Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows

Chapter Three

Using long, lazy strokes Waylander swam through the cold water. He could feel the warmth of the sun on the skin of his back, and he dived deep, through shoals of silver-backed fish, which scattered before him. Rolling and twisting, he felt a surge of joy. Here there was silence and – almost – contentment. Relaxing, he let his body float upward towards the sun. Breaking clear of the surface, he drew in a deep breath, tossed back his head to clear the hair from his eyes and trod water while he gazed around the bay.

At the harbour opposite a dozen ships were unloading their cargoes, while anchored further out on the bay were twenty more, waiting for the signal to dock. Twenty-eight of the ships flew under the flag of the Tree. His ships.

It seemed incredible to Waylander that a man, like himself, without a great understanding of the subtleties of commerce should have become so ridiculously wealthy. No matter how much he spent now – or, indeed, gave away – more gold flowed in. Matze Chai, and other merchants, had invested Waylander's money well. But even his own ventures had paid handsomely. It is all a grand nonsense, he thought, as he floated in the water. He had lost track of the number of ships he now owned. Somewhere above three hundred. Then there were the mines – emerald, diamond, ruby, gold and silver – scattered from the hinterlands of Ventria to the eastern Vagrian mountains.

He swung in the water and gazed up at the white marble palace. He had commissioned it six years ago following an idle conversation with a young architect who had talked passionately about the overwhelming and delightful problems of construction, and of his dream to create a marvel. 'Why should we always seek out flat ground?' asked the young man. 'Where is the wonder in that? Great buildings should make an observer gasp.'

Three years in construction, the White Palace was indeed a wonder, though the young architect had not lived to see it finished. A nobleman from House Kilraith, he had been stabbed to death one night by assassins from a rival House. Such was life among the nobles of Kydor.

Waylander swam for the beach and emerged on to the white sand. His steward Omri left his seat beneath the olive tree and walked out to meet him, a long linen towel folded over his arm. 'Was the swim beneficial, sir?' he asked, extending the towel and draping it over Waylander's shoulders.

'It was refreshing,' said Waylander. 'And now I am ready for the pressing matters of the day.'

'The Lady requests an audience with you, sir,' said Omri, 'when you have the time.'

Waylander looked at the older man closely. 'Is something bothering you, Omri?'

'Were you aware she is a mystic?'

'No, but it is not surprising. I have known many priests with Talent.'

'I find it unsettling,' admitted Omri. 'I rather feel she can read my thoughts.'

'Are your thoughts so terrible?' asked Waylander with a smile.

'Occasionally, sir,' admitted Omri, straight-faced. 'But that is not the point. They are my thoughts.'

'Indeed so. What else requires my attention?'

'We have received a message from Lord Aric saying he will visit in ten days on his way to the Winter Palace.'

'He needs more money,' said Waylander.

'I fear so, sir.'

Dry now, Waylander moved into the shade of the olive tree and pulled on a black silk shirt and a pair of soft leather leggings. Tugging on his boots, he sat back and gazed once more over the bay. 'Did the Lady say why she wished to see me?'

'No, sir. But she did tell me of your fight with the raiders.'

Waylander caught the note of criticism in the old man's voice. 'It is too fine a day to be chided, Omri,' he said.

'You take great risks, sir. Largely unnecessary risks. We have thirty guards here, and a dozen tough foresters. They could have been sent after the robbers.'

'Very true. But I was close by.'

'And you were bored,' said the old man. 'You always ride off into the wilderness when you are bored. I have come to the conclusion that you do not enjoy being rich. It is, I must say, hard to understand.'

'It is a terrible thing, boredom,' said Waylander. 'It has come to me over the years that wealth and tedium are great bedfellows. When one is rich there is nothing to strive for. Every pleasure I desire is available to me.'

'Obviously not every one, sir, otherwise you would not be bored.'

Waylander laughed. 'That is true. Now, enough of this soul-searching, my friend. What other news is there?'

