Jonat scrambled up and threw himself on the man's back; then, drawing a slender dagger, he tore the man's helm clear and cut his throat.

A single bugle blast pierced the battle clamour and the Vagrians pulled back out of bowshot.

'Clear away the bodies!' shouted Jonat.

Waylander retrieved his crossbow and counted the remaining bolts. Twelve. He climbed down to the courtyard and began searching the bodies, reclaiming fifteen bolts that were usable.

Dardalion sat with his back to the northern wall, dizzy and unable to stand. Waylander strolled over and knelt by his side.

'Drink,' he said.

Dardalion weakly pushed the canteen away. 'I feel sick.'

'You cannot sit there, priest; they'll be back within minutes. Get yourself to the Keep.'

Dardalion pulled his legs under him and struggled to rise. Waylander pulled him upright.

'Can you stand?'

'No.'

'Lean on me, then.'

'I did not perform too well, Waylander.'

'You killed your first man in combat. It is a start.'

Together they made their way to the Keep and Waylander laid the priest down on a bench table. Danyal ran forward, her face white with shock.

'He's not dead, merely dazed,' said Waylander. Ignoring him she moved to Dardalion, pulling his helm clear and examining the shallow cut to his head where the helm had dented.

A bugle blast echoed over the plain.

Waylander cursed softly and made for the door.

8

To free himself from pain and dizziness Dardalion released his spirit and soared, passing through the walls of the Keep and out into the bright midday sunshine.

The battle below raged on. Waylander, back on the battlements, took aim carefully and loosed bolt after bolt into the oncoming Vagrians. Jonat, full of near-maniacal energy, gathered to him twenty warriors and rushed the Vagrians who had cleared the wagons. On the battlements to left and right, Drenai archers picked their targets with care. On the eastern wall the enemy had gained a foothold by climbing the pitted outer ramparts. Here three men fought hard to hold the tide and Dardalion floated towards them.

At the centre of the three stood a middle-aged officer whose swordplay was exquisite. Not for him the wild hacking, the fanatic attack; he fought with subtle grace and style, his sword flickering into play and scarcely seeming to touch his opponents. But down they went, choking on their own blood. His face was calm, even serene, thought Dardalion, and his concentration intense.

Through his spirit eyes the priest could see the flickering auras that marked the mood of each man. Bright red pulsed the colours on all but two of the combatants.

The officer glowed with the blue of harmony, and Waylander with the purple of controlled fury.

More Vagrians cleared the battlements of the eastern wall, while Jonat and his men were being forced back from the breach on the western wall. Waylander, his bolts exhausted, drew his sword and leapt from the ramparts to the wagon below, crashing into several Vagrian soldiers and bowling them from their feet. He came up swinging his sword, killing two before they could recover their balance. A third died even as he swung his sword into play. Waylander blocked the cut and tore open the man's throat with a downward sweep.

Back in the Keep, Danyal took the sisters up the winding stair to the tower and then sat them with their backs to the ramparts. From here the sound of battle was muted, and she took the sisters in her arms.

'You are very frightened, Danyal,' said Krylla.

'Yes, I am. You'll have to look after me,' answered Danyal.

'Will they kill us?' asked Miriel.

'No … I don't know, little one.'

'Waylander will save us; he always does,' stated Krylla.

Danyal closed her eyes and Waylander's face filled her mind: the dark eyes, deep-set under fine brows, the angular face and square chin, the wide mouth with the faintly mocking half-smile.

The scream of a dying man echoed above the clamour of the battle.

Danyal released the children and stood leaning out over the crenellated wall.

Waylander stood with a little knot of men trying to fight their way back to the Keep, but they were almost surrounded. She could look no more and slumped down beside the girls.

Inside the Keep Dardalion roused himself and groped for his swords. He felt less groggy now, awareness of imminent death overriding the pain. He moved to the doors and hauled them open. Outside the sun was so bright it brought tears to his eyes; blinking, he saw four men rush towards him.

Fear swamped him, but instead of forcing it back, he released it, hurling it with terrible power at the four soldiers. The mind blast staggered them. One fell clutching at his heart and died within seconds; another dropped his sword and ran screaming towards the breach. The remaining two – stronger men than most – merely backed away.

Dardalion advanced on the main group, eyes wide and startlingly blue, pupils almost invisible. Growing in strength, he hurled his fear into the blue-cloaked mass of attackers. Men screamed as it hit them and panic swept through the Vagrians like a plague. They swung round, ignoring the swords of the Drenai and faced the silver warrior advancing on them. A man at the front dropped to his knees shaking uncontrollably, then he pitched forward unconscious.

Later, under the most intensive questioning, not one Vagrian soldier could describe the terror he had felt, nor the awful menace that produced it … though most could recall the silver warrior who shone like white fire and whose eyes radiated death and despair.

The Vagrians broke and ran, dropping their weapons behind them.

The Drenai watched in awe as Dardalion followed them to the breach, his swords in his hands.

'Gods of Light,' whispered Jonat. 'Is he a sorcerer?'

'It looks that way,' said Waylander.

The men broke ranks and ran to the priest, pounding him on the back. He staggered and almost fell, but two of the warriors hoisted him to their shoulders and he was carried back to the Keep. Waylander smiled and shook his head.

'Dak?' said a voice. 'Is it you?' And Waylander swung round to face Gellan. The officer looked older, his hair was thinning and his eyes were tired.

'Yes, it is me. How are you, Gellan?'

'You haven't changed a jot.'

'Nor you.'

'What have you been doing with yourself?'

'I've travelled a fair deal. I see you stayed with the Legion – I thought you wanted to be married and gone.'

'I married and stayed,' said Gellan and Waylander read the pain in the man's face, though Gellan fought to disguise it. 'It is good to see you. We will talk later, there is much to do.'

Gellan left him then, but the man who had first spoken to Waylander remained.

'You are old friends?' asked Sarvaj.

'What? Yes.'

'How long since you've seen him?'

'Twenty years.'

'His children died in the plague at Skoda and his wife killed herself soon after.'

'Thank you for telling me.'

'He's a good officer.'

'He always was, better than he knew.'

'He was going to retire this year – he had bought a farm near Drenan.'

Waylander watched Gellan directing the men to aid the wounded and clear away the bodies of the slain. Others he sent to the battlements to watch for the Vagrians.

Leaving Sarvaj in mid-sentence, Waylander strolled back to the western wall ramparts to collect his crossbow. He found a Drenai warrior sitting beside it – the man who had saved him earlier with a well-timed arrow. In no mood for conversation, Waylander stepped past him and picked up the weapon.

'Drink?' asked the man, offering Waylander a canteen.

'No.'

'It's not water,' said the soldier, grinning.