He heard voices echoing the phrase 'Sunrise Warrior' around the square. For rumours had reached Dun Kilty of events at Craikennis and there was confusion now as to who had actually saved the town. But Tennyson shouted him down, pointing a finger at him.

`There is no Sunrise Warrior! He's a myth!'

`I saw him!' Will insisted but Tennyson had the advantage of a raised platform and a trained orator's voice.

`Lies!' he thundered. 'It was the Golden God Alseiass!'

Again, a chorus of 'Alsealss! Praise Alseiass!' arose from the white robes around him. Tennyson's finger continued to point at Will and the young Ranger realised that Tennyson was pointing him out to his followers in the crowd. Any moment now, a knife would slip between his ribs, he thought.

`He lies!' Tennsyon continued. 'And Alseiass strikes down those who bear false witness!'

Will glanced around quickly. He saw a glimpse of dull purple in the crowd, off to his right side and slipping through the crowd towards him. He watched from the corner of his eye as the figure drew nearer. Even without the wide-brimmed hat, he recognised him for one of the Genovesans. And he saw the gleam of a dagger held close against the man's leg.

`The Sunrise Warrior!' he shouted again. 'He can save us! Praise the Sunrise Warrior!'

A few people took up the cry and it began to spread. Will, watching Tennyson, saw him nod towards someone close to him in the crowd. He looked to his right. The Genovesan was almost upon him. Will saw surprise, then annoyance, in the foreigner's eyes as he realised that he had been spotted by his quarry. A fraction of a second later, Will brought his right elbow up to face height and pivoted on his right heel, slamming the point of his elbow into the man's face, breaking his nose and sending him reeling back against the people around them. Blood sprang from his nose and the dagger clattered to the ground. Seeing it, those closest to him drew back, shoving each other and calling out warnings.

Will decided enough was enough. Dropping, into a crouch so that Tennyson could no longer see him, he shoved through the crowd, running to a new position some fifteen metres away. Once there, he stood erect again and yelled: 'Praise the Sunrise Warrior!'

Then he dropped to a crouch again and burrowed through the crowd before Tennyson could pinpoint him.

Tennyson had seen the flurry of violent movement that resulted in his assassin being sent reeling. But then he lost sight of the infuriating heckler who was destroying his momentum. Now, as the voice rang out from another part of the crowd, he went on the attack.

`The Sunrise Warrior?' he sneered. 'Where is he? Let'ssee him if he's so powerful. Produce him here and now. There is no Sunrise Warrior!'

His sycophants echoed the scornful words, demanding that the Sunrise Warrior step forward and be seen. But now a deep voice answered them, and a scuffle of movement could be seen at the front of the crowd, below the platform where Tennyson stood.

`You demand the Sunrise Warrior, you charlatan? Then here he is! And here I am with him!'

At least a hundred surprised voices all exclaimed at once. 'The King!'

And a stocky figure in a green brocade cloak shoved his way onto the stage, flanked by a broad-shouldered warrior with a sunrise insignia on his surcoat, and a slimmer, dark-haired warrior who many recognised as the King's steward, Sean Carrick.

There was a collective gasp of surprise from the people assembled in the marketplace. It was Ferris, they all realised. And confirming it was the fact he was escorted by half a dozen members of the palace guard, who now took up positions screening him.

Will's eyes narrowed. He saw the drawn-back, dark hair, the shaved face and the royal robes. But somehow, he knew this wasn't Ferris. It was Halt. And just in time, he thought. Then, as the robed figure revealed the full force of his personality, he knew he was right.

`Who will protect you?' he thundered. 'I will! And not this mountebank, this sideshow performer from a county fair! He talks about some unseen god. I have the real power of ancient legend with me! The Sunrise Warrior!'

He indicated Horace, who drew his sword with a ringing sound of steel on leather and raised it high above his head, exposing, as he did so, the bright orange sunrise insignia he wore on his chest.

`The Sunrise Warrior!' The words ran around the square. Horace stepped back, re-sheathing his sword, leaving the focus on Halt once more.

`This man,' Halt continued, indicating Tennyson, whose face was twisted in rage, 'is a liar and a thief. He'll draw you in with words of honey then he'll take all you own. And he'll do it in the name of a false god!'

`There's nothing false about Alseiass,' Tennyson began.

`Then produce him for us!' Halt bellowed, cutting Tennyson off. Unpopular the King might be, but he was still the King. And with Halt playing the role he projected a powerful aura of authority. 'Produce him as I have produced the legendary warrior who'll defend us! You asked to see the Warrior and here he is! Now I demand to see this false god you prattle about! Produce him – if you can!'

The crowd began to drift his way, echoing the demand. Seizing the opportunity this gave him, Halt turned to challenge them.

`How many of you had ever heard of this "Golden God" before this huckster told you about him?' he demanded. There was no answer and he followed up with a roar. 'Well? How many?'

Feet shuffled awkwardly in the crowd. Then he spoke again.

`And how many have heard of the Sunrise Warrior?' This time, there were a few mumbled 'yeses' from the crowd, then the trickle became a torrent. Alseiass was new and unfamiliar. They all knew the legend of the Sunrise Warrior.

Tennyson, lips compressed in an angry line, stepped forward, hands up to silence them.

`Prooff he shouted. 'Let's see proof! Anyone can put on a shirt with a picture of the sun on it and claim to be this mythical warrior! We want proof!'

A few voices agreed, then more and more. A mob was a fickle animal, Will thought. Operating on blind instinct, it could be swayed first one way, then the other.

`Give us proof!' they shouted.

Now it was Halt's turn to raise his hands for silence.

`What proof do you want?' he shouted. 'The Warrior saved the village of Craikennis! He defeated two hundred and fifty men with his flaming sword!'

`And who saw this?' Tennyson demanded quickly. 'No one here! If he's the mighty warrior you claim, let him prove it in the surest manner of all! In combat!'

Now the crowd were really aroused. They might not know which of the two men they believed, but they were all eager at the thought of seeing a duel to the death. This was turning out to be a most diverting day.

`Trial by combat!' they chorused, and the demand swelled until Halt again raised his hands. The shouts died away and he faced Tennyson.

`And who is your champion?' he demanded.

Tennyson smiled. 'Not one but two. Let him face my twin retainers, Gerard and Killeen!'

He threw an arm back in a dramatic flourish to indicate the two islander giants. They stepped up onto the platform and the crowd howled in delight at the size of them.

Again, Halt had to wait for the shouting to die down. `You expect him to fight two men?' he asked.

Tennyson smiled again, appealing to the crowd.

`What's two men to a warrior who defeated two hundred and fifty?' he asked and the crowd yelled their support.

Halt hesitated. He'd expected a challenge to combat but he didn't believe Horace, with all his skill, could fight these two giants at the same time.

As he searched for a way out of the predicament, Horace stepped forward again. He moved close to Tennyson, invasively close, and the look in his eye caused the self-proclaimed prophet to take a small pace back. But even a small pace was enough to establish Horace's dominance.