At that moment, as he considered the unthinkable treachery of his servant, the Destroyer was startled to see the remaining oil in the Bowl of Fire begin to smoke. Deorc was trying to contact him. In an instant his anger burst all restraint, and the bowl roared into flame. Barely conscious, Stella was thrown across the room, ending in a crumpled heap against the far wall; and as she came to herself, her mind aching with the agony the black-robed man had inflicted on her, she was able to watch what happened.

In the Outer Chamber of the Hall of Meeting, the blue fire erupted into a howling inferno. The Arkhoi of Vertensia and Firanes disappeared screaming into the flames, as did the table. The remaining Council members scattered, some running, others thrown by the force of the blast. Deorc alone withstood the furnace that began to eat into the marble floor, holding his ground, awaiting his master's response to his failure.

What emerged from the conflagration was not a voice. Instead, the red mouth spewed blue flame like a vast rotten hand. It reached out and took him around the throat, then jerked him forward into the heart of the fire. Before he had time to protest, Deorc found himself ripped away from Instruere, transported through a tunnel of shrieking agony and deposited at the feet of the Undying Man.

'I command your soul,' said the voice, with a sharpness that cut at him like the daggers in the hands of the torturers of Andratan. He could not breathe, let alone reply. He could not take in what had just happened to him. 'You kept secrets from me. You schemed against me. You disobeyed my word by taking the girl for your own.' The evidence was laid out in front of Deorc, who scrabbled and retched on the cold concrete floor.

'I entrusted my power to you, power enough to deal with the opposition in Instruere, but you wasted it. Now learn how I deal with those who are untrue!'

Stella hauled herself to her knees, unable to believe she was watching the one thing she had wished for so fervently. She remembered hanging from chains in the tower of the House of Worship, going over and over an imaginary story in her mind, one in which the hated Deorc abused her and boasted of it. She remembered trying desperately to force the story deep into her memory, so that when the Destroyer questioned her, as she knew he eventually would, he might come across the memory and believe his lieutenant false.

And so, beyond every hope, it had proved. The day of her revenge had come.

Farr Storrsen walked with an angry stiffness, a rage that drove him forward. Had anyone asked him in those first furious days where he was going, he would not have been able to supply them with an answer, even if he had been inclined to speak.

He felt he had a right to his rage. He had been involved in a quest the like of which he had never heard, had for the first time in his life been right at the heart of things, had witnessed the finding and the raising of the Jugom Ark. Right there, at the Bearer's side! And suddenly, so suddenly, everything went wrong. His counsel had not been listened to, and the Company elected to make allies of the losian. When he walked out, no one had come running after him, begging him to return. Well, then. He would return home, would stop only to gather the ashes of his dead brother, and scatter them on the grassy tops of the Vinkullen Hills. Wild, open and free, where no one told you what to do and no one forced you to befriend half-men. Where the cold winds would shrivel your soul.

Day and night he walked, powered by his anger and deep bitterness. With the long strides of a mountain man he covered many miles between sunrise and sunset, and as many again at night.

He had food in his pack, so did not need to forage or purchase meals from the inns he passed.

Water was plentiful on the northern roads of Deuverre; shallow, swift rivers crossed the road regularly on their journey down from the Remparer Mountains over the horizon to the northwest. He stopped for nothing but brief snatches of sleep, spoke to no one, and did not turn aside from his road. Within a week he was high up on the Rhinns of Torridon, near the borders of Treika, having left Deuverre, civilisation and the Jugom. Ark far behind him.

The moon, almost full, hung low over the Westway in a cool night sky clear of cloud. Farr crested a grass-clothed saddle, and glanced up at the shadowy ruins of castles on the brows of high hills to the right and to the left. Quite possibly the builders of these ancient holds had been enemies, ranged against each other, separated only by this valley he now walked through, a no-man's land of hatred that prevented people working and playing together. As he drew level with the broken walls, he imagined children's laughter coming from within in times of peace, then the screams and cries as siege was laid and walls torn down. He wondered how Instruere might look in a few years' time, whether people would wander past the ruins of the great City and wonder who used to live there. It would serve them right. How could friendship with the losian please the Most High? He shrugged his shoulders and carried on, but could not get the ominous image of the ruined walls out of his mind, the sound of laughter suddenly silenced. The brown armies will not reach Vinkullen, he told himself, but his mood did not improve.

