"That is despicable.'

'No. It is the way of the world. Only the weak run … now they must pay for their weakness.'

'Are you really that callous?'

'I am afraid so, Danyal.'

'That is a shame.'

'I agree with you.'

'You are an infuriating man!'

'And you are a very special woman – but let us think about that this evening. For now, answer me the question of the Nadir rider: Why did he let us live?'

Danyal smiled. 'Because you isolated him from his men and threatened him as an individual. Gods, will these lessons never cease?'

'All too soon.' said Waylander.

14

Danyal and Waylander made love in a sheltered hollow away from the wagons, and the experience shook Waylander. He could not recall the moment of penetration, nor any sense of passion. He had been filled with a desire to be closer to Danyal, to somehow absorb her body into his own – or perhaps lose his own within hers. And for the first time in many years he had ceased to be aware of movement around him. He had been lost within the lovemaking.

Now alone, fear tugged at him.

What if Cadoras had crept upon them?

What if the Nadir had returned?

What if the Brotherhood … ?

What if?

Hewla was right. Love was a greater enemy at this time.

'You are getting old,' he told himself. 'Old and tired.'

He knew he was no longer as swift or as strong and the silver hairs were multiplying. Somewhere out in the vast blackness of the world was a young killer more swift, more deadly than the legendary Waylander. Was it Cadoras? Or one of the Brotherhood?

The moment of drama with the Nadir had been telling. Waylander had survived it on experience and bluff, for with Danyal beside him he had not wanted to die. His greatest strength had always been his lack of fear but now – when he needed all his talents –the fear was returning.

He rubbed at his eyes, aware of the need for sleep yet reluctant to give in. Sleep is the brother of Death, said the song. But it is gentle and kind. Weariness eased its warmth into his muscles, and the rock against which he sat seemed soft and welcoming. Too tired to pull his blankets over himself, he laid his head back on the rock and slept. As he fell into darkness he saw the face of Dardalion; the priest was calling to him, but he could not hear the words.

Durmast was sleeping beneath the lead wagon when the dream came to him. He saw a man in silver armour: a handsome young man, clean-cut and strong. Durmast was dreaming of a woman with hair of shining chestnut brown – and of a child, sturdy and strong. He pushed away the image of the warrior, but it returned again and again.

'What do you want?' shouted the giant, as the woman and the child shimmered and disappeared. 'Leave me!'

'Your profits are dust unless you wake,' said the warrior.

'Wake? I am awake.'

'You are dreaming. You are Durmast and you lead the wagons to Gulgothir.'

'Wagons?'

'Wake up, man! The hunters of the night are upon you!'

The giant groaned and rolled over; he sat up, rapping his head sharply against the base of the wagon, and cursed loudly. Rolling clear, he straightened – the dream had gone, but a lingering doubt remained.

Taking up a short double-headed axe, he moved towards the west.

Danyal awoke with a start. The dream had been powerful and in it Dardalion had urged her to seek Waylander. Easing herself past the sleeping baker and his family, she slid the sabre clear of its scabbard and leapt forward from the tailboard.

Durmast swung round as she appeared beside him.

'Don't do that!' he snapped. 'I might have taken your head off.'

Then he noticed the sword. 'Where do you think you are going with that?'

'I had a dream,' answered Danyal lamely.

'Stay close to me,' he ordered, moving away from the wagons.

The night was clear, but clouds drifted across the moon and Durmast spat out an oath as he strained to see into the darkness. A hint of movement to the left! His arm swept out, knocking Danyal from her feet. Arrows hissed by him as he dived for the ground. Then a dark shadow lunged at him and the axe swept up to cleave into the man's side, smashing his ribs to shards before exiting in a bloody swathe. Danyal rolled to her feet as the clouds suddenly cleared to show two men in black armour running towards her with swords raised. She dived forward, rolling on her shoulder, and the men cannoned into her and fell headlong into the dust. Danyal came up, fast spearing the point of the sabre into the back of one man's neck; the second man swung round and lunged at her, but Durmast's axe buried itself in his back. His eyes opened wide, but he was dead before a scream could sound.

'Waylander!' bellowed Durmast as more black shapes came from the darkness.

At the boulder Waylander stirred, his eyes drifting open but his body heavy with deep sleep. Above him a man crouched, a wickedly curved blade in his hand.

'Now you die,' said the man and Waylander was powerless to stop him. But suddenly the man froze and his jaw dropped. Sleep fell from the assassin and his hand whipped out to punch his assailant from his feet. As he fell, Waylander saw that a long goose-feathered shaft had pierced the base of his skull.

Rolling to his left, Waylander lunged upright with knives in his hands as a dark figure leapt at him, He blocked the downward sweep of the sword, catching it on the hilt-guard of his left-hand knife. Dropping his shoulder, he stabbed his attacker low in the groin; the man twisted as he fell, tearing the knife from Waylander's hand.

The clouds closed in once more and Waylander threw himself to the ground, rolled several yards and lay still.

There was no movement around him.

For several minutes he strained to hear, closing his eyes and calming his mind.

Satisfied that his attackers had fled, he slowly raised himself to his feet. The clouds cleared …

Waylander spun on his heel, his hand whipping out. The black-bladed knife thudded into the shoulder of a kneeling archer. Waylander ran forward as the man lunged to his feet, but his opponent side-stepped and ran off into the darkness.

Weaponless, Waylander dropped to one knee and waited.

A scream sounded from the direction the wounded man had taken. Then a voice drifted to the kneeling assassin:

'You had best be more careful, Waylander.' A dark object sailed into the air to land with a thud beside him. It was his knife.

'Why did you save me?'

'Because you are mine,' replied Cadoras.

'I will be ready.'

'I hope so.'

Durmast and Danyal ran to him.

'Who were you speaking to?' asked the giant.

'Cadoras. But it doesn't matter – let's go back to the wagons.'

Together the trio moved back into the relative sanctuary of the camp, where Durmast stoked a dying fire to life and then cleaned the blood from his axe.

'That is some woman you have there,' he said. 'She killed three of the swine! And you had me thinking she was a casual bedmate! You are a subtle devil, Waylander.'

'They were Brotherhood warriors,' said the assassin, 'and they used some kind of sorcery to push me into sleep. I should have guessed.'

'Dardalion saved you,' said Danyal. 'He came to me in a dream.'

'A silver warrior with fair hair?' asked Durmast.

Danyal nodded.

'He came to me also. You have powerful friends – a she-devil and a sorcerer.'

'And a giant with a battleaxe,' said Danyal.

'Do not confuse business with friendship,' muttered Durmast. 'And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on.'

The old man gazed with weary eyes at the Vagrian warriors seated before him in what had once been the Palace of Purdol. Their faces shone with the arrogance born of victory, and he knew only too well how he appeared to them: old, tired and weak.