‘Father of Winds,’ Kyle began, stammering, ‘I had no idea…’

‘You were not to. And I am not father to winds or to your people. Your ancestors merely adopted the ancestral totems of sun, sky and winds – all of which shine, turn and blow without my intervention. So are traditions invented. It is up to you to keep them – or not. Here,’ and he gestured and a weapon appeared in his hand. ‘I owe you a weapon. Take mine with my thanks and we are even. Goodbye.’ The giant abruptly turned and walked away, disappearing into the gloom further within. Kyle stared after him as one might a phantom.

‘Good riddance!’ Ammanas called loudly. ‘Now, the rest of you, out as well! Out! Is this a grubby tavern? Am I social host?’

The hound had left and so Kyle backed into the doorway. It opened on to a hall that led past an alcove containing a huge and ornate set of bronze armour, then on to another door that opened as Kyle approached. Kyle almost stumbled here as he glanced back to see the same old beehive-like tomb behind him.

Outside, Jan and the Lost brothers sat up, weapons out. ‘Thank the Dark Hunter,’ Stalker called. ‘A hound as large as a horse came running in after you.’

‘Yes. It didn't attack.’

‘And Traveller?’

Kyle looked back, surprised. ‘He should be with me…’

After a moment the swordsman did emerge. He glanced anxiously among them, then relaxed. ‘Good. I was worried that perhaps the hound…’

‘It ignored us,’ Stalker said. ‘So? What happened?’ and he looked between them.

‘An agreement was reached and you are free to go,’ Traveller said.

‘You?’ Kyle and Stalker echoed.

‘Yes. I am not going with you.’

‘I didn't agree to that,’ Kyle said, his voice rising.

‘Don't worry. There's no danger – either for you or for me.’

‘No danger? That man, or god, or whatever he is, is a lunatic’

‘I've had that impression for some time, Kyle.’

‘So, just like that? You'll stay?’ The scout could not have been more sceptical.

‘Yes.’

‘Do we go back to the boat?’ Jan asked.

‘No.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘You no longer need it.’ The swordsman scanned the horizon, inclined his head to indicate a direction. ‘You should go that way.’

‘What do you-’ Stalker began but something flew out of the open portal to land in the dust with a wet slap. A torn muddy robe.

Everyone traded glances. ‘I suppose,’ Coots said, ‘that means we ought to be on our way.’

‘Yes. You should.’

‘Traveller,’ Kyle begged. ‘Don't…’

‘It's best this way. I'm endangering you. Attracting unnecessary attention.’ He walked to stand before Jan. The two locked gazes for a time, neither looking away. Finally, taking a deep breath, the swordsman studied Jan directly for the longest time, his gaze moving up and down; the old man did not move at all, his mouth clenched tight as if he dared not speak. After a moment Traveller sighed, nodded at some unspoken evaluation and turned to Kyle. He set his hands on Kyle's shoulders. ‘Farewell, Kyle. Bring your case to the Guard. I hope they will prove worthy of you.’ He released Kyle's shoulders.

‘Please come with us!’

The swordsman gently reached out to touch the amber stone hanging at Kyle's neck. ‘You were right to pick that up. But I know he will always be with you regardless. I know he will always be with me. Farewell.’ And he turned away, blinking.

Kyle felt the hot tears at his cheeks. ‘Traveller…’

The man's shoulders tightened. ‘It is how it must be, Kyle. I… I am sorry.’ He faced the brothers. ‘Stalker, Coots, Badlands. An honour.’

They tilted their heads in goodbye.

Traveller ducked into the tomb, disappearing into the darkness.

‘Farewell Whorou!’ a voice called from aside. ‘Fare thee well!’ Kyle spun. Their guide, the dirty-robed fellow, had returned. As they all watched, he blew his nose on the arm of his torn garment. Kyle glanced back to the entrance; it was of course gone. ‘Come, come,’ the man beckoned, the loose wet sleeves hanging empty. ‘Come.’

Reluctantly, Kyle last, they started away from the beehive-shaped tomb, striking a direction that to all appearances seemed no different from any other across the flat dusty plain dotted by its ancient sepulchres. Overhead, in the slate sky, things flew, looking like nothing more than folded shadows.

CHAPTER VI

It was an act driven by a profoundly inward – and backward – looking movement. Who are we outsiders to judge? It was, after all, also driven by the honest (if we may claim misdirected) desire to improve the condition and prospects of the Wickan people… In this regard it must be seen as completely earnest and not in the least duplicitous. Especially when bracketed with the act it then allowed. The First Civil Wars, Vol. II

Histories in Honour of Tallobant

SURROUNDED BY COMMAND STAFF AND BODYGUARD, ULLEN STOOD next to Urko and the Moranth Gold commander atop a modest rise to one side of the marching columns of Talian and Falaran infantry. Toc, together with a troop of some forty, came riding up and reined in. ‘A good day for battle,‘ Urko called and Toc gave his assent. ‘Not too hot.’ Ullen peered at the sky; yes, overcast, though it might rain. He didn't look forward to that. They had left the fort before first light and been marching through dawn. The night had been relatively calm – the beast, Ryllandaras, if indeed it was he, had probed twice but been driven off by the massed ranks of Gold, backed up by a liberal dose of their munitions. Already flights of gulls, crows and kites crowded the skies over the line of march. How many generations of warfare, Ullen wondered, had it taken them to learn what the massing of so many men and women in armour might presage?

‘Commander V'thell,’ Toc greeted the Moranth in his armour hued a deep, rich gold like the very last gleam of sunset. The Moranth inclined his fully enclosed helmed head.

‘Still unmounted, I see,’ Toc said to Urko with something like a nostalgic smile.

Urko shrugged beneath his heavy armour of banded iron. ‘It reassures the soldiers. They don't like their commander being mounted when they ain't. Makes ‘em suspect you're gonna ride off as soon as things get hot.’

Toc's staff, all mounted, shared amused glances. Captain Moss caught Ullen's eye and winked. ‘And the carriage?’ Toc asked, gesturing down the gentle slope to where a huge carriage painted brilliant red and green waited while grooms fought its fractious team of six horses.

Urko rolled his eyes. ‘Bala. She'll be with me at the centre rear. I'll have the reserves. The Falaran cavalry and elements of the Talian and Falaran infantry. Choss is already with the south flank. You'll have the north – and where are those blasted Seti anyway?’

Toc scanned the north horizon. ‘Bands are appearing. They'll be here soon.’

‘Bloody better be.’

‘What of this force in the south? The Kanese?’ Toc asked.

‘Still arrayed around the south side of Pilgrim's Bridge. None too eager to take on the Guard – can't say I blame them. Amaron has some hints that they are to come out for Surl-’ Urko stopped, correcting himself, ‘for the Empress. But he's not sure. They might decide it's worth it, though, at any time.’

‘We'll keep an eye on them.’

‘Aye.’

‘And the Marchland Sentries?’

Urko paused, glanced away, his mouth drawing down even more. ‘Withdrawn to the west. Out of harm's way ‘n’ all. Too bad. Could've used them. But perhaps for the better, all things considered.’

‘Perhaps.’

V'thell bowed to the general. ‘Permission to join my people.’

‘Granted. And V'thell…’ The Moranth Gold turned back. Urko raised a fist. ‘You're the hammer. Break them.’

V'thell bowed again. ‘We shall.’

‘I should track down an ataman,’ Toc said. Urko nodded his assent. The cavalry commander rode off with his troop.