'Yes.'

'Alone?'

'What sort of question is that from a man who hid in the bushes and watched?'

Durmast chuckled and scratched his beard. 'You don't miss much, my friend. Soft you may be, but you eyes have lost nothing in sharpness.'

'Thank you for allowing her to come,' said Waylander. 'It will make the first few days of the journey more pleasurable.'

'The least I could do for an old friend. Are you taken with her?'

'She loves me,' replied Waylander with a grin.

'And you?'

'I shall say farewell at Gulgothir – with regret.'

'Then you are fond of her?'

'Durmast, you watched us last night. Did you see what happened before we made love?'

'I saw you pass her something.'

'You saw me give her money. Love! You tell me.'

Durmast leaned back, closing his eyes against the morning sun.

'You ever wished you had settled down? Raised a family?'

'I did once, they died,' said Waylander.

'Me too. Only mine didn't die – she ran off with a Ventrian trader and took my sons with her.'

'I am surprised you didn't go after her.'

Durmast sat up and stretched his back. 'I did, Waylander,' he said.

'And?'

'I gutted the trader.'

'And your wife?'

'She became a whore in the dockside taverns.'

'What a fine pair we make! I pay for my pleasures because I will never again risk love, while you are haunted by love's betrayal.'

'Who says I am haunted?' demanded the giant.

'I do. And don't let yourself get too angry, my friend, for soft though I may be you cannot handle me.'

For several seconds Durmast's angry glare remained, then it faded from his eyes and he smiled. 'At least some of the old Waylander remains,' he said. 'Come, it's time for the long climb and another wagon.'

Throughout the day the men toiled and by dusk all the wagons were safely at the foot of the pass. Waylander had rested through the afternoon, his instincts warning him that he would need all his strength over the next few days.

The rain passed them by and by nightfall the camp-fires were blazing and the smell of cooking meat hung in the air. Waylander made his way to the wagon of the baker, Caymal, who had allowed Danyal to ride with him and his family. On his arrival he found Caymal nursing a bruised eye, his wife Lyda, beside him.

'Where is Danyal?' asked Waylander.

Caymal shrugged. His wife, a lean dark-haired woman in her late thirties, looked up.

'You animals!' she hissed.

'Where is she?'

'Wait your turn,' said Lyda, her lip trembling.

'Listen to me, woman – I am a friend of Danyal's. Now where is she?'

'A man took her. She didn't want to go and my husband tried to stop him but he hit Caymal with a club.'

'Which way?'

The woman pointed to a small grove of trees. Waylander lifted a rope from the back of the wagon, coiled it over his shoulder and loped off in that direction. The moon shone bright in a clear sky and he slowed his pace as he neared the grove, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing.

There! To the left was the sound of coarse cloth against tree bark. And to the right, a muffled cry. Angling towards the left Waylander moved slowly forward, bursting into a sprint just as he reached the trees.

A knife flashed past his head and he hit the ground on one shoulder and rolled. A dark shadow detached itself from the trees, moonlight shining from a curved sword. Waylander rolled to his feet and leapt, his right foot crashed into the man's head and then – as the stranger staggered – Waylander spun on his heel, his right elbow exploding against the man's ear. He fell without a sound. Waylander crept to the right. There in a shallow hollow lay Danyal, her dress ripped open, her legs spread. A man was kneeling over her as Waylander slid the rope from his shoulder and opened the noose.

Moving forward silently he came up behind the man, slipping the noose over his head and jerking it tight. He fell back, scrabbling at the noose, but Waylander pulled him from his feet and dragged him across the hollow to a tall elm. Swiftly he hurled the rope over a branch some ten feet from the ground and hauled the struggling man to his feet. The attacker's eyes were bulging and his face above the dark beard was purple.

Waylander had never seen him before.

Then a whisper of movement from behind caused him to drop the rope and dive to his right. An arrow hissed past him to thud into the bearded attacker. The man grunted and his knees gave way. Waylander bunched his legs under him and came up running, cutting left and right to hinder the aim of the hidden assassin. Once into the trees he dropped low and began to crawl through the bushes, circling the hollow.

The sound of horse's hooves caused him to curse and he straightened, slipping his dagger into his sheath. Returning to the clearing he found Danyal unconscious. Across her naked breasts someone had laid a goose-feathered arrow. Waylander snapped it in half.

Cadoras!

Lifting Danyal, he walked back to the wagons, where he left her with the baker's wife and returned to the grove. The first man who had attacked him lay where he had fallen; Waylander had hoped to question him, but his throat had been cut. Swiftly he searched the body, but there was nothing to identify him. The second man had three gold coins in a belt pouch. Waylander took the coins back to the camp and gave them to Lyda.

'Hide them about your person,' he told her.

She nodded and lifted the canvas flap, allowing Waylander to climb into the wagon.

Danyal was awake, her lip swollen and a bruise on her cheek. Caymal sat beside her. The wagon was cramped and the baker's two young children were sleeping beside Danyal.

'Thank you,' she said, forcing a smile.

'They will not trouble you again.'

Caymal eased himself past Waylander and climbed out over the tailboard. Waylander moved up to sit beside Danyal.

'Are you hurt?' he asked.

'No. Not much anyway. Did you kill them?'

'Yes.'

'How is it you can do these things?'

'Practice,' he said.

'No, that's not what I meant. Caymal tried to stop the man … and Caymal is strong, but he was brushed aside like a child.'

'It is all about fear, Danyal. Do you want to rest now?'

'No, I want some air. Let's walk somewhere.'

He helped her from the wagon and they walked to the cliff face and sat on the rocks.

'Tell me about fear,' she said.

He walked away from her and stooped to lift a pebble.

'Catch this,' he said, flicking the stone towards her. Her hand snaked out and she caught the pebble deftly. 'That was easy, was it not?'

'Yes,' she admitted.

'Now if I had Krylla and Miriel here, and two men had knives at their throats and you were told that if you missed the pebble they would die, would it still be easy to catch? Think of those times in your life when you were nervous, and your movements became disjointed.

'Fear makes fools of us all. So too does anger, rage and excitement. And then we move too fast and there is no control. You follow me?'

'I think so. When I had to give my first performance before the King in Drenan, I froze. All I had to do was walk across the stage, but my legs felt as if they were carved from wood.'

'That is it. Exactly! The onset of fear makes the simplest of actions complex and difficult. No more so than when we fight … and I can fight better than most because I can bring all my concentration to bear on the small things. The pebble remains a pebble, no matter what hangs upon success or failure.'

'Can you teach me?'

'I don't have time.'

'You are not obeying your own maxim. This is a small thing. Forget the quest and concentrate on me, Waylander – I need to learn.'

'How to fight?'

'No – how to conquer fear. Then you can teach me to fight.'