The thought came to him that he should leave this place.

Waylander walked back towards the terrace. He saw Niallad, climbing the stairs. He was moving slowly, as if at ease, but Waylander could sense the tension in him. Niallad reached the gallery, then turned to his right, entering his room. Sadness touched Waylander.

'Such a grim face for so lively an evening,' said the priest Chardyn.

'I was thinking of the past,' Waylander told him.

'Not a pleasant past, it seems.'

Waylander shrugged. 'If a man lives long enough he will gather bad memories among the good.'

'That is true, my friend. Though some are worse than others. It is worth remembering that the Source is ever forgiving.'

Waylander laughed. 'We are alone here, priest. No one else can hear us. You do not believe in the Source.'

'What makes you think that?' asked Chardyn, dropping his voice.

'You stood your ground against the demons – and that makes you a brave man, but you had no spells, no belief that your god was stronger than the evil to come. I knew a Source priest once. He had faith. I know it when I see it.'

'And you, sir?' queried Chardyn. 'Do you have faith?'

'Oh, I believe, priest. I do not want to, but I believe.'

'Then why did the Source not strike down the demons as I prayed he would?'

Waylander smiled. 'Who is to say he did not?'

'Eldicar Manushan destroyed them, and though I may not be holy myself I also know holiness when I see it.'

'You think the Source only uses good men for his purposes? I have seen differently. I knew a man once, a killer and a robber. He had, to all intents and purposes, the morals of a gutter rat. This man gave his life for me, and before that had helped to save a nation.'

Chardyn smiled. 'Who can say for certain that it was the Source who inspired him? Where were the miracles, the light in the sky, the glowing angels?'

Waylander shrugged. 'My father told me a story once, about a man who lived in a valley. A great storm rose up and the river overflowed. The valley began to flood. A horseman rode by the man's small house and said to him, "Come, ride with me, for your house will soon be under water." The man told him that he needed no help, for the Source would save him. As the waters rose the man took refuge on his roof. Two swimmers came by and called out to him, "Jump into the water. We will help you reach dry land." Again he waved them away, saying that the Source would protect him. As he sat perched on his chimney, thunder filling the sky, a boat came by. "Jump in," called the boatman. Again the man refused. Moments later the water swept him away and he drowned.'

'What is the point of this story?' asked Chardyn.

'The man's spirit appeared before the Source. The man was angry. "I believed in you," he said, "and you failed me." The Source looked at him and said, "But, my son, I sent a rider, two swimmers and a boat. What more did you want?"'

Chardyn smiled. 'I like that. I shall use it in one of my sermons.' Then he fell silent.

Within the hall Eldicar Manushan, Lord Aric and Lord Panagyn had moved to the stair doors. A guard opened them and they moved through. Elsewhere Waylander saw other guests quietly leaving the hall. Most were followers of Panagyn. His expression hardened. His heart began to beat faster and a sense of danger rose in him. Moving to the terrace doors he saw a squad of soldiers marching through the gardens.

The five-man squad climbed the steps to the terrace. Waylander took the priest by the arm and drew the surprised man out into the night. The guards ignored them, and pushed shut the heavy doors, dropping a crossbar into place before marching off.

'What are you doing?' asked Chardyn. 'How will we get back in?'

'Trust me, priest, you do not want to go back in.' Waylander leant in close. 'I don't often offer advice,' he said, 'but were I you I would leave this place now.'

'I don't understand.'

'All exits from the hall have been blocked. The stairs are sealed off. That is no longer a banqueting hall, priest. It is a killing ground.'

Without another word Waylander walked away into the night.

Reaching the western postern gate he paused and glanced back at the palace, silhouetted against the night sky. Anger flared in him, but he quelled it. Everyone in that lower hall was destined for death. They would be slaughtered like cattle.

Is that why you wanted me there, Orien? he wondered. So that I could die for killing your son?

He dismissed the thought even as it came to him. There had been no malice in the old king. Waylander had murdered his son, and yet the old man had given him the chance to find the Armour of Bronze and, at least in part, redeem himself for his past sins. So why had he come to Ustarte? There was no mystical armour to find, no great and perilous quest to undertake. Waylander had attended the gathering, which was all that had been asked of him.

Then why did you want me here?

Into his mind came the face of a frightened youth, a boy who feared crowds and lived in terror of assassination. Orien's grandson.

With a soft curse Waylander turned and ran back towards the palace.

Within the hall a trumpet sounded, and all conversation ceased. Lord Aric and Eldicar Manushan appeared at the North Gallery rail above the throng.

'My dear friends,' said Aric. 'Now comes a moment you have all anticipated with great relish – as indeed have I. Our friend Eldicar Manushan will entertain you with wonders beyond description.' Thunderous applause broke out, and the magicker raised his hands.

With all the doors closed the temperature in the great room began to rise. As he had at Waylander's palace, the magicker created small swirling globes of white mist, which floated and danced above the spectators, cooling the air and bringing applause.

A huge, black-maned lion appeared in the centre of the hall, and rushed towards the revellers. Several screams sounded – followed by a rush of relieved laughter as the lion became a flock of small blue songbirds, which rose up towards the rafters. The audience clapped wildly. The birds circled the hall, then gathered together, merging into the form of a small flying dragon, with golden scales and a long snout with flaring nostrils. It swooped upon the crowd, sending out a roaring blaze of fire, which engulfed the spectators by the western wall. Once more screams were followed by laughter and applause as the victims saw that not a single scorch had blemished the beauty of their satin robes and silken jackets.

On the dais the Duke Elphons clapped politely, then reached out and took the hand of his wife, Aldania, sitting beside him. A tall, slim man to the Duke's left leant in to his lord and whispered something. Elphons smiled and nodded.

At that moment Eldicar Manushan's voice boomed, 'Dear friends, I thank you for your gracious applause, and now offer a climax to the evening's entertainment, which I am sure will make what has gone before seem trivial in the extreme.'

Dark plumes of smoke began to form in the centre of the hall, twisting and snaking, braiding together like copulating serpents. The braid broke in a dozen places, and huge dark hounds leapt out, snarling, their massive fangs dripping venom. The last of the smoke floated close to the seats of the Duke and his lady. It rose up before them, forming a dark doorway, through which stepped a swordsman. He wore an ornate helm, created from layered strips of black metal, and a black silk, ankle-length tunic, split at the waist. He carried two swords, long and curved, the blades so dark they seemed to have been carved from the night sky. A third sword, scabbarded, was thrust into the black silk sash around his waistv

Stepping forward he bowed to the Duke – then flung one of his swords into the air. The second followed it. Swiftly he drew the third, and this, too, he sent spinning into the air, just as the first blade returned to his hand. He began to leap and twirl, while juggling the blades. Meanwhile the twelve black hounds moved stealthily towards the spectators.