'He didn't,' said a female voice.

Long-stride looked towards his left and saw a woman's head appear, floating in the air. Then an arm came into sight, sweeping upwards, as if pushing a cloak aside. Then it came to him. 'A Bezha cloak,' he said, slipping from the rock.

Pain roared through him as he fell, and he realized his weight had come down upon the sword jutting from his back, driving it deeper. He struggled to rise, but there was no power left in his limbs. His face was resting against a cold flagstone.

It felt surprisingly pleasant.

Waylander and Keeva helped Ustarte inside the apartments. 'I just need to rest for an hour or so,' said the priestess. 'Leave me here. Do what you have to do.'

Keeva reloaded her crossbow and walked to the doorway. 'Do you have a plan?' she asked Waylander.

He smiled at her. 'Always.'

'How are you feeling?'

The smile faded. 'I've felt better.'

She looked into his face. Dark rings showed under his eyes, and his skin was pallid, the cheeks sunken. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I don't know what else to say.'

'No one lives for ever, Keeva. Are you ready?'

'I am.'

Waylander moved out into the darkness, and ran along the path, cutting left towards the waterfall. Keeva followed him. He clambered up the rocks and entered a dark opening. He waited for her there and took her hand. 'These steps lead up into the palace,' he said. 'Once we are there I want you to make your way to the stairs underneath the library. Cover yourself with the cloak then climb the stairs until you can see into it. Do nothing more until I make my move. You understand this?'

'I understand.'

Still holding her hand he climbed the stairs. The darkness was total. At the top he paused, listening. There was no sound from beyond and he slid open the panel leading to the corridor outside the Great Hall. Lanterns had been lit here, but there was no sign of people. Waylander released her hand. 'Be lucky, Keeva,' he said, then moved away swiftly.

Keeva was suddenly fearful. All the time he had been with her she had felt somehow protected. Now alone, she found her hands trembling.

'Be strong,' she told herself, then ran along the corridor towards the library stairs.

'I cannot see them,' said Eldicar Manushan, staring out over the terraced gardens. Three-swords did not answer. He exchanged glances with Iron-arm. The huge warrior nodded. Three-swords turned away. He had always liked Long-stride. The warrior was reliable and cool under pressure. He would be hard to replace. 'What can be taking them so long?' asked Eldicar Manushan. 'Are they eating his heart, do you think?'

'They are not eating anything,' said Three-swords. 'They are dead.'

'Dead?' responded the magicker, his voice rising. 'They are Kriaz-nor. How can they be dead?'

'We die too, magicker. We are not invulnerable. This assassin is obviously everything you feared. Are you sure he is human, and not meld?'

Eldicar Manushan wiped sweat from his face. 'I don't know what he is, but he killed a Bezha. I was there. A little while ago he entered a house, surrounded by guards and killer dogs. He killed the merchant who lived there and then left. No one saw him.'

'Perhaps he knows magic,' said Iron-arm.

'I would have sensed it,' said Eldicar. 'No, he is just a man.'

'Well,' continued Iron-arm, 'just a man has killed two Kriaz-nor. And now he is coming to kill you.'

'Be quiet!' stormed Eldicar, swinging round and staring out over the balcony. He gazed down at the ground some fifty feet below and watched for any sign of movement on the steps. Dark clouds obscured the moon and lightning flashed over the bay, followed some seconds later by a rolling boom of thunder. Rain began to lash down, hissing against the white walls of the palace. Eldicar could see little now, and moved to the shelter of the balcony doorway.

Back in the library Three-swords was just about to pour a goblet of water, when he paused, nostrils flaring. Iron-arm had also caught the scent. Three-swords carefully replaced the goblet on the table and turned, his golden gaze raking the room and the wrought-iron stairs leading up to it. He could see nothing, but he knew someone was close. Iron-arm moved stealthily along the wall.

Three-swords strolled casually towards the stairs, then darted forward. As he did so a crossbow appeared from thin air, and loosed a bolt. Three-swords swayed to one side. The bolt flashed by him. A second followed the first. Three-swords' arm swept up. The point of the bolt gashed the back of his hand, before careering across the library and clattering against the shelves. Three-swords leapt down the stairs, grabbing the outstretched arm. With one heave he threw the assassin back over his shoulder and into the room. The archer landed heavily. Three-swords spun and ran up the stairs. The assassin had come to his knees, although that was not what Three-swords saw. He saw a head and one arm, and a disembodied foot. Reaching out, he tore away the Bezha cloak with one hand, while dragging the assassin to his feet with the other. He was about to rip out the man's throat when he saw that he held a slim young woman. She kicked him, but he ignored it and turned towards Eldicar Manushan.

'This is not your Waylander,' he said. 'It is a female.'

'Well, kill her,' shouted Eldicar.

The woman drew a dagger from its sheath. Three-swords absently batted it from her hand. 'Stop struggling,' he said. 'It is beginning to annoy me.'

'What are you waiting for?' said Eldicar. 'Kill her.'

'I have already killed one woman for you, magicker. I did not relish that task, but I did it. It still sits badly with me. I am a warrior, not a woman-killer.'

'Then you do it,' Eldicar ordered Iron-arm.

'That's my captain,' said Iron-arm. 'Where he goes I follow.'

'You insolent dogs! I'll kill her myself!' Eldicar pulled his dagger from his belt and took one step away from the balcony door. At that moment something dark moved into sight behind him. A hand hooked into the collar of his robe, dragging him back. His hips hit the balcony rail and his body cartwheeled over the edge. Iron-arm sprang towards the balcony. There was no one there. He glanced up.

Through the lashing rain he saw a dark figure scaling the wall, heading towards the upper balcony of the library tower.

Iron-arm looked down. Fifty feet below the magicker lay spreadeagled on the stones. Moving back into the room, Iron-arm headed for the upper stairs.

Three-swords stopped him. 'Trust me, my friend, you do not want to go up there.' He looked down at the woman in his grasp, then released her. She half fell. Three-swords saw a swelling on the side of her face, and her left eye was closing fast. 'Sit down,' he said, 'and drink some water. What is your name?'

'Keeva Taliana.'

'Well, Keeva Taliana, have your drink and gather your strength. Then, were I you, I would leave this tower.'

Eldicar Manushan lay very still. Pain threatened to engulf him, but he concentrated his powers, blocking the agony. Fighting for calm, he sent his spirit flowing through his broken body. He had landed heavily on his back, but, thankfully, his spine was not severed. His right hip was smashed, and his left leg broken in three places, his left wrist fractured. His head had missed the stone of the path, striking the soft earth of a flower-bed beside it. Otherwise his neck might have been broken. There were some internal injuries, but quietly and carefully Eldicar healed them. Occasionally the pain would burst through his defences, but he held it back and continued to direct power to his injuries, accelerating the healing. He could do little about the broken bones in such a short time, but he swelled and stiffened the muscles around them, forcing them back into position.