'Your grandfather, Orien the Battle King.'

'Why would he come to you?'

'He didn't. As I said, he came to a friend.' The Grey Man placed his hand on Niallad's shoulder. 'I know this has been a terrible night for you but, believe me, it could get worse. We do not have the time to talk now. Later, when we are away from here, I will answer what questions you have. All right?'

The Grey Man moved away. Niallad removed his tunic and donned the shirt. It was too large, but it felt comfortable. He walked around the room, examining the weapons on display. He chose a sabre with a blued blade and a fist-guard of black-stained brass. It was beautifully balanced. Finding the scabbard and belt, he tried to put it on. But the belt was too large. 'Here,' said the Grey Man, tossing him a baldric with a scabbard ring attached. Niallad settled it into place and slipped the scabbard through the reinforced leather loop.

'What do we do now?' asked Niallad.

'We live or we die,' said the Grey Man.

Emrin's head sagged forward. Blood was dripping from his mouth. His upper body was a sea of pain. 'I don't seem to be hearing any more smart remarks,' said Shad. His fist thundered against the side of Emrin's head. The chair to which he was tied swayed and fell to the floor. 'Get him up!' ordered Shad. Rough hands grabbed him. He felt sick as he was wrenched upright.

Shad's fingers took hold of Emrin's hair, yanking his head back. 'You want to say something funny now, Emrin?' he asked. Emrin's left eye was closed, but he stared silently into Shad's hatchet face. He wanted to summon up the courage for another insult, but there was nothing left. 'You see, lads, he wasn't so tough.'

'I don't . . . know anything,' whispered Emrin. Shad's fist slammed into his face, rocking his head back.

Emrin spat out a broken tooth and sagged forward once more. Shad yanked his head back. 'I no longer care if you know anything, Emrin. I've always hated you. Did you know that? Strutting around, fine as you like, with the Grey Man's money in your pockets. Buying the pretty girls, looking down on us common soldiers. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to beat you to death. I'm going to watch you suffocate on your own blood. What do you think of that?'

'Hey, come on, Shad,' put in another soldier, 'there's no call for that.'

'You can shut your mouth! If you're that squeamish wait outside.'

Emrin's heart sank as he heard the rasp of the door latch being lifted.

'Now what shall we do first to entertain you, Emrin?' asked Shad. 'Perhaps we should cut off your fingers. Or maybe . . .' Emrin felt the touch of a dagger against his groin. For the first time he screamed, the sound echoing around the ceiling of the Oak Room.

Hurling himself back against the chair Emrin tipped it and crashed to the floor, struggling furiously with his bonds. 'Pick him up,' ordered Shad. The two remaining guards moved to the chair.

From his position on the floor Emrin saw the door open. The Grey Man stepped inside,, a small double-winged crossbow in his hand.

'Cut him loose,' said the Grey Man, 'and I shall let you live.' His voice was calm and conversational. The three soldiers in the room backed away, drawing their weapons.

It was Shad who spoke first. 'Big of you,' he said. 'But that weapon only has two bolts. There are three of us.'

The Grey Man's arm extended. A bolt sliced through the air, punching into Shad's throat. He stumbled back then fell to his knees, choking on his own blood. 'Now there are two of you,' said the Grey Man. 'Cut him loose.'

The guards cast nervous glances at the dying Shad. One drew a knife and slashed through the ropes binding Emrin to the chair. Then he dropped the weapon and backed away to the wall. The other man followed his lead. The Grey Man walked past Emrin to the mortally wounded Shad. The man was weakly trying to pull the bolt from his throat. The Grey Man wrenched it clear. Blood spurted from the wound. Gagging and choking Shad rolled to the floor. His legs kicked out and he died.

Emrin forced himself to his knees and tried to stand. He staggered. The Grey Man caught him. 'Steady yourself. Take a few deep breaths. I need you to be able to ride.'

'Yes, sir,' mumbled Emrin.

A young man appeared at Emrin's side. He saw that it was the Duke's son, Niallad. 'Let me help you,' he said. Emrin leant in to him.

'Go to the stable,' said the Grey Man. 'Saddle two mounts and the steeldust. I will see you there presently.'

Supported by the youth, Emrin moved through the doorway. The body of the guard who had left the room was lying on the rug. His throat had been cut. Supported by Niallad, Emrin made it to the main doors and out into the sunlight. The fresh air helped to revive him, and by the time they reached the stables he was walking unsupported.

Norda was waiting there, with several small sacks of supplies. She ran to Emrin. 'Oh my poor dear,' she said, reaching up and stroking his bruised and swollen face.

'Not … so pretty, eh?'

'You look good to me,' she said, 'but you'd best be seeing to your horses. The Gentleman wants his steeldust saddled. He told me that.' She took his hand. 'Now, you listen to me, Emrin, the Gentleman is a fine man, but he has many enemies. You look after him.'

Suddenly, despite all his pain, Emrin laughed. 'Me? Look after him? Ah, Norda, what a thought!'

The Grey Man strode from the palace and along the gravel-covered path. Norda curtsied as she saw him. Emrin saw that his face was grim. 'Can you ride?' asked the Grey Man.

'I can, sir.'

Niallad came from the stables, leading three saddled horses, two roans and the steeldust gelding. The Grey Man stepped into the saddle and called to Norda, 'My thanks to you, girl.' Norda curtsied. 'And tell Matze Chai to return home.'

'I will, sir.'

Emrin walked to the first of the roans and hauled himself painfully into the saddle, then followed the Grey Man and the youth as they rode towards the trees.

They had been riding in silence for almost an hour when Emrin heard the youth say, 'The guards will raise the alarm. How soon before we are followed?'

'We have a little time,' answered the Grey Man.

The youth was silent for a moment. 'You killed them, didn't you?' he said at last.

'Yes, I killed them.'

'You told them you would let them live if they cut him loose. What kind of a man are you?'

Emrin winced as he heard the question.

The Grey Man did not answer it. Swinging his horse, he rode back to Emrin. 'Head west towards the forest, keeping the ruins to the south. If you see mist keep clear of it. I will catch up with you before dusk.'

'Yes, sir.' As the Grey Man rode back along the trail Emrin called, 'And thank you!' Heeling his horse, he moved up alongside the young man.

Niallad was flushed and angry. 'He has no concern for human life,' he said.

'He had concern for yours – and mine,' said Emrin. 'That'll do for me.'

'You condone what he did?'

Emrin hauled on the reins and swung in the saddle to face the young noble. 'Look at me!' he said fiercely, struggling to control his anger. 'Those men were about to beat me to death. You think I care that they are dead? When I was a lad a group of us thought it would be great sport to go on a deer hunt. We had our new spears, and a couple of us had hunting bows. Seven of us, there were. We went into the mountains and soon came upon tracks. As we were closing in on our quarry we moved into some dense undergrowth. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge grizzly reared up. One of my friends – an idiot named Steff – loosed a shaft into it. Only two of us made it down from the mountain.'

'What has this to do with the Grey Man?' asked Niallad.

'If you anger a bear don't be surprised if it rips your guts out!' snapped Emrin.