The moon rose into the silver sky like the eye of an accuser, and he lowered his head to be rid of it. Thus it was he did not see the hundreds of lights spread out ahead of him, coming up the slope towards him, bobbing slowly as though on the back of ponderous beasts. The sound of singing finally jerked his head up, and in a moment he would never forget, Farr Storrsen beheld the Army of the North marching to Instruere, moon-washed and night-cloaked, arrayed for battle.

There were aurochs in the van, dozens of them, none so mighty as Wisent, but great beasts nonetheless, shaggy hair gleaming in the silver light. Other warriors were mounted on tall warhorses. The vast bulk of the army travelled on foot, rank after rank spread out on the silver grass at either side of the paved road, each man carrying a torch in his hand, a sword at his hip, a staff on his back, a quiver on his shoulder. At the head of this impossible army walked a small, squat figure, one which, as it drew close to the astonished Farr, gave him a shout.

Laughter followed the shout, and three other small figures emerged from the front ranks of the army and ran towards him.

Farr thought his heart would burst with joy as the four men surrounded him, crying his name aloud, slapping him on the back, miming the carrying of fur bales or the shooting of rapids, and laughing, always laughing. Tears flowed from his eyes at their greeting; unashamedly he wept, and a shadow left him on the Westway that night, never to return, as he laughed with the Fodhram.

The thing on the stone floor could not possibly still be alive, but it was. Stella begged for the punishment to stop, for that which once had been a man, however evil, to be granted release; but the grunting and twitching continued unabated. Thus Stella learned there are limits even to revenge.

'I trust this is instructive,' said the voice. 'You would do well to remember this for the rest of your life. This is what happens to those who think they can keep things from me. This traitor will not die. He will be collected and taken to the fortress he once ruled, where he will be imprisoned in the deepest dungeon, among the instruments he knows so well. Some of those who served him in the past will be delighted to meet him again in such circumstances. Do not be mistaken: worse than this will happen to you should you ever think to deceive me.'

Oh, but I have, she said silently, in that secret place of defiance. I have.

The evening of the day of the Battle of Struere Gate began with a dull sunset, red rays peeping from under a blanket of cloud, momentarily bathing the grey city walls in a sombre light before fading quickly into darkness. The sun's last rays lingered a moment longer on the Tower of Worship, the tallest of the City's buildings. Built by the First Men in remembrance of Dona Mihst, as were all the Four Halls of Instruere, the slender tower rose plain and unadorned from the squat Hall of Worship. High up in the tower, in a room with windows facing to the four points of the compass, nine men watched the sun slip behind the Veridian Borders far to the south-west.

The Arkhos of Deruys turned to his fellow Councillors. 'So ends a day of dread,' he said to them. 'If you follow my advice, so also ends the Council of Faltha.'

Haurn the Craven added hesitantly: 'Deorc is gone, the Arkhos of Nemohaim is gone, half the Instruian Guard is gone, and we are left to face the wrath of the City. I don't want to be executed just to appease the anger of the masses!' He made no attempt to hide the fear in his voice.

'Haurn the Craven indeed!' cried the Arkhos of Treika from beside the eastern window, from which the spreading darkness reached into the room. 'We may yet hold the City! Or if not, at least the parts that matter!'

'We have hundreds of loyal guardsmen ready to do our bidding,' added the Arkhos of Straux. 'We do not need recent arrivals from insignificant kingdoms' - he cast a glance towards the Arkhos of Deruys - 'to tell us how to order our affairs. If no one else has the courage to stand by the Grand Alliance we have made, then we three remaining of the original signatories to that alliance will be happy to arrange its defence.' He indicated Treika and Tabul, who made their way in silence and stood either side of him.

'Ah, the positioning,' murmured the Arkhos of Deuverre to his friend the Arkhos of Plonya, in a voice unwisely, or perhaps purposely, loud. 'And in the unfortunate absence of Deorc, the Arkhos of Straux would be happy to lead us in that defence.'

'If not I, then another of those who first sought the favour of the Lord of Bhrudwo, and under no circumstances one who is but recently bought!' A fatal anger, fuelled by fear and masked by a veneer of politeness, threatened for a moment to overtake them all. Deuverre flushed and lowered his head, muttering an insincere apology and defusing the moment. Though by agreement there were no swords here in this room, no weapons of any kind, it was foolishness to make enemies. A word from one of the others and he might not make it out of the Hall of Worship alive.

Deruys seemed to have no such concerns. 'So your counsel is to stay and make a fight of it. I do not agree. It is time to put aside alliances foolishly made and accommodate the present realities. There is no merit in entrusting ourselves to one who is blinded by loyalty to a cause that is lost. In fact,' he continued as the Arkhos of Straux took a step forward towards him, 'such a person, rather than being promoted, may need to be removed from the office he currently holds.'

