. So much lost already, and so much more at stake.

Five days to go. Leith peered ahead through the murk, as though he might see the Gap simply by concentrating hard enough. A few bushes, a few rocks. No, not rocks, horsemen! With a cry he pulled up his mount. Behind him the Falthan army began the slow process of drawing to a halt.

Leith lifted the Jugom Ark, but even the light of the Flaming Arrow could not fully penetrate the dust. The horsemen drew nearer. Not enough to be an army, unless the army was hidden.

Even if it was a minute's ride along the road, we wouldn't see it in this dust storm.

Arrow-bearer! Leith Mahnumsen! The Most High be praised!' The leading horseman reined in, leaned forward and extended a hand towards the youth with the Arrow, who responded with a shout.