'Two retainers from House Bakard were murdered in Carlis two days ago, supposedly by men hired by House Kilraith. There is great tension in the town. The merchant Vanis has requested an increase to his loan. He claims to have lost two ships in a storm and is unable to meet his debt payments. Also . . .' Omri pulled a slip of parchment from the pocket of his grey robe and perused it'. . . the surgeon Mendyr Syn has asked if you would be prepared to hire three extra students, at a cost of six silvers a month, to assist him. There are now no spare beds in the infirmary and Mendyr has been working for fifteen hours a day trying to aid the sick.' Omri folded the parchment, returning it to his pocket. 'Oh, yes, and. . .er. . . Lady Lalitia has invited you to attend a celebration of her birthday in three days.'

Waylander sat in the shade, staring out at the fishermen casting their nets in the bay. 'Call in the loan on Vanis,' he said. 'This is the third time in a year he has furnished an excuse for non-payment. His debts have not prevented him buying three racing stallions and extending his eastern estate. Increase the funds to Mendyr Syn and tell him he should have requested help much earlier. And send a message to Lady Lalitia that I will be delighted to attend her celebration. Purchase a diamond pendant from Calicar and have it delivered to her on the day.'

'Yes, sir. Might I point out two things? Point one: Vanis has many friends in House Kilraith. Foreclosing his debt will bankrupt him and be seen as a slight upon the House.'

'If he has that many friends,' said Waylander, 'let them pay his debts. Now, what was the second point?'

'If memory serves me correctly is this not the third birthday that Lady Lalitia has had in the past fifteen months?'

Waylander laughed. 'Yes, it is. Make it a small diamond pendant.'

'Yes, sir. By the way, the young woman you brought in has been put to work with Norda's team. Do you wish for any special treatment towards her?'

'Give her a little leeway for she has suffered much. She is a strong girl, but even so she has witnessed the murder of her family, been treated cruelly and threatened with death. It would be remarkable were she to suffer no after-effects. Watch her closely and give her a little support. If she does not prove to be a good worker, dismiss her.'

'Very well, sir. And what message shall I send the Chiatze Lady?'

'No message, Omri. I will go and see her presently.'

'Yes, sir. Would it be considered a discourtesy to ask her how long she and her retainers plan to stay?'

'I am more interested to know why they came here – and how,' said Waylander.

'How, sir?'

'A priestess in robes of embroidered silk, with three retainers, appears at our gates. Where was the carriage? Where were the horses? From where did they come? They did not stay in Carlis.'

'Obviously they walked from elsewhere,' said Omri.

'And yet attracted little dust to their clothing, and showed no sign of weariness.'

Omri made the Sign of the Protective Horn. 'Regardless of the discourtesy, sir, I would gratefully appreciate knowledge of their departure date.'

'I do not believe there is any need to fear them, Omri. I sense no evil in her.'

'That is good to hear, sir. But some of us have little choice concerning what we fear. I have always been a frightened man. I don't know why.'

Waylander laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.

'You are a gentle soul and a good man,' he said. 'You care about people and their happiness. That is rare.'

Omri looked embarrassed. 'I would have liked to have been more . . . manly, shall we say? I was a terrible disappointment to my father.'

'Most of us are,' said Waylander. 'Had my father seen what I have done with my life he would have burned with shame. But that is neither here nor there. We live in the now, Omri. And now you are a steward, valued and respected – even loved by those who serve under you. It should be enough.'

'Perhaps,' said Omri, 'but then you are loved and respected by those who serve you. Is it enough for you?'

Waylander gave a rueful smile, but did not reply. Moving away, he climbed the terrace steps towards the North Tower.

Minutes later he reached the top of the circular stair to the largest of the library rooms. It had originally been designed as a large state room, but as his collection of ancient scrolls and books grew, so too did the need for added space. There were now five smaller libraries within the palace, as well as the huge museum in the South Tower. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside and bowed to the slender woman sitting at the long, oval table, scrolls spread out around her. He found himself marvelling once more at her beauty, the pale gold of her flawless skin, and her finely boned Chiatze features. Even the shaven head only emphasized her exquisite good looks. She seemed almost too frail to bear the weight of the heavy robes of red and gold silk adorning her body.

'What are you studying, Lady?' he asked.

She looked up. Her slanted eyes were not the deep chestnut of the Chiatze, but tawny gold, flecked with blue. They were disconcerting eyes that seemed to stare deep into the recesses of his soul. 'I have been reading this,' she said, her gloved hand lightly touching an ancient scroll of dry and faded parchment. 'It is, I am told, a fifth-generation copy of the sayings of a writer named Missael. He was one of the most extraordinary men of the New Order, following the destruction of the Elder Races. Some believe his verses contain prophecies for the future.' She smiled. 'But, then, words are so imprecise. Some of these verses could mean anything.'

'Then why do you study them?'

'Why does one study at all?' she countered. 'For greater knowledge, and with it greater understanding. Missael tells how the old world was destroyed by lust, greed, fear and hatred. Did mankind learn from the destruction?'

'Mankind does not have a single set of eyes,' said Waylander. 'A million eyes see too much and absorb too little.'

'Ah, you are a philosopher.'

'A poor one at best.'

'From your words you believe mankind cannot change for the better, evolve and develop into a finer species?'

'Individuals can evolve and change, Lady. This I have seen. But gather together any large group and within a few heartbeats you can have a howling mob, intent on murder and destruction. No, I do not believe mankind will ever change.'

'That may be true,' she agreed, 'but it leaves the taste of defeat and despair. I cannot countenance such a philosophy. Please sit.'

Drawing up a chair, he reversed it and sat opposite her. 'Your rescue of the girl, Keeva, does you credit,' she said, her voice low, almost musical.

'I did not at first know they had taken a hostage,' he admitted.

'Even so. She now has a life – and a destiny – that would otherwise have been robbed from her. Who knows what she may achieve, Waylander?'

'Not a name I use now,' he told her. 'And not one by which I am known by any in Kydor.'

'No one shall hear it from me,' she told him. 'So, tell me, why did you ride after the bandits?'

'They attacked my lands and my people. What other reason did I need?'

'Perhaps you needed to prove to yourself that you are still the man you were. Perhaps, beneath the hard, worldly exterior, you felt for the pain and the loss of the villagers, and were determined that those evil men would never again cause such distress. Or perhaps you were thinking of your first wife, Tanya, and how you were not present when the raiders came to kill her and murder your children.'

His voice hardened. 'You asked to see me, Lady. Your messenger said it was a matter of some importance.'

She sighed, then looked once more into his eyes. When she spoke her voice was softer, the tone regretful. 'It distresses me to have caused you pain, Grey Man. Forgive me.'

'Let us understand one another,' he said coldly. 'I try to hold my pain in a private place. Not entirely successfully. You opened a window to it. I would consider it a courtesy if you did not open it again.'

'You have my word upon it.' She sat silently for a moment, her golden eyes holding to his gaze. 'It is sometimes difficult for me, Grey Man. You see, nothing is hidden from me. When I meet someone for the first time I see all. Their lives, their memories, their angers and pains are all laid bare to me. I try to close myself to myriad images and emotions, but that is painful and exhausting. So, in the main, I absorb them. It is why I avoid crowds, for it is like being trapped under an avalanche of roaring emotion. So let me say again that I am sorry to have offended you. You have been most kind to me and my followers.'

Waylander spread his hands. 'It is forgotten,' he said.

'That is most generous of you.'

'And the matter you wished to speak of?'

She averted her eyes. 'This is not easy for me,' she said, 'for I need to ask your forgiveness a second time.'

'I have already said—'

'No, not for my earlier words. In coming here I may have placed you in some . . . danger. My followers and I are being hunted. It is possible – though I hope unlikely – that we will be found. I felt obliged to inform you of this, and to offer, with genuine intent, to leave immediately, should you desire it.'

'You have broken some Chiatze law?' he asked.

'No, we are not law-breakers. We are seekers of knowledge.'

'Then who hunts you, and why?'

Now her eyes met his. 'Bear with me, Grey Man, while I explain why I cannot yet tell you. As I have already shown, your thoughts and memories are known to me. They blaze from you like the rays of the sun, and like those rays they radiate out over the land. All human thoughts do this. The world is awash with them. Far beyond this palace there are minds attuned to such thoughts, seeking out a resonance that will lead them to me. If I told you the names of those hunting me they would form part of your thinking. And merely by thinking them you might alert those who seek to kill me.'

Waylander smiled. 'Since I do not understand the ways of magickers let us move on,' he said. 'Why did you come here?'

'Partly because you are here,' she said simply, then fell silent.

'And the other part?'

'That is even more complicated.'

Waylander laughed. 'More complicated than magical enemies who can read thoughts over great distances? It is a bright morning, with a fresh breeze and a blue sky. I am fresh from a cooling swim. My mind is clear. Speak on, Lady.'

'This is not the only world, Grey Man.'

'I know. There are many lands.'

'That is not what I meant. We dwell at this time in Kydor. But there are other Kydors, an infinite number of them. Just as there are an infinite number of Drenai worlds. Many have identical histories, many are different. In some the assassin Waylander killed the Drenai king and the land was overrun by Vagrian forces. In others he killed the king and the Drenai won. In some he did not kill the king and there was no war. You follow?'

Waylander's good humour seeped away. 'I murdered the king. For money. It was unforgivable. But it happened. I cannot change it. No one can change it.'

'It happened here,' she said softly. 'But there are other worlds. An infinite number. Somewhere, at this moment, in the vastness of space there is another woman, sitting with a tall man. The scene is exactly as this one, save perhaps that the woman is wearing a blue robe and not one of gold. The man may be bearded, or dressed differently. But she is still me, and he is still you. And the land they dwell in is called Kydor.'

Waylander took a deep breath. 'He is not me. I am me.'

'I am sure he is saying exactly that.'

'And he is right,' said Waylander. 'He might also be about to ask the point of this conversation. What does it matter if there are two Waylanders, or two hundred, if they never meet or interact?'

'A good question. I have seen some of these worlds. In all of them, no matter what the outcome, the man known as Waylander has a part to play.'

'Not in this world, Lady. Not any longer.'

'We shall see. Do you wish us to go?'

'I will think on it,' he told her, rising from his chair.

'That is kind of you. One other small matter …"

'Yes?'

'You did not ask Keeva how she killed the pigeons she cooked for you.'

'No, I did not.' He gave a wry smile. 'I had other matters on my mind.'

'Of course. She used your crossbow. She missed with the first bolt, but then killed all three – the last as it took flight.'

'Impressive,' he said.

'I thought that it would interest you.'

He paused in the doorway. 'In all your studies have you come across anything about the ruins to the west?'

'Why do you ask?'

'I was there yesterday. I… did not like the feel of the place. And yet I have passed through it many times. Something today was different.'

'You felt in danger?'

He smiled. 'I felt fear, and yet all I saw was a mist.'

'I know that the ruins are five thousand years old,' she said. 'Perhaps you sensed the spirit of someone long dead. But if I find anything of interest I will call upon you, Grey Man,' she told him.

'It is probably nothing. But it was too warm for a mist, and it seemed to be flowing against the breeze. Had the girl not been with me I would have investigated the phenomenon. I do not like mysteries.'

Then he turned and was gone.

As the Grey Man left the library a small door opened and a slender, round-shouldered man stepped into the presence of the priestess. Like her he was shaven-headed, and wearing an ankle-length robe. It was of white wool, with matching gloves and boots of thin, pale grey leather. His tawny eyes cast a nervous glance towards the outer door. 'I do not like him,' he said. 'He is a savage just like them.'

'No, Prial,' she said. There are similarities, but he does not have their cruelty.'

'He is a killer.'

'Yes, he is a killer,' she agreed. 'And he knew you were beyond the door.'

'How could that be? I scarcely even allowed myself to breathe.'

'He knew. He has an unconscious talent for these matters. It is, I think, why he has survived so long.'

'And yet he did not know one of the raiders was hiding in a tree above him?'

The priestess smiled. 'No, he did not. But he had strung his crossbow minutes before, and was holding it ready when the man leapt. As I said, it is an unconscious talent.'

'I thought for a moment you were going to tell him,' said Prial.

She shook her head. 'I am hoping still that I do not have to. Perhaps they will not find us before we have completed our mission.'

'You believe that?'

'I want to believe it.'

'As do I, Ustarte. But time is short, and we still have not found the way. I have scanned over two hundred tomes. Menias and Corvidal have at least equalled me in this, and there are still more than a thousand to study. Has it occurred to you that these people have long forgotten the truth of Kuan-Hador?'

'They cannot entirely have forgotten,' said Ustarte. 'Even the name of the land remains similar. We have come across references to demons and monsters, and heroes who fought them. Fragments, mostly, but somewhere there will be a clue.'

'How soon will the gateway begin to open?' he asked her.

'Within days rather than weeks. But the creatures of the mist are already here. The Grey Man sensed their evil.'

'And now the deaths will begin,' said Prial sadly.

'Yes, they will,' she admitted. 'And we must continue our search with hope in our hearts.'

'I am fast losing hope, Ustarte. How many worlds must we see fall before we admit we are too weak to save them?'

The priestess sighed and rose from her chair, the heavy silk gown rustling as she moved. 'This one world did defeat them three thousand years ago. They drove them back through the gateways. Despite the power of their sorcery, and the allies they brought with them, they were beaten back. Even the Kriaz-nor could not save them.'

Prial did not look her in the eyes. 'Five years we have been searching and have found nothing. Now we have – perhaps – a few days. Then they will send an Ipsissimus and he will sense our presence.'

'He is already here,' she said softly.

Prial shivered. 'You have seen him?'

'There is a cloak-spell around him. I cannot see him, but I can sense his power. He is close.'

'Then we must flee while we have the opportunity.'

'He does not yet know we are here, Prial. There is some power left in me. I also know how to cloak our presence.'

He stepped forward, taking her gloved hand in his and raising it to his lips. 'I know that, Ustarte. But you cannot stand against an Ipsissimus. If he has not found us it is because he is not yet looking for us. When he does he will kill us.' Prial began to tremble, and she felt his gloved fingers close tightly about her hand.

She watched him closely, and saw him take a deep, shuddering breath. 'I am calm,' he told her. 'Truly I am.' Then he pulled away from her, embarrassed by his show of weakness. 'These clothes chafe me,' he complained. Opening his robe he pushed it back from his shoulders. Ustarte moved behind him, scratching her fingers through the thick grey fur of his back and shoulders.

His tawny eyes closed, and he grunted with pleasure, his terror subsiding.

But it would return, she knew.

Keeva was tense and more than a little angry as she reached the unusual buildings set aside for the Grey Man. Despite Norda's directions, she had lost herself twice in the maze of corridors and stairs, and had emerged on a lower level, only to see that the building she sought was one storey above and to the right. Climbing a set of stone steps, which cut through a rockery, she finally arrived at the entrance. She stood for a moment, surprised by what she saw. The Grey Man's dwelling place was set back into the cliff, the stone facing roughly fashioned and blending with the natural rock around it. This made it virtually invisible from the bay side of the palace. It looked stark and unprepossessing – not the home of a rich man at all. Her disquiet grew. Keeva had told the Grey Man she would not be his mistress, but now, within a day, he had summoned her to his rooms. Keeva's anger subsided, and she felt a sudden sadness. For a little while today she had allowed herself to believe she might be happy here. She liked Norda, and the other girls of the team had been friendly. They all spoke highly of old Omri, and the atmosphere among them had been full of good humour. Ah, well, she thought, best get it over. Stepping forward she tapped on the door.

The Grey Man opened it. He was dressed in the same manner as when first she had seen him, dark leggings over riding boots, and a shirt of thin, supple leather. He wore no rings, or chains of gold, and his clothes boasted no brooches and no embroidery. He beckoned her inside. 'Come through,' he said, swinging away from her and strolling into the main living area. It was a rectangular room with only two hide-covered chairs and an old rug. There were no shelves or cabinets, and the fireplace was bare of ornament. A pile of logs was set beside it and a blackened iron poker. The Grey Man wandered through the room and out through a door at the rear. Keeva followed him, expecting to see a bedroom. Her anger began to rise once more.

She crossed the doorway and paused, surprised. It was no bedroom. The thirty-foot wall on the left was panelled with pine, and upon it hung many weapons: longbows, crossbows, Chiatze war darts, swords, knives of all descriptions, some small, others long and double-edged. The right-hand wall was set with six lanterns, their light casting flickering shadows over an array of wooden frames and curious apparatus. Targets had been placed around the room, some round, others crafted from straw, string and old clothing into the forms of men.

The Grey Man moved to a bench table from which he took his crossbow. Loading it with two bolts, he carried it back to Keeva. Then he pointed at the round target some twenty feet away. 'Direct two bolts into the centre,' he told her.

