Waylander had known him for eleven years and, in as much as he trusted any living man, he trusted the giant.

'Well, get to the point,' said Durmast. 'Who are you hunting?'

'No one.'

'Then who is hunting you?'

'Just about everyone. But mainly the Brotherhood.'

'You pick your enemies well, my friend. Here, read this.' Durmast delved into an untidy mass of parchment scrolls and came up with a tightly rolled package, sealed with a black circle of wax. The seal was broken. Waylander took the scroll and read it swiftly.

'Five thousand gold pieces? It makes me valuable.'

'Only dead,' said Durmast.

'Hence the crossbow greeting.'

'Professional pride. If times get tough I can always rely on you – and the price on your wolfs head.'

'I need your help,' said Waylander, pulling up a seat opposite the giant.

'Helping you will prove costly.'

'You know I can pay. You already owe me six thousand in silver.'

'Then that is the price.'

'You don't know yet what aid I need.'

'True – but that is the price anyway.'

'And if I refuse?'

The smile faded from the giant's face. 'Then I will collect the Brotherhood's bounty on you.'

'You drive a hard bargain.'

'No harder than the one you forced me to on that Ventrian mountainside when my leg was broken. Six thousand for a splint and a horse?'

'There were enemies close by,' said Waylander. 'Was your life worth so little?'

'Another man would have rescued me out of friendship.'

'But then men like us have no friends, Durmast.'

'So do you agree the price?'

'Yes.'

'Fine. What do you need?'

'I need someone to guide me to Raboas, the Sacred Giant.'

'Why? You know where it is.'

'I want to get back alive – and I shall be bringing something with me.'

'You intend to steal Nadir treasure from their holiest place? You don't need a guide, you need an army! Ask the Vagrians – they just might be strong enough. But I doubt it.'

'I need someone who knows the Nadir and is welcome in their camps. What I am seeking is not a Nadir treasure; it belongs to the Drenai. But I will not lie to you, Durmast, there is great danger. The Brotherhood will be on my train and they seek the same goal.'

'Valuable, is it?'

'It is worth more than a king's ransom.'

'And what percentage do you offer me?'

'Half of what I am receiving.'

'That's fair. What are you getting?'

'Nothing at all.'

'Are you telling me that this is something you promised to do for your sick mother on her deathbed?'

'No. I promised an old blind man on his.'

'I don't believe a word of this. You never did anything for nothing in your life. Gods, man, I saved you twice at cost to myself, yet when I was in trouble you charged me silver. Now you tell me you have become an altruist? Do not make me angry, Waylander. You would not like me angry.'

Waylander shrugged. 'I am surprising myself. There is little more I can tell you.'

'But there is. Tell me about the old man.'

Waylander leaned back. What could he tell him? In what way could he lay out the story so that Durmast would understand what had happened to him? No way at all. The giant was a killer, merciless and amoral – even as Waylander had been but a few short days before. How could he understand the shame the old man had inspired in Waylander? He took a deep breath and launched into the tale, allowing no embellishments. Durmast listened in silence, no flicker of expression on his wide features, no glint of emotion in his green eyes. At the conclusion Waylander spread his arms and lapsed into silence.

'The Drenai would pay all that they have to get the Armour?' asked Durmast.

'Yes.'

'And the Vagrians would pay more?'

'Indeed they would.'

'And you are going to do it for nothing?'

'With your help.'

'When do you plan to leave?'

'Tomorrow.'

'You know the grove of oaks to the north?'

'Yes.'

‘I’ll meet you there and we'll go out over the Delnoch Pass.'

'What about the money?' asked Waylander softly.

'Six thousand, you said. It wipes the slate clean.'

Waylander nodded thoughtfully. 'I had expected you to ask for more, considering the size of the task.'

'Life is full of surprises, Waylander.'

After the assassin had gone, Durmast called the hatchet-faced young man into the room. 'Did you hear all that?' he asked.

'Yes. Is he mad?'

'No, he's merely gone soft. It happens, Sorak. But do not underestimate him. He is one of the finest warriors I have ever seen and will prove a hard man to kill.'

'Why do we not just kill him for the bounty?'

'Because I want that Armour and the bounty.'

'So much for friendship,' said Sorak, grinning.

'You heard the man. People like us have no friends.'

Danyal took the children to a tiny schoolhouse behind the Hall of Council. It was run by three Source priests and there were more than forty children housed there, orphans of the war. A further three hundred had been billeted with the townspeople of Skarta. Krylla and Miriel seemed content enough to be left there and waved happily from the play area as Danyal walked away beside an elderly priest.

'Tell me, sister,' he asked as they halted by the wrought-iron gate, 'what do you know of Dardalion?'

'He is a priest like yourself,' she answered.

'But a priest who kills,' he said sadly.

'I cannot help you. He did what he felt was necessary to save lives – there is no evil in him.'

'There is evil in all of us, sister, and the mark of a man is how he defies the evil within. Our young men talk much of Dardalion and I fear he poses a terrible threat to our Order.'

'Or perhaps he will help to save it,' she ventured.

'If we need saving by men, then all we believe is nonsense. For if Man is ultimately more powerful than God, what need have we to worship a deity at all? But I do not wish to burden you with our problems. May the Source bless you, sister.'

She left him and wandered through the white-walled streets. Her dress was filthy and torn and she felt like a beggar under the stares of the townsfolk. A short fat man approached her, offering money, but she dismissed him with an angry glare. Then a woman touched her arm as she passed.

'Did you just come in, my dear?' she asked.

'Yes.'

'Was there a man named Vanek with your party?'

'Yes, a soldier with a limp.'

The woman looked relieved. She was plump, and once must have been pretty, but now her face was lined and she had lost several teeth on the right side of her face which gave her a lopsided appearance.

'My name is Tacia. There is a bath-house next to my home and you are welcome to use it.'

The bath-house was deserted and the main bath empty, but several tubs remained in the side rooms. Tacia helped Danyal to fill a copper tub with buckets of water from a well at the rear of the bath-house, then sat down as she removed her dress and lowered herself into the cold water.

'They do not heat the water any more,' said Tacia. 'Not since the council man left. He owned the House; he went to Drenan.'

'It is fine,' said Danyal. 'Is there any soap?'

Tacia left her and returned some minutes later carrying soap, towels and a skirt and tunic top.

‘It will be too large for you, but I can soon alter it,’ she said.

‘Are you Vanek’s wife?’

‘I was,’ she said, ‘but he lives now with a young girl from the southern quarter.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘Never wed a soldier – isn’t that what they say? The children miss him; he is very good with children.’

‘Were you married long?’

‘Twelve years.’

‘Maybe you’ll get back together,’ said Danyal.

‘Maybe – if my teeth grow again and the years fall away from my face! Have you anywhere to stay?’