'Very well. Start by telling me what is death?'

'An ending.'

'Make it worse.'

'Maggots and grey rotting flesh?'

'Good. And where are you?'

'Gone. Finished.'

'Do you feel anything?'

'No … perhaps. If there is a paradise.'

'Forget paradise.'

'Then I feel nothing. I am no longer alive.'

'This death, can you avoid it?'

'Of course not.'

'But you can delay it?'

'Yes.'

'And what will that give you?'

'The prospect of more happiness.'

'But at worst?'

'The prospect of more pain,' she said. 'Old age, wrinkles, decay.'

'Which is worse? Death or decay?'

'I am young. At the moment I fear both.'

'To conquer fear, you must realise that there is no escape from what you dread. You must absorb it. Live with it. Taste it. Understand it. Overcome it.'

'I understand that,' she said.

'Good. What do you fear most at this moment?'

'I fear losing you.'

He moved away from her and lifted a pebble. Clouds partly obscured the moonlight and she strained to see his hand.

'I am going to throw this to you,' he said. 'If you catch it, you stay – if you miss it, you return to Skarta.'

'No, that's not fair! The light is poor.'

'Life is not fair, Danyal. If you do not agree, I shall ride away from the wagons alone.'

'Then I agree.'

Without another word he flicked the stone towards her – a bad throw, moving fast and to her left. Her hand flashed out and the pebble bounced against her palm, but she caught it at the second attempt. Relief swept through her and her eyes were triumphant.

'Why so pleased?' he asked.

'I won!'

'No. Tell me what you did.'

'I conquered my fear?'

'No.'

'Well, what then? I don't understand you.'

'But you must, if you wish to learn.'

Suddenly she smiled. 'I understand the mystery. Waylander.'

'Then tell me what you did.'

'I caught a pebble in the moonlight.'

During the first three days of travel Danyal's progress astonished Waylander. He had known she was strong and supple and quick-witted but, as he discovered, her reflexes were staggeringly swift and her ability to assimilate instructions defied belief.

'You forget,' she told him, 'I performed on the stages of Drenan. I have been trained to dance and to juggle, and I spent three months with a group of acrobats.'

Every morning they rode away from the wagons out on to the undulating terrain of the Steppes. On the first day he taught her to throw a knife; the ease with which she adapted to the skill caused him to re-think his training methods. He had planned to humour her at first, but now he pushed her in earnest. Her juggling skills gave her a sense of balance which was truly extraordinary. His knives were of different weights and lengths, but in her hands they performed equally. She merely hefted the blade in her fingers, judging the weight, and then let fly at the target. Of her first five throws, only one failed to thud home into the lightning-blasted tree.

Waylander found a rock with high chalk content and outlined the figure of a man on the tree bole. Handing Danyal a knife he turned her round, facing away from the tree.

'Without pause I want you to turn and throw, aiming for the neck,' he said. Spinning on her heel, her arm flashed forward and the knife hammered into the tree just above the right shoulder of the chalk figure.

'Damn!' she said. Waylander smiled and retrieved the knife.

'I said turn, not spin. You were still moving to your left when you threw – and that carried your arm past the target. But, nevertheless, it was a fine effort.'

On the second day he borrowed a bow and quiver of arrows. She was less skilled with this weapon, but her eye was good. For some time Waylander watched her, then he bade her remove her shirt. Taking it by the sleeves, he moved behind her and tied it tightly around her, flattening her breasts against her ribs.

'That is not very comfortable,' she protested.

'I know. But you are bending your back as you pull, to avoid the string catching your body – that affects your aim.'

But the idea was not a success and Waylander moved on to the sword. One of Durmast's men had sold him a slender sabre with an ivory hilt and a filigreed fist-shield. The weapon was well-balanced and light enough to allow Danyal's greater speed to offset her lack of strength.

'Always remember,' he told her as they sat together after an hour of work, 'that most swords are used as hacking weapons. Your enemy, in the main, will be right-handed. He will lift his sword over his right shoulder and sweep it down from right to left, aiming at your head. But the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. So thrust! Use the point of the sword. Nine times out of ten you will kill your opponent. Most men are untrained, they hack and slash in a frenzy and are easy to despatch.' Taking up two sticks he had whittled to resemble swords, he handed one to Danyal. 'Come, I will play the part of your opponent.'

On the fourth day he began to teach her the principles of unarmed combat.

'Hammer this thought into your mind: Think ! Harness your emotions and act on the instincts this training will inspire. Rage is useless, so do not lash out. Think. Your weapons are fists, fingers, feet, elbows, and head. Your targets are eyes, throat, belly and groin. These are the areas in which a well-timed blow will disable an enemy – you have one great advantage in this kind of combat: you are a woman. Your enemies will expect, fear, terror … and ultimately surrender. If you stay cool you will survive – and they will die.'

On the afternoon of the fifth day, as Waylander and Danyal rode back towards the wagons a group of Nadir warriors galloped into sight whooping and cheering. Waylander reined in his horse as they approached. There were some two hundred riders and they were heavily laden with blankets, trade goods and saddlebags bulging with coins and jewels. Danyal had never seen Nadir tribesmen, but she knew of their reputation as ferocious killers. Squat and powerful men they were, with slanted eyes and flat faces; many wore lacquered breastplates and fur-trimmed helms; most carried two swords and an assortment of knives.

The Nadir pulled up, spreading across the trail. Meanwhile Waylander sat quietly, trying to pick out the leader.

After several tense seconds a middle-aged warrior rode from the group; his eyes were dark and malicious, his smile cruel. The eyes flickered to Danyal and Waylander read his thought.

'Who are you?' asked the leader, leaning forward on the pommel of his saddle.

'I ride with Ice-eyes,' said Waylander, using the Nadir form of Durmast's name.

'You say.'

'Who is there to doubt me?'

The dark eyes fixed on Waylander and the Nadir nodded.

'We have come from Ice-eyes' wagons. Many gifts. You have gifts?'

'Only one,' said Waylander.

'Then give it to me.'

'I already have. I gave you the gift of life.'

'Who are you to give what I already possess?'

'I am the Soul Stealer,'

The Nadir showed no emotion. 'You ride with Ice-eyes?'

'Yes. We are brothers.'

'Of the blood?'

'No. Of the blade.'

'Ride in peace on this day,' said the Nadir. 'But remember – there will be other days,'

Lifting his arm, the Nadir leader waved on his men and the group thundered past the two riders.

'What was that all about?' asked Danyal.

'He did not want to die,' said Waylander. 'There is a lesson there, if you care to consider it.'

'I have had enough lessons for one day. What did he mean – many gifts?'

Waylander shrugged. 'Durmast betrayed the wagon folk. He took their money to lead them to Gulgothir, but he already had a deal with the Nadir. So the Nadir rob the wagons and Durmast takes a percentage. At the moment they still have their wagons, but the Nadir will come again before Gulgothir and take even those. The people who survive will arrive in Gulgothir as paupers.'