'So, that's how it stands, is it?' Straux growled. His hand flashed under his tunic and emerged holding a thin-bladed knife. 'Then, in the name of the Undying One, you should die!' Joined by the Arkhoi of Tabul and Treika, he advanced confidently on the weaponless Deruys.

Only to discover he was not weaponless, and neither were the two other Arkhoi who moved quickly to support him. Short swords and knives were drawn from secret places and held at the ready. 'Betrayed!' the Arkhos of Straux snarled. 'You have planned this in secret!'

'As you have,' Deruys laughed. 'The problem for you is you have fewer supporters for your plan.' He moved to the door, rapped on it with the hilt of his throwing blade and was answered by a servant, head deferentially lowered. 'The chains?' Deruys asked him.

'They are being fetched, my lord,' came the answer. 'Forgive our tardiness, lord; we had some difficulty on the stairs with servants of the Arkhoi over there.' He pointed to the three crestfallen figures in front of the south window. 'Two of your servants are dead, I am sorry to report, as are all of theirs.'

The chains arrived some minutes later. The Arkhoi of Straux, Treika and Tabul were disarmed briskly and, in spite of repeated protests, were chained to hooks set in the walls as though there expressly for the purpose.

The Arkhos of Deruys moved over to where Straux hung, feet not quite touching the floor.

Already the strain was beginning to show on the captive's face. 'From here you can see much of Instruere,' Deruys said to him conversationally. 'Perhaps the view might help you consider how you might better have looked after these people's interests.' Then he added, in a voice so low that only Straux could hear: 'Did you never wonder at my easy adoption of your traitorous cause? My king would never have sent anyone who might have been corrupted by the likes of you.'

'But - I saw you in The Pinion. I watched what you did! Do the others know of this perfidy?'

'Of course the others do not know, and would not believe you if you told them. As for The Pinion, 1 paid the price my king decided 1 had to pay. 1 have nightmares about it every night.

Do you?' And with that he turned his back on the man in chains.

Before closing and locking the door to the Room of Four Windows in the Tower bf Worship, he put his head back through the opening. '1 will have no nightmares over your fate,' he said quietly.

In the same hour the servants of the remaining Councillors were fighting and dying on the stairs to the Tower, members of the Instruian Guard now under the control of the Company were being addressed by their former captain. Disarmed, dishonoured, surrounded by merchants and labourers, peasants and city-dwellers, men, women and children armed with makeshift weapons - and now also equipped with their own - they listened with downcast hearts as they were told what lay behind their ignominy.

The Captain of the Guard was a persuasive man. The Arkhos of Nemohaim owed much of his former power in this city to the love these soldiers held for their tall, raven-haired captain.

Firm but fair, this quiet, practical man always placed himself at the forefront of any task he asked his guardsmen to perform. He had joined the Guard as an under-age recruit, escaping from the sewer-gangs of the old city of Struere. Working his way through the ranks, the handsome soldier gained himself a following. A series of wise commanders recognised his usefulness by setting him the most difficult tasks, which he had completed unquestioningly.

So it was that the Arkhos of Nemohaim found him, promoting him over a number of those commanders to be the youngest Captain of the Guard ever known. Loyal to a fault, the captain came to realise what his master really was, but could not oppose him without undoing his soldier's code, and thereby his own meaning, his personal centre of balance.

This he explained to his men. He told them about his journey south with the Arkhos. He emphasised his respect for the youth from the north, the Bearer of the Arrow; described how he'd seen the boy stretch out his arm and summon the River Aleinus to refill its banks, destroying his pursuers. He told them of the coming of the Jugom Ark, the Arrow which they had seen for themselves, and shared his version of events as they had unfolded in the Joram Basin, a story none of them had heard.

Then he told them of the Destroyer, and of the bitter betrayal planned by the Council of Faltha. The murmuring and muttering among the men increased in volume as he described how the Council had promised to open the gates of Instruere to the Destroyer's hordes. Not only did they understand that they, as soldiers, would have been the first victims of this betrayal, but they also despised this lack of loyalty. Soldiers such as they recognised the value of oath-keeping.

Now their captain's words were accompanied by angry shouts, which only grew louder when they were told the people they attacked in front of the Hall of Lore three nights ago were not Escaigne, as they had been told, but instead were merely untrained citizens. Among the Instruian Guard, commissioned to protect the Great City, the news that they were tricked into killing their own citizens came as a shock to many.

