This time Karnak led to the counter-charge, swinging a double-headed battleaxe that smashed through armour, snapping ribs and disembowelling his assailants.

Sarvaj tripped over a body and fell heavily, rapping his head against the rampart steps. Rolling on to his back, he saw a sword-blade flash towards his face.

A second sword blocked the cut, deflecting the blade to strike the stone beside Sarvaj's head. Sarvaj rolled to his feet as Vanek killed the attacker, but there was no time for thanks as they hurled themselves once more into the fray.

A steady thudding boom rose above the noise of clashing steel and Sarvaj knew that the battering ram was once more in place, its bronze head crashing against the reinforced oak of the gates. The sun blazed down from a clear sky and he could feel the salt of his sweat stinging his eyes.

At noon the attack ceased and the Vagrians drew back, carrying their wounded with them, while the Drenai stretcher-bearers gathered the injured in the courtyard below. There was no longer room to carry them inside.

Other soldiers were toiling along the ramparts carrying buckets of water from which the defenders filled their canteens. Still others were washing the blood from the ramparts and spreading sawdust on the stone.

Sarvaj sent three men to fetch bread and cheese for the section, then sat down and removed his helmet. He remembered Vanek saving his life and looked round for the man, seeing him sitting by the wall of the gate tower. Pushing himself wearily to his feet he joined him.

'A tough morning,' he said.

Vanek smiled wearily. 'It will get tougher yet,' he responded.

'Thank you for saving me.'

'No problem. I wish someone had done the same for me.'

Sarvaj saw that Vanek's face was grey with pain and that he was sitting in a pool of blood with one hand clenched to his side.

'I'll get the stretcher-bearers,' said Sarvaj, half-rising.

'No … no point. Anyway, I don't want to be eaten by rats in the night. It doesn't matter – there's no pain, which I'm told is not a good sign.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'Don't worry about it. Did you hear that I left my wife?'

'Yes.'

'Stupid. I loved her too much to bear the sight of watching her grow old. You know? I took up with a young woman. Beautiful girl. She robbed me blind and had a young lover on the side. Why do we have to grow old?'

Sarvaj said nothing, but he drew closer for Vanek's voice was fading to a whisper.

'A year ago I would have seen that cut coming. Too slow … killed the bastard, though. Twisted my body to trap his blade, than cut his cursed throat. I think it was the twist that killed me. You know? Gods, I wish my wife was here! Isn't that stupid? Wanting to bring her here with all the bloodshed and death? Tell her for me, Sarvaj – tell her I was thinking about her. She was so beautiful once. People are like flowers … Gods! Look at that!'

Sarvaj swung round, but there was nothing to be seen.

'What is it?'

But Vanek was dead.

'They're coming back!' yelled Jonat.

18

Waylander had known much pain in his life and had always considered himself capable of withstanding any torment the world could inflict. Now he knew better. His blistered skin felt as if a thousand bees swarmed upon it, stabbing and stinging, while his head throbbed to the rhythms of the waves of nausea racking his body.

At first, as he rode away from the clearing and the dying Cadoras, the pain had been bearable but now, with the coming of night, it was insufferable. A fresh flood of agony struck him and he groaned, cursing himself for his weakness. He sat up, shivering, and moved deeper into the cave, where with trembling hands he shredded some bark for tinder and lit a small fire. His horses, tethered at the rear of the cave, whinnied and the sound ripped through him. He stood, staggered and then recovered his balance, moving to the beasts and patting their necks. Loosening the saddle cinch of his own mount, he spread a blanket over the beast's back before returning to the fire.

Adding thicker sticks to the blaze, he felt the warmth spread through him and slowly removed his shirt, wincing as the wool pulled clear of the blisters on his shoulders. Then he opened a leather pouch at his belt and drew out the long green leaves he had picked before dusk. There was danger in using Lorassium. In small quantities it eased pain and gave rise to colourful dreams; in large quantities it killed. And Waylander had no idea how much or how little to take – or how to prepare it. He crushed a leaf in his hand and smelled it, then placed it in his mouth and chewed slowly. It was bitter and he gagged. Anger rose in him, making his head pound, and he chewed faster. When after ten minutes there was no relief, and he ate a second leaf.

Now flame dