'You did not see what I saw!' he told her.

'But I have seen it,' she said softly. 'The overturned wagons, the looting and the deaths. And I can see your father with his arm around you, holding his cloak before your eyes. It was an evil day, Angel, but you must let it go. The memory is poisoning you.'

'Stay out of my head!' he roared suddenly, pulling back from her and striding towards the tavern.

'He carries demons in his soul,' said Belash.

'We all carry them,' added Senta.

Miriel sighed. 'He was only nine years old when he saw the attack, and the screams have been with him ever since. But he no longer sees the truth - perhaps he never did. His father's cloak blocked the most savage of the sights, and he does not remember that there were others in the attack who were not Nadir. They wore dark cloaks, and their weapons were of blackened steel.'

'Knights of Blood,' said Belash.

Miriel nodded. 'I believe so.'

Belash rose. 'I shall stroll and look at this fortress. I wish to see these walls my people inspired.'

He wandered away and Senta moved alongside Miriel. 'It is nice to be alone,' he said.

'You are picturing me on a bed covered with sheets of satin. It does not please me.'

He grinned. 'It is not courteous to read a man's thoughts.'

'It does not concern you that I know what you are thinking?'

'Not at all. There is nothing to shame me. You are a beautiful woman. No man could sit with you for long without thinking of satin sheets, or soft gra.s.s, or summer hay.'

'There is more to life than rutting!' she told him, aware that she was blushing.

'How would you know, beauty? You have no experience of such things.'

'I'll never marry you.'

'You cut me to the quick, beauty. How can you make that judgement? You don't know me yet.'

'I know enough.'

'Nonsense. Take my hand for a moment.' Reaching out he gently clasped her wrist, his fingers sliding down over hers. 'Never mind my thoughts. Feel my touch. Is it not gentle? Is it not pleasing?'

She s.n.a.t.c.hed back her hand. 'No, it is not!'

'Ah ha! Now you lie, beauty. I may not have your Talents, but I know what you felt. And it was far from unpleasant.'

'Your arrogance is as colossal as these walls,' she raged.

'Yes, it is,' he agreed. 'And with good reason. I am a very talented fellow.'

'You are conceited and see no further than your own desires. So tell me, Senta, what is it that you offer me? And please, no boasts about the bed-chamber.'

'You say my name so beautifully.'

'Answer my question, d.a.m.n you. And do remember that I shall know if you are lying.'

He smiled at her. 'You are for me,' he said softly, 'as I am for you. What would I offer you?

Everything I have, beauty,' he whispered, his eyes holding to hers. 'And everything I will ever have.'

For a moment she was silent. 'I know that you believe the words as you say them,' she said. 'But I do not believe you have the strength to live by them.'

'That may be true,' he admitted.

'And you were prepared to kill Angel and my father. You think I can forgive that?'

'I hope so,' he told her. And in that moment she saw within his thoughts a flickering image, a remembrance that he was struggling to keep hidden. It shocked her.

'You weren't planning to kill Angel! You were ready to die.'

His smile faded and he shrugged. 'You asked me to spare him, beauty. I thought perhaps you loved him.'

'You didn't even know me - you don't know me now. How could you be prepared to lay down your life in that way?'

'Do not be too impressed. I like the old man. And I would have tried to disarm him, wound him maybe.'

'He would have killed you.'

'Would you have been sorry?'

'No-not then.'

'But you would be now?'

'I don't know ... yes. But not because I love you. You have had many women - and you have told them all that you loved them. Would you have died for them?'

'Perhaps. I have always been a romantic. But with you it is different. I know that.'

'I do not believe love can strike that swiftly,' she said.

'Love is a strange beast, Miriel. Sometimes it leaps from hiding and strikes like a sudden spear.

At other times it can creep up on you, slowly, skilfully.'

'Like an a.s.sa.s.sin?'

'Indeed so,' he agreed with a bright smile.

11

Jahunda notched an arrow to his bowstring and waited for the rider to emerge from the trees. His fingers were cold, but his blood ran hot with the hunt. The Drenai had chosen his route with care, avoiding the wide, much-used paths, and holding to the narrow deer-trails. But even so Jahunda had spotted him, for the Lord Sathuli had ordered him to watch the south from Chasica Peak, and no one could enter Sathuli lands from the Sentran Plain without being observed from Chasica. It was a great honour to be so trusted - especially for a fourteen-year-old with no blood kills to his name.