The Captain of the Guard seized on the moment. 'The Council of Faltha is corrupt. Their actions render void the oaths we swore to them,' he said bluntly. 'But our oath to uphold order in the City still holds. I propose that we pledge allegiance to the Jugom Ark, and to the man who bears it. Choose swiftly! Look, the sun sets!'

He pointed to the northeast, where the upper part of the tower glowed a dull red above the roofs of the city. 'By the time the last ray of sun leaves the Tower of Worship, I expect you so to swear. You will do this by coming forward and standing in this open space in front of me.

There you will be reissued with your weapons and await your command. Those who choose not to swear will be held prisoner until such time as the threat to the City has ended. There are but a few moments left. Choose!'

In less than a minute only a few dozen guardsmen remained seated in front of the Struere Gate. A number of these men tried to come forward but were prevented by their fellows, who suspected them of being too deeply entwined with the old Council. Others were not willing to forsake their hope of reward, and placed their faith in being rescued by the bulk of the Instruian Guard, who must even now be preparing to attack this renegade Company. The very tip of the Tower of Worship flickered, then the sun withdrew its finger and shadow came to claim it.

The Haufuth turned and shook the hand of the Captain of the Guard. 'Thank you,' he said with feeling. 'Your words may have saved hundreds of lives.'

'Thousands will be spent before this is done,' the man responded gruffly. 'Yet that is as it should be. We will not stand for the betrayal and slaughter of our people.' He turned on his heel and directed a level gaze at the huge figure of the Arkhos of Nemohaim, then deliberately spat on the ground and walked away to speak to his soldiers.

'Eloquent,' Kurr said approvingly, 'especially the last part. He raises an excellent question with his gesture. What shall we do with the Arkhos of Nemohaim?'

The question remained unanswered as Kurr and the Haufuth stepped into the pavilion to report to Leith, who had just awoken from a much-needed sleep. Three fraught days had taken their toll; in truth Leith had experienced about enough decision-making to last him a while.

He felt anew the wonder, the continued awkwardness of the situation, as the man who had been his village headman - who still was, technically -and the farmer from whom he had drawn back in fear a few short months ago brought him a respectful report of what had taken place outside.

'Ensure they are fed,' he said to them, and they nodded. 'We should have some stores remaining. Encourage those of the crowd who remain to bring enough for one soldier when they return tomorrow.'

Sage words, he thought, but they were not his. Hal spent a few moments talking to him earlier this afternoon: he had anticipated the defection of the Guard to the Company.

'Bring the Arkhos of Nemohaim to me,' Leith added, as a thought occurred to him. Hal was not the only one who could come up with clever ideas.

'Is that wise?' the Haufuth said, eyebrows raised. 'At least he will require a guard.'

'No guard. I have a defence he will not challenge, not while he has a deep scar on his right hand to remind him.'

'Buta"'

'No guard.' His voice was edged with a finality that even the old farmer chose not to argue with.

Some time later the Arkhos of Nemohaim entered the pavilion and sat on a wide, low bench which groaned under him. 'You've decided to be rid of me, haven't you,' he said flatly, before Leith could offer a word. The youth from Loulea could not miss the deep, dark hunger in the man's eyes, as though Leith's confirmation would be the best news in the world.

'I have not,' Leith answered him. 'You will decide that.'

'How so?' The eyes deepened, if that was possible.

Leith laid the Jugom Ark on the table between them. Quiescent since the battle with the blue fire, the Arrow nevertheless began to char the wooden surface of the table.

'Take it,' Leith said. 'Pick it up. If you can. Then take leadership of the Company and do what you will with us.' He sat back and watched the man's eyes carefully.

For an instant they hollowed out, as though two passages had opened into a cavern at the dark centre of the world. Then they changed again, became hooded, and the Arkhos laughed.

'Grown a lot, haven't you,' he acknowledged. 'You know I can't touch it. You know that I want to.' The wheezing voice was heavy with bitterness.

'Then swear allegiance to me. Swear on the Arrow. Do service to this City, to this land, that might make up in part for the things you have done.'

'And the alternative?'

'If you will not make a contribution to the care and protection of Faltha, you will be tried and judged for your crimes,' Leith said. 'No one knows of the offer I am making you now. Will you swear?'

The Arkhos of Nemohaim held his gaze, saying nothing, but a shrewd look slowly settled on his face. Leith waited, disconcerted, feeling that somehow the knowing silence was draining his authority.

