Chapter Eleven

Niallad sat quietly on the ledge, his back against the cliff-face, the white surf crashing upon the rocks several hundred feet below. The Grey Man was sitting motionless beside him, his face calm, no suggestion of tension in him. They had been sitting here now for two hours. The sun had been up for some time, and Niallad's clothes were almost dry.

The events of the night before kept replaying in his mind. The death of his parents, the treachery of Gaspir, the rescue by the Grey Man. It all seemed somehow unreal. How could his father be dead? He was the strongest, most vital man in the duchy. Niallad saw again his mother lying sprawled on the floor. A dreadful emptiness assailed him and he felt tears welling. The Grey Man touched his arm. Blinking, Niallad turned his head. The Grey Man lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head. No sound. Niallad nodded and glanced up. Some ten feet above them was an overhang of rock. From beyond that they could hear the guards talking outside the Grey Man's apartments.

'This is stupid,' he heard one of the guards say. 'He's not going to come back here, is he? I mean, the place has been searched. A few weapons, some old clothes. Nothing to risk your life for.'

Niallad could not help but agree. He could not understand why they had come here. After killing Aric, the Grey Man had led Niallad to the beach. There were now several boats beached there, left by the soldiers who had been searching the bay. Niallad had helped the Grey Man push out a small boat until it bobbed upon the water. Then they had climbed in and rowed across the bay. When they reached a spot some two hundred yards from the beach below the White Palace the Grey Man had slipped into the water and begun to swim. Niallad had followed him.

Upon reaching the beach the Grey Man had gestured to Niallad to remain silent, and climbed slowly to this spot. Everything about the man until then had spoken of purpose. But once they had reached here he had just sat down, and now the hours were drifting past. Niallad had no idea what he was waiting for.

Time moved on. Niallad's left leg was cramped and he stretched it out.

'About time,' he heard a guard say. 'Thought you'd forgotten all about us.'

'Gren got to talking to a blonde serving maid. Nice piece. Very tasty.'

'Speaking of tasty, I hope there's some breakfast left.'

'Any word on the runaways?' someone asked.

'I'll say there has been. Being stuck down here you missed all the excitement, lads. One search party was attacked by a wild beast. Three dead, five wounded.'

'Our lads?'

'Only one, old Pikka. Had his head stove in. The others were from House Rishell. Word from town is that the Duke's dead and most of his people. Sorcery,' he added, dropping his voice.

'What happened to the Duke?'

'Demons, they say. Appeared in the hall. Killed everybody. The Grey Man summoned them, apparently. Shad says not to talk about it. Lord Aric's going to be the new Duke. Once they've found the body of the Duke's son.'

'The Grey Man? That's what you get when you let foreigners come in and start acting like lords.'

'He always was a weird bastard,' said another voice. 'And he almost killed Lord Aric last night. Cut him right along the jawline. Missed his throat by no more than a sparrow's dick. Shad's questioning the steward now. He's a tough lad, but I reckon you'll hear him screaming before long. Best eat your breakfast quick. I tell you there's nothing like hearing a man scream to make you lose your appetite.'

Niallad heard the first two guards moving away. The others fell silent for a few moments. Then one said, 'Reckon that Norda would be great in bed.'

'That's true, Gren. Until Marja finds out, and cuts off your prick.'

'Don't even joke about it!' said the other, with feeling. 'She would, you know.'

Niallad turned towards the Grey Man. But he was gone.

The youth was shocked and stared around. He had heard nothing, not a whisper of cloth against the rocks. He sat still, wondering what to do. Then he heard a grunt from above, followed by a heavy thud. Looking up, he saw the Grey Man lean over the overhang.

'Traverse to the left and climb up,' he said.

Niallad did so, hauling himself over the top. The two guards were both dead. The Grey Man was dragging one body inside the door of a crudely fashioned building. Niallad just stood there. Only moments ago these men had been talking about a pretty woman. Now they would talk to no one ever again. In that moment Niallad realized the Grey Man had been waiting for the guards to change, so that when he killed them he could be sure they would not be discovered for some time. The man was chilling! Niallad had always believed Gaspir to be one of the toughest men he had ever known. But he was merely a leaf, ripped from the tree by the fury of the Grey Man's storm. Now other leaves had fallen. Niallad could still hear the voices of the guards in his mind, ordinary men, dreaming ordinary dreams.

The Grey Man dragged the second corpse inside, then returned with a bucket of water and doused the blood on the ground. 'Come inside,' he said, his voice cool.

On leaden legs Niallad stepped across the threshold. The bodies were to the right of the door. The Grey Man pushed it closed and led Niallad into a long, dark window-less room. He lit two lanterns, hanging them on the wall, and Niallad saw that the room was hung with weapons, and targets had been placed around it, some round, as if for archery, others shaped into the forms of men.

'They think you were responsible for the massacre,' said Niallad.

'It is no surprise. Murder and lies usually go together.'

'I thought you had killed Aric.'

'So did I, boy. The rug moved under my feet as I lunged at him. Perhaps I'm getting too old for this kind of life.'

The Grey Man stripped off his silk jerkin, leggings and boots, hurling them to a nearby bench. From a chest set against one wall he drew out a leather hunting shirt, buckskin leggings and knee-length moccasins. Dressing swiftly he strapped on a sword-belt then looped a baldric, with seven throwing knives, over his shoulder. He glanced back at Niallad. 'Get out of those clothes,' he said. He delved into the chest once more and produced a second shirt of dark leather, which he tossed to Niallad.

'Why did you save me?' asked Niallad.

The Grey Man stood silently for a moment. 'To pay a debt, boy,' he said at last.

'My name is Niallad. Please be so kind as to use it.'

'Very well, Niallad. Get out of those clothes and find yourself a weapon that suits you. I would suggest a shortsword, but there are several sabres. Also choose a hunting knife.'

'A debt to whom?'

The Grey Man paused. 'This is no time for questions.'

'I am the Duke's son . . .' Niallad hesitated, seeing again his father's corpse. 'I am the Duke of Kydor,' he continued, his voice trembling. 'I have seen you kill four men tonight. I want to know why I am here, and what are your intentions.'

The Grey Man moved to a bench and sat down. He rubbed a hand across his face and Niallad saw how tired he was. He was not young, and there were dark rings below his eyes. 'It was my intention,' said the Grey Man, 'to board a ship and leave this land, to find a place where there were no wars, no murders, no scheming politicians, no greed. That was my intention. Instead I am about to be hunted once more. Why did I save you? Because a ghost came to a friend of mine. Because you are young and I knew you feared assassination. Because I am a fool, and somewhere deep inside me there is still a semblance of honour. Take your pick. As to my intentions towards you? I have none. Now, choose a weapon and let us leave more questions until we are away from here.'

'Who was the ghost?' persisted Niallad.