But the Lord Sathuli knows I will be a great warrior and hunter, thought Jahunda. And he chose me for this task.

Jahunda had sent up a signal smoke then clambered down from the peak, making his way carefully to the first ambush site. But the Drenai had cut to the right, angling up into the high pa.s.s.

Hooking his bow over his shoulder Jahunda ran to the second site, overlooking the deer-trail. The Drenai must emerge here. He chose his arrow with care, and hoped he could make the kill before the others arrived. Then the horse would be his by right, and a fine beast it looked. He closed his eyes and listened for the soft clopping of hooves in the snow. Sweat was seeping from under his white burnoose and fear made his mouth dry. The Drenai was no merchant. This one was a careful man who knew where he was riding and the danger he was in. That he travelled here at all spoke well of his bravery, and his confidence. Jahunda was anxious that the first shaft should strike a mortal blow.

There was no sound from the snow-shrouded trees and Jahunda risked a glance around the boulder.

Nothing.

But the man had to be close. There was no other route.

Jahunda inched his way to the left and leaned out. Still nothing. Perhaps the rider had doubled back. Maybe he should have waited by the first site. Indecision rippled through him. The Drenai could be relieving himself against a tree, he told himself. Give it time! His heart was beating fast and he tried to calm himself. But the horse was magnificent! He could sell it and buy Shora a shawl of silk, and one of those bangles with the blue stones that Zaris sold at ridiculously high prices. Oh, how Shora would love him if he arrived at her father's house bearing such gifts. He would be an acclaimed warrior, a hunter, a defender of the land. It would hardly matter then that he could not yet grow a beard.

He heard the clop of hooves and swallowed hard. Wait! Be patient. He drew back on the string and glanced up at the sun. It would cast a shadow from high and to the right of the rider and from his hiding place behind the boulder Jahunda could time his attack perfectly. He licked his lips and watched for the shadow of the horse. As it drew alongside the boulder he stepped out, bow raised.

The saddle was empty. There was no rider.

Jahunda blinked. Something hard struck the back of his head and he fell to his knees, his bow falling from his fingers. 'I am dying!' he thought. And his last thoughts were of beautiful Shora.

He felt rough hands shaking him and slowly came to consciousness.

'What happened, boy?' asked Jitsan, the Lord Sathuli's chief scout.

He tried to explain, but one of the other hunters came up, tapping Jitsan's shoulder. 'The Drenai sent his horse forward then moved around behind the boy and clubbed him. He is heading for Senac Pa.s.s.'

'Can you walk?' Jitsan asked Jahunda.

'I think so.'

'Then go home, child.'

'I am ashamed,' said Jahunda, hanging his head.

'You are alive,' pointed out Jitsan, rising and moving off swiftly, the six hunters following him.

There would be no horse for the young Sathuli warrior now. No bangle. No shawl for Shora. He sighed and gathered up his bow.

Waylander dismounted, leading the gelding up the steep slope. Scar padded alongside him, not liking the cold snow under his paws. 'There's worse to come,' said the man.

He had seen the signal smoke and watched, with grim amus.e.m.e.nt, the antics of the young Sathuli sentry. The boy could not have been more than fourteen. Callow and inexperienced, he had run too swiftly for the ambush site, leaving footprints easily seen leading to the boulder behind which he hid. There was a time Waylander would have killed him. 'You're getting soft,' he scolded himself. But he did not regret the action.

At the top of the slope he halted, shading his eyes from the snow glare and seeking out the route to Senac Pa.s.s. It was twelve years since he had come this way, and that had been summer-time, the slopes of the mountains green and verdant. The wind was biting through his jerkin and he untied his fur-lined cloak from behind his saddle and unrolled it, fastening it into place with a brooch of bronze and a leather thong.

He studied the trail behind him then walked on, leading the gelding. The trail was narrow, wending its way down a snow-covered slope of scree and on to a long, twisting ledge no more than four feet wide. To the right was the mountain, to the left a dizzying drop into the valley some four hundred feet below. In summer the journey across the ledge had been fraught enough but now, ice- covered and treacherous ...

You must be insane, he told himself. He started to walk, but the gelding held back. The wind was whistling across the mountain face and the horse wanted no part of such a venture.