The obese man smiled. 'Certain things become clear to me. Your older brother has exercised mercy against all advice, to good effect. He befriended the Maghdi Dasht warrior, turning his heart. Others would have used him, then had him put to death out of fear. I would have. Your older brother now has a powerful weapon at his disposal. And you now wish to emulate him?'

'Why are we talking about my brother?' Leith snapped angrily. 'And why do you keep saying that he's older?'

'Is he not? Forgive me if I am mistaken.' The smile became wider.

'What does that have to do with it? Will you serve me, or not?'

'Is that really the question?' The Arkhos appeared to be struggling to contain his mirth.

'Should you not be asking why you wish to copy your crippled older brother?'

'I wish no such thing! My feelings are my own concern!' But even though he was not touching it, the Arrow flared briefly, betraying him.

'Is that so? Then why are you here, unless it is to prove you are his equal in intellect, in compassion, in wisdom, in power? Why am I here, unless it is to make me your servant in the same way the Bhrudwan is his?'

He's taunting me, he's taunting me, Leith knew, but he could not formulate any way of rebutting the Arkhos. There he sat, with the power of the world at hand, completely powerless in the presence of this man.

Because he spoke the truth.

'Now things are clear between us,' the Arkhos of Nemohaim continued. 'I know you better than you know yourself. In spite of what I have said, you will continue to deny it to my face.

Ah well, let me consider your offer. You will never make a tame pet of me. I will not perform like a trained dassie so you can convince your friends and family of your worth. Perhaps there is nothing I can do for you.'

'I won't beg you, but I won't kill you either,' Leith said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it level, free from betraying emotion. 'I need advice, and you might be able to help.

Go and think about it. If by this time tomorrow you cannot swear to my service, I will have you sent for trial.'

Slowly, insolently, the Arkhos of Nemohaim stood, pushing himself up from the table, his eyes never leaving those of the Arrow-bearer. 'Having access to power does not make you powerful,' he whispered, then left the pavilion.

Leith watched him go, feeling very young, wanting desperately to ask the voice of the Arrow what to do, but afraid.

Graig burst in to the tent to find him slumped over the table, head in his hands. 'My lord, my lord Leith!' he cried, startling the young man out of wherever his mind had taken him. 'Come quickly! There are people here to see you!'

'Bring them here,' Leith said wearily. 'Bring them to the pavilion.' Graig left the tent before Leith realised he had not asked who the people were.

He found out soon enough. In came six cloaked and hooded figures, with two of the Instruian Guards as escorts. 'Graig! Graig!' he shouted, suddenly aware that these guardsmen had weapons, when all were supposed to be weaponless.

'No need,' said one of the figures, throwing back his hood to reveal steely grey hair and deep brown eyes. 'We are not here to harm you. Even if we were, I am not certain we could, if all I hear around this City is true.'

'I remember you!' Leith said, astonished. 'You sat beside me at the evening banquet, at the palace of the King of Deruys. Why are you here and not with the king?'

The man nodded soberly. 'I am here at his request,' he said. 'The king sent me to Instruere to replace the previous Arkhos of Deruys, who was put to death by Deorc. I deceived the Bhrudwan into thinking I had betrayed my king.' He smiled then, and the sight of it chilled Leith's blood, for it held a menace for his king's foes. 'With me are five other Arkhoi who believe the betrayal has gone far enough. We are here to turn over the rule of the City to your Company and, with it, the remainder of the Instruian Guard. It must be said that not all of the Arkhoi here are entirely innocent, but with your agreement we seek to exchange the keys to the Four Halls for your pardon. Only by paying this small price will you achieve control of the City without bloodshed.'

'And with it, the chance to leave for the Bhrudwan borders even earlier than we had planned!'

Graig cried. 'That's why I let them in. It seemed too good a chance to miss!'

Without thinking, Leith formed a question in his mind, and was about to ask the voice, but caught himself just in time. Who cares what the voice thinks, he admonished himself. This will be certain evidence 1 am worthy to hold the Arrow. He knew the thought was wrong, but he was still angry over what the Arkhos of Nemohaim had said.

'Very well then,' he said. 'You will swear allegiance to' the Jugom Ark. No doubt you've heard stories of what it can do to those who try to deceive it.' Actually, Leith thought, it has done nothing but help and heal. He said nothing of this as the six Arkhoi knelt and swore.

Just then the Company began to file into the pavilion, readying themselves for their evening meal. Leith tried to explain who these people were, what he had done, what it might mean to them, but even to his ears it sounded as though he had acted thoughtlessly, without asking the others.