Their host seemed to be addressing everyone, but his dark glittering eyes remained fixed upon Traveller. Coots, his mouth stuffed full of bread and meat sauce, slurred, ‘No.’

Untroubled, Jhest continued. ‘In our language we call them the Isture? Forlan Edegash. In your language,’ he lifted a meaty hand to Kyle, ‘the Crimson Guard.’

Kyle stared, speechless, then he remembered the sigil still pinned to his chest and he felt his face redden in embarrassment. Fool, to have kept it!

‘Are we enemies, then?’ Traveller asked, his voice low, yet Kyle now felt attuned to the man's moods and he heard the coiled warning behind the question.

Jhest's smile was broad and easy, yet oddly flat. He raised both hands. ‘Not at all. We admire the Isture? for what they have accomplished.’

‘Which is?’ Ereko asked.

Jhest answered without so much as a glance to the Thel Akai; it was as if the giant did not exist. ‘They have advanced far in the path that is our… how shall I put it?… our passion – my brothers and sisters’ speciality of interest and research.’

‘That being?’ Stalker prompted.

Again, the broad yet oddly empty smile. The man's black eyes unmoving on Traveller. ‘Why, the Paths of Ascension, of course.’

No one spoke for a time. Badlands and Coots ate noisily; Stalker picked up a flatbread and tore off a bite. Kyle poured himself a drink that proved to be some sort of sweetened water. Traveller pressed a hand to his brow, sighing. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Jhest, but we are tired and should sleep. Perhaps tomorrow we could trouble you for water and supplies?’

‘Of course.’ The man stood, brushed at the folds of his robes. ‘Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight.’ Bowing, he left the tent.

Chewing a mouthful, Stalker caught Badland's eye and cocked his head to the flap. Badlands crossed to the opening. ‘Gone.’

‘Anyone around?’ Stalker asked.

‘Hard to say. It's damned dark. Probably someone.’

Grunting his assent, Stalker gestured Coots out. ‘You two, first watch.’

Glowering, Coots picked up the tray and carried it out the door. ‘Figures. First decent meal in months…’

Stalker now turned his attention to Ereko. ‘What do you think?’

During all of this, Traveller merely ate, eyes downcast. It was as if the man had given up on everything and was willing to accept whatever might come to him; it was either the worst sort of pathetic fatalism, or a kind of enlightened understanding that expectations, plans, ambitions, were no more than deluding vapours that, in the end, could not change anything. It was maddening to Kyle that he couldn't decide which.

Ereko lifted a pot of a thick yellow cream that Kyle thought might be yogurt. He sniffed it, set it down. ‘I have been away for a very long time, of course. But I have heard rumours. It seems they may be true. This portion of the continent is ruled by a magiocracy, an oligarchy of powerful mages who bend all their resources and research to unravelling the mysteries of Ascendancy. It is said they are masters of the Paths of Denul, and even conduct rather horrifying surgeries and experiments upon the bodies of their people to that end. No doubt they see Ascendancy as their way to power and immortality, and so on.’

‘Yet he ignored you,’ Kyle said.

Ereko laughed, smiling. ‘Ascendancy holds no interest for me, Kyle. To them, I am probably just some sort of wretched failure. Nothing more than that.’

‘You are the Eldest of all living things here of the world, Ereko,’ Traveller suddenly announced. ‘Father to us all.’

‘Father?’ Kyle echoed, his wonder and amazement obvious.

Ereko waved the words aside. Our friend is speaking poetically, Kyle. When one considers such ancient times one's only recourse is the language of poetry. Thus legends, myths, creation accounts, history. All are no more than stories shaped to justify the present appearance of things.’

Rolling his eyes, Stalker tossed back a drink. ‘I was hoping for rather more practical information.’

Ereko laughed, smiling self-consciously. ‘Sorry, yes. To the point then. They are torn. They want to move against us – but they are of course anxious as to our capabilities. The question for us is which faction will prevail. The voices for caution or the voices for action.’

‘They will act.’ This from Traveller as he sat, head lowered, studying one of the land's unfamiliar yellow fruits. ‘When it becomes clear that we will perhaps get away, a small faction will take matters into their own hands and will move. Once they do so the rest will have no choice but to commit themselves.’

Kyle stared, unable to breathe. ‘You have seen it?’

The eyes rose, met his. The intensity of that gaze drove Kyle's gaze aside, but not before he glimpsed a well of terrifying emotion kept locked under an almost inhuman control. ‘I have seen it all before, Kyle.’

Ereko gestured to the cushions. ‘Sleep for now, lad. You can have the last watch.’

Having eaten and now sitting comfortably on soft cloth Kyle already felt his eyelids drooping. He lay back and curled up without argument – Ereko would wake him if anything happened. Sleep took him almost instantly.

A tap of his foot woke Kyle. Stalker stood looking down at him; the scout gestured him out and left. Kyle grabbed up his armour, helmet and weapon belt and followed. Outside, a false dawn of diffuse light made the sea look strangely flat, the beach lifeless and the jungle a dark mystery. Stalker unbuckled his tall conical helmet. ‘Been quiet.’

Over his linen shirt and padded aketon, Kyle pulled on his hauberk of iron rings laced to leather, adjusted the leather wrappings at his legs. ‘No one at all?’

‘Only if you count the soldiers surrounding us.’

‘What? When?’

An indifferent shrug. ‘Who knows? Right away maybe. Coots has been watching them all night. Says it ain't right the way none of them have moved. Not even to take a piss, apparently. Coots thinks that's downright unnatural for any soldiers.‘ Stalker gestured around. ‘You can maybe make them out on the dunes and the forest edge.’ His watch done, the scout ducked inside. Kyle adjusted the weight of his tulwar on his left hip, pulled on his helmet. For the thousandth time he wished he had a shield, a bow or even a fistful of javelins. Squinting, he could just distinguish the tall dark shapes standing still as tree trunks in the mist and pre-dawn gloom. Big bastards, with good discipline, sounds like. He didn't relish having to tangle with them.

Nothing stirred during Kyle's watch. The day brightened and the sun rose like a ball of fire over the jungle. Kyle thought it a wondrous sight, quite unlike anything he'd seen on the prairie. It was as if the entire east jungle was aflame. Traveller eventually emerged behind him. The tall swordsman was tying back his long, kinked black hair. He gestured Kyle in with a nod. ‘Break your fast.’

Over the remains of the platters Badlands and Coots worked the edges of their weapons with the small sharpening stones they carried with their gear; Badlands his two long-knives and Coots his single-edged longsword with an extended two-handed grip. Out of their rolls also came helmets – iron and bronze, with faceguards that curved down to nasal shields. ‘Haven't seen those recently,’ Kyle observed.

‘Haven't faced a stand-up fight recently,’ Coots said. ‘We prefer to avoid them.’

Badlands pulled his helmet on. ‘Yeah. They can get you killed.’

Kyle almost burst out laughing: the helmet looked two sizes too small on the hairy burly fellow, like a bull wearing a pot. After mastering himself Kyle reflected that he mustn't look much better in his hand-me-down mismatched armour. He drew his tulwar, examined its edge – as bright and keen as the day Smoky inscribed it. Nothing seemed able to mar it. He turned to Ereko who sat cross-legged with no weapon in sight.