'Come on, boy!' urged Waylander, tugging on the reins. But the gelding would not move. Behind the horse Scar let out a deep, menacing growl. The gelding leapt forward, almost sending Waylander over the edge. He swayed on the brink, but his hold on the reins saved him and he pulled himself back to safety. The ledge wound on around the mountain face for almost a quarter of a mile until, just beyond a bend, it was split by a steep scree slope leading down into the valley.

Waylander took a deep breath, and was just about to step on to the scree, when Scar growled again. The horse lurched forward, pulling the reins from Waylander's hand. The beast hit the scree head-first, and tumbled down the slope. An arrow flashed past Waylander's head. Spinning, he drew two knives. Scar leapt to attack the first Sathuli to come into sight around the bend behind them. The hound's great jaws snapped at the archer's face. Dropping his bow the warrior threw himself back, cannoning into a second man, who fell from the ledge, his scream echoing away. Scar hurled himself upon the first man, fangs locking to the man's forearm.

Waylander moved closer to the rock-face as a third Sathuli edged into sight. The warrior raised his tulwar over the hound. Waylander's arm snapped forward, the black-bladed knife slicing between the man's ribs. With a grunt he dropped the tulwar and fell to his knees, before toppling to his face in the snow.

'Here, Scar!' shouted Waylander. For a moment only the dog continued to rip and tear at the first Sathuli, but when Waylander called again it released its grip and backed away. Unhooking the small crossbow from his belt Waylander loaded it and waited. The man with the injured arm was lying on the brink of the precipice, breathing hoa.r.s.ely. The other warrior was dead.

'Who is leader here?' called Waylander, in halting Sathuli.

'Jitsan,' came the reply. 'And I speak your tongue better than you do mine.'

'Do you like to wager?'

'On what?'

'On how long your friend there lives if you do not come for him and bind his wounds.'

'Speak plainly, Drenai!'

'I am pa.s.sing through. I am no danger to the Sathuli. Nor am I a soldier. Give me your word the hunt will cease and I will leave here now. You can rescue your friend. If not, I wait. We fight. He dies.'

'If you wait you die,' shouted Jitsan.

'Even so,' answered Waylander. The injured man groaned and tried to roll himself from the ledge to certain death on the rocks below. It was a brave move, and Waylander found himself admiring the warrior. Jitsan called out to him in Sathuli and the man ceased his struggle.

'Very well, Drenai, you have my word.' Jitsan stepped into sight, his sword sheathed.

Waylander flicked the bolts from the crossbow and loosed the strings. 'Let's go, dog,' he said, and leapt to the scree, sliding down the slope on his haunches. Scar followed him instantly, tumbling and rolling past his master.

But Waylander had misjudged the speed of the descent and he lost his grip on the crossbow as he struck a hidden rock which catapulted him into the air, spinning and cartwheeling. Relaxing his muscles he rolled himself into a ball and prayed he would not strike a tree or a boulder.

At last the dizzying fall slowed and he came to a stop in a deep drift of snow. His body was bruised and aching, and two of his knives had fallen from their sheaths. Curiously his sword was still in its scabbard. He sat up. His head was spinning, and he felt a rush of nausea. After it had pa.s.sed he pushed himself to his knees. As well as the two knives, his crossbow quiver was empty, his leggings were torn and his right thigh was gashed and bleeding.

To his right lay the gelding, its neck broken in the fall. Waylander took a long, deep breath, his fingers probing at his bruised ribs. Nothing seemed broken. Scar padded over to him, licking his face. The st.i.tches on the dog's side had opened and a thin trickle of blood was oozing from the wound.

'Well, we made it, boy,' said Waylander. Slowly and with great care he stood. Several of his crossbow bolts and one of his knives lay nearby, close to the dead gelding. Gathering the weapons he searched around the snow for his knife, but could not find it. Scar ran back up the slope and returned with the crossbow in his jaws.

A second search left Waylander with twelve bolts and one knife recovered. The gash in his leg was not deep, requiring no st.i.tches, but he bound the wound with a bandage taken from his saddlebag and then sat on a jutting rock and shared some dried meat with the hound.

High above him he saw the signal smoke. Reaching down he stroked Scar's huge head. 'You just can't trust the Sathuli,' he said. The hound twisted its head and licked the man's hand.

Waylander stood and surveyed the valley. The snow was deep here, but the way to Senac Pa.s.s lay open.

Lifting the food sack from the dead horse he set off towards the north.