Keeva's arm came up, her hand settling into the worn pistol grip, her fingers on the two bronze triggers. As she had learnt when shooting at the pigeons, the weapon was front heavy, and as the triggers were depressed it tipped slightly downward. Adjusting for this, she loosed both bolts. They flew across the room, slamming into the small red centre of the target. The Grey Man said nothing. Relieving her of the weapon, he moved to the target, retrieving the bolts. Returning the crossbow to the bench he took up two throwing blades. They were diamond-shaped and around four inches in length. There were no hilts, but grooves had been cut into the metal for greater grip.

'Handle this with care,' he said, passing her a blade. 'It is very sharp.' She took it gingerly. It was heavier than it appeared. 'It is not just about direction and speed,' he told her, 'but about spin. The blade must reach its target point first.' He pointed to a nearby straw man. 'Hit that.'

'Where?'

'In the throat.'

Her hand came up, the arm snapping forward. The blade struck the throat area hilt first then bounced away. 'I see what you mean,' she said. 'Can I have the second?' He passed it to her. This time the blade sliced home through the straw man's chin. 'Damn!' she swore.

'Not bad,' he said. 'You have a good eye and excellent coordination. That is rare.'

'In a woman, you mean?'

'In anyone.' Moving to the straw target he extracted the blade, picked up the second from the floor and returned to her side. 'Turn your back to the target,' he said. Keeva did so. The Grey Man handed her a blade. 'At my command spin and throw – aiming for the chest.'

He stepped back from her. 'Now,' he said softly. Keeva whirled, the blade slashing through the air to cannon from the target's shoulder and strike the far wall. Sparks flashed briefly from the stone.

'Again,' he said, offering her the second blade. This time it thumped home – once more in the shoulder, but closer to the chest.

'Why are we doing this?' she asked.

'Because we can,' he answered, with a smile. 'You are very talented. With a little work you could be exceptional.'

'If I wanted to spend my life throwing knives,' she observed.

'You told me you had no craft, but were willing to learn. Skilled marksmen can earn a good living at market fairs and celebration days. Not one man in a hundred could have brought down three pigeons in four shots with an unfamiliar weapon. Not one in a thousand could have achieved it without some rudimentary training. In short, like me, you are a freak of nature. Mind and body in harmony. The gauging of distance, the balancing of weight, the power of the throw – all these require precise judgement. For some it takes a lifetime to acquire. For others it can be learnt in a matter of moments.'

'But I missed the chest. Twice.'

'Try again,' he said, gathering up the fallen blade.

She spun – and sent it hurtling into the target.

'Straight through the heart,' he said. 'Trust me. With training you can be among the best.'

'I do not know that I want to be skilled with weapons,' she told him. 'I loathe men of war, their posturing, their arrogance and their endless cruelties.'

Removing the knives from the target the Grey Man took them to the bench and began to clean them with a soft cloth. Placing them in sheaths of black leather he turned again to Keeva. 'I was once a farmer. I lived with a woman I adored. We had three children, a boy of seven and two babes. One day, when I was out hunting, a group of men came to my farm. Nineteen men. Mercenaries seeking employment between wars.' He fell silent for a moment. 'I rarely speak of this, Keeva, but today it is strong in my mind.' He took a deep breath. 'The men tied my Tanya to a bed then – after a little time – killed her. They also killed my children. Then they left.

'When I rode out that morning I recall the sound of laughter in the air. My wife and my son were playing a chasing game in the meadow, my babes were asleep in their cots. When I returned all was silence, and there was blood upon the walls. So I, too, loathe the men of war and their cruelty.'

His face was terribly calm, and there was no sign of the emotional struggle Keeva guessed was raging below the surface. 'And that is when you became a hunter of men,' she said.

The Grey Man ignored the question. 'My point is that there will always be vile men, just as there will always be men of kindness and compassion. It should have no bearing on whether you choose to develop your talents. This world is a troubled, savage place. It would, however, be even more ghastly if only evil men took the time to master weapons.'

'Was your wife skilled with weapons?' she asked.

'No. And before you ask, it would have made no difference had she been the finest archer in the land. Nineteen killers would have overpowered her and the result would have been the same.'

'Did you go after them, Grey Man?' she asked softly.

'Yes. It took many years, and in that time some of them committed other foul deeds. Others married, settled down and raised families of their own. But I found them all. Every one.'

It was suddenly quiet in the room, the air heavy. Keeva watched the Grey Man. His gaze seemed far away, and upon his face was a look of infinite sadness. In that moment she understood this grim and gloomy dwelling place, set alongside the gleaming white marble of his palace. The Grey Man had no home, for the home of his heart had been destroyed a long time ago. She glanced around at the targets of straw and the array of weapons upon the walls. When she looked back she met his gaze. 'I do not wish to learn this craft,' she said. 'I am sorry if that disappoints you.'

'People long ago ceased to disappoint me, Keeva Taliana,' he told her, with a rueful smile. 'But let me ask you this: how did you feel when you killed the raider captain?'

'I do not want to talk about it.'

'I understand.'

'Do you? You have been a killer so long I wonder if you do.' She reddened as she realized what she had said. 'I'm sorry if that sounds disrespectful, Grey Man. I do not mean it to be. You saved my life and I will be for ever in your debt. But what I mean is that I do not want to experience again the feelings I had when I killed Camran. What I did was needless. He was dying anyway. All I did was to inflict a little more agony. If I had the time again I would merely have walked away from him. What hurts and angers me is that, in those few heartbeats, I allowed myself to be dragged down in the filth of his evil. I became him. You understand?'

He smiled sadly. 'I understood that long before you were born, Keeva, and I respect what you say. Now you had better return to your duties.'

Yu Yu Liang was not a happy man. A little distance away the arguments were still raging among the dozen survivors and Yu Yu struggled to hear what they were saying. His understanding of the round-eye tongue was merely fair, and he found that many of the words and phrases sailed by him before his ears could catch them and his mind translate them. He was concentrating hard, for he knew it was only a matter of time before someone pointed an accusing finger at him.

Sitting on the rock, his stolen sword in his lap, the former ditch-digger did his best to look silently ferocious – like the warrior he pretended to be. Yu Yu had only been with the group for three days. In that time he had heard many fine promises from the now dead leader, Rukar, about life on the road, and the riches to be made from passing merchants. Instead Rukar had been cut down by the Rajnee and Yu Yu had moved faster than ever in his twenty-three years to escape the swinging swords of the charging horsemen.

Truth to tell, he felt a little stab of pride that it had been a Chiatze who had cowed them – a true Rajnee. Not a fraud with a stolen blade. Yu Yu shivered. Six years of training before a Rajnee could own a blood-tempered blade, and a further five years of philosophical study before he was allowed to fight. But only the very, very best were allowed to wear the grey robes and black sash sported by the man who killed Rukar. As soon as Yu Yu had seen him he had carefully eased himself to the back of the second group and was primed to flee the moment the horsemen charged.

The reality was that Rukar had been a dead man from the moment the Rajnee approached him.

'One little swordsman,' someone said, 'and you all run like frightened rabbits.' Yu Yu understood the word rabbits and guessed the moment of truth was approaching.

'I didn't notice you standing up to him,' another man pointed out.

'I was caught up in the rush,' the first responded. 'It was like being in a stampede. If I hadn't run I'd have been crushed to death.'

'I thought we had our own Chiarze Rajnee,' put in a third voice. 'Where in Shem's balls was he when we needed him?'

Here it comes, thought Yu Yu Liang miserably. He turned his bearded face towards the twelve men in the group and glowered. 'Well, he ran past me like his arse was on fire,' someone observed. A ripple of laughter sounded.

Yu Yu rose slowly to his feet, his double-handed sword glinting as he swept it left and right in what he hoped might look a menacing fashion. Plunging the blade into the ground dramatically, he drew himself up to his full height. 'Any man think me afraid?' he asked, lowering his voice. 'Do you?' he thundered, leaping forward and stabbing his finger at the nearest, who, surprised by the suddenness of the move, fell backwards. 'Or you?' No one spoke. Yu Yu breathed an inner sigh of relief. 'I am Yu Yu Liang!' he shouted. 'Feared from Blood River to shores of Jian Seas. I kill you all!' he bellowed.

In that instant he saw their faces change, from surprise to stark horror. It was very satisfying. Suddenly one of them scrambled to his feet and ran towards the south. Immediately the others followed, leaving behind their meagre possessions. Yu Yu laughed and threw his hands in the air. 'Rabbits!' he shouted after them. He expected the men to retreat a little distance, but they carried on running. Surely I cannot have been that terrifying, he thought. Must have been the firelight glinting on the muscles of my arms and shoulders, he reasoned, looking down and clenching his fists. Ten years of ditch-digging had honed his upper body beautifully. This warrior life is really not so hard, thought Yu Yu. Bluff and bravado could achieve wonders.

Even so, their reaction was unusual, to say the least. He squinted into the distance, looking for signs of their return. 'I am Yu Yu Liang,' he shouted again, keeping his voice gruff. Then he laughed, and swung back to where he had left his sword.

Standing quietly in the firelight was the little grey-garbed swordsman.

Yu Yu's heart skipped a beat. He leapt backwards, his heel landing in the fire. He swore and jumped forward, then scrabbled for the sword, yanking it from the ground and waving it furiously back and forth, while at the same time shouting a battle cry. It would have been more impressive, he realized, had it not burst forth in a shrill falsetto.

The Rajnee stood very still, watching him. He had not drawn his sword. Yu Yu, still holding his sword aloft, glared at him. 'I am Yu Yu Liang . . .'he began, this time in Chiatze.

'Yes, I heard,' said the swordsman. 'Are you left-handed?'

'Left-handed?' echoed Yu Yu, bemused. 'No, I am not left-handed.'

'Then you are holding the sword incorrectly,' observed the Rajnee. Moving past Yu Yu he glanced towards the south.

'Are you going to fight me?' Yu Yu asked him.

'Do you wish me to?'

'Isn't that why you came here?'

'No. I came to see if the robbers were planning another attack. Obviously they are not. Where did you find the sword?'

'It has been in my family for generations,' said Yu Yu.

'May I see it?'

Yu Yu was about to hand it to the man. Then he jumped back again, slashing it through the empty air. 'You seek to trick me?' he shouted. 'Very clever!'

The Rajnee shook his head. 'I am not trying to trick you,' he said quietly. 'Farewell.'

As he turned away Yu Yu called out after him. 'Wait!' The Rajnee halted and glanced back. 'I found it after a battle,' Yu Yu said. 'So I took it. The owner didn't care. Most of his head was missing.'

'You are a long way from home, Yu Yu Liang. Is it your ambition to be a robber?'

'No! I want to be a hero. A great fighter. I want to strut through the market towns and hear people say, "There he is. That's—"'

'Yes, yes,' said the Rajnee, 'Yu Yu Liang. Well, all journeys begin with a single step, and at least you have mastered the strutting. Now I suggest you follow me.' With that he walked away.

Yu Yu sheathed his sword, and looped the baldric over his shoulder. Then, grabbing the carrysack containing his meagre possessions, he ran to catch up with the departing Rajnee.

The man said nothing at first, as Yu Yu marched along beside him, but after walking for almost an hour the Rajnee paused. 'Beyond those trees is the camp of my master, the merchant Matze Chai.' Yu Yu nodded sagely and waited. 'Should anyone recognize you what will you tell them?'

Yu Yu thought about this for a moment. 'That I am your pupil, and you are teaching me to be a great hero.'

'Are you an imbecile?'

'No, I am a ditch-digger.'

The Rajnee turned towards him and sighed. 'Why did you come to this land?' he asked.

Yu Yu shrugged. 'I don't really know. I was heading west when I found the sword, then I decided to swing north-east.'

Yu Yu felt uncomfortable under the man's dark gaze and the silence grew. 'Well,' he said, at last, 'what are you thinking?'

'We will talk in the morning,' said Kysumu. 'There is much to consider.'

'Then I am your pupil?'

'You are not my pupil,' said Kysumu. 'If you are recognized you will tell the truth. You will say you are not a robber and that you were merely travelling with them.'

'Why was I travelling with them?'

'What?'

'If they ask.'

The Rajnee took a deep breath. 'Just tell them about your desire to strut.' Then he strode away towards the campfires.