'You realise I am holding your life in the palm of my hand?'

'I do not care, general. That is the simple beauty of this quest. I do not care if it is successful – and I care even less about threats to my life. I have nothing to live for, my blood runs in no living thing. Can you understand that?'

'So I cannot tempt you with riches or with threats?'

'That is true. It makes a nonsense of my reputation, does it not?'

'Is there anything I can do to help you with your quest?'

'That is a somewhat abrupt change of stance, general.'

'I am a realist. I know when to walk away. If I cannot have the Armour, then Egel is the next best thing for the Drenai. So ask. Anything you require?'

'I require nothing. I have funds enough in Skarta.'

'But surely you cannot intend to go alone?'

'Ideally I would like to take an army – but short of that, one man has more chance of success.'

'What of Dardalion?'

'His destiny lies elsewhere. He can, and will, prove useful to you.'

'How soon do you plan to leave?'

'Soon.'

'Still you do not trust me?'

'I trust no one, general. Trust implies need, need implies caring.'

'And you care for nothing? Not even the woman and the children?'

'I care for nothing.'

'I read men as other men read tracks. You are an open book to me, Waylander, and I think you are lying – as you lied when I asked about Kaem's son. But we will let it lie; it matters not a whit, except to you. I will let you sleep now.'

The huge general pushed himself to his feet and stepped out into the night. The rain had stopped. Karnak stretched his back and moved off along the column, flanked by his two bodyguards.

'What do you make of him, Ris?' he asked the taller of the two.

'I don't know, general. They say he fought well at Masin. He's steady. Cool.'

'But would you trust him?'

'I think I would. I would certainly sooner trust him than fight him.'

'Well said.'

'I do have a question, sir, if I may?'

'Gods, man, you don't have to ask. Go ahead.'

'All that about the Armour. What would you do with it?'

'I would have sent it to Egel.'

'I do not understand. That is where he plans to take it.'

'All life is a riddle, my friend,' said Karnak.

10

The town of Skarta sprawled across a clearing between two hills in the south-west of Skultik. There were no walls around it, though hastily constructed defences were in evidence – loosely packed barriers of local rock built behind deep ditches. Soldiers were at work everywhere, increasing the height of the barricades or filling in the outfacing windows of perimeter homes.

But all work ceased as Karnak, now at the head of the column, led the wagons into the town.

'Welcome back, general!' shouted one man, sitting back on the wall he was building.

'Meat tonight. How does that sound?' yelled Karnak.

Back at the rear of the column Waylander rode with Dardalion.

'Another great Karnak victory,' observed Waylander. 'See how the crowds flock to him! You would think he defended Masin himself. Where is Gellan in this moment of triumph?'

'Why do you not like him?' asked Dardalion.

'I do not dislike him. But he is a poseur.'

'Do you not think he needs to be? He has a demoralised army – a force in need of heroes.'

'Perhaps.' Waylander cast his eyes over the defences. They were well planned, the ditches deep enough to prevent a force of horsemen from charging the town and the walls strategically placed to allow archers to inflict heavy losses on an attacking army. But they were useless in any long-term encounter, for they were neither high nor strong. Nor were they linked. It was not possible to turn Skarta into a fortress, and Waylander guessed the defences were more for the town's morale than for any genuine attempt to fight the Vagrians.

Once through the outer defences, the wagons pulled into the centre of Skultik. The buildings were mainly of white stone, hewn from the Delnoch mountains to the north. Mostly single-storey dwellings, the town was built around an old fort villa at the centre which now was the Hall of Council and Egel's headquarters.

Waylander reined in his horse as the column entered.

'I will find you later,' he called to Dardalion, then rode to the eastern quarter. Since his meeting with Karnak he was no longer guarded, but he still proceeded cautiously, checking several times to see if he was being followed. The houses were poorer here, the walls painted white to imitate the grand granite and marble homes of the northern quarter, but the stone was inferior quality.

Waylander rode to an inn near the Street of Weavers and left his mount in a stable at the rear. The inn was crowded, the air thick with the smell of stale sweat and cheap beer. He pushed his way through to the long wooden bar, his eyes raking the crowd; the barman lifted a pewter mug as he saw him approach.

'Ale?' he asked.

Waylander nodded. 'I am looking for Durmast,' he said.

'Many people look for Durmast. He must be a popular man.'

'He's a pig. But I need to find him.'

'Owe you money, does he?' The barman grinned, showing stained and broken teeth.

'I am ashamed to admit that he's a friend of mine.'

'Then you ought to know where he is.'

'Is he in that much trouble?'

The barman grinned again and filled Waylander's jug with frothing ale. 'If you are seeking him, you'll find him. Enjoy your drink.'

'How much?'

'Money's not worth that much here, friend. So we are giving it away.'

Waylander drank deeply. 'Tasting like this, you ought to pay people for drinking it!' The barman moved away and Waylander settled his arms on the bar and waited. After several minutes, a thin hatchet-faced young man tapped his arm.

'Follow me,' he said.

They moved through the crowd to a narrow door at the back of the inn, which opened on to a small courtyard and a series of alleys. The man's slight figure jogged ahead, cutting left and right through the maze until at last he stopped at a wide door studded with brass. There he knocked three times, waited, then twice more and the door was opened by a woman wearing a long green dress. Wearily she led them to a room at the back of the house and the young man knocked again. Then he grinned at Waylander and moved away.

Waylander placed his hand on the door-latch, then stopped. Moving to one side with his back against the wall, he flicked the latch and pushed the door open. A crossbow shaft hammered into the wall opposite, sending a shower of sparks across the corridor.

'Is that any way to greet an old friend?' asked Waylander.

'A man has to be careful among friends,' came the reply.

'You owe me money, you reprobate!'

'Come in and collect it.'

Waylander moved away from the door to the other side of the corridor. Taking two running steps, he hurled himself head-first into the room, rolling forward to his feet with knife in hand as he hit the floor.

'Game is over and you are dead!' came the voice, this time from the doorway. Waylander turned slowly. Standing behind the door was a huge bear of a man holding a black crossbow, the bolt aimed at Waylander's stomach.

'You are getting old and slow, Waylander,' commented Durmast. Lifting the bolt from the weapon, he snapped the string forward and placed the crossbow against the wall. Waylander shook his head and sheathed his knife. Then the big man moved across the room and lifted him from his feet in a bone-crushing bear hug. He planted a kiss on Waylander's forehead before releasing him.

'You stink of onions,' said Waylander.

Durmast grinned and lowered his huge frame into a leather chair. The man was even bigger than the assassin remembered, and his brown beard was shaggy and unkempt. He was dressed as always in a mixture of green and brown homespun wool which gave him the appearance of a human tree: a thing created from sorcery. Durmast was just under seven feet tall and weighed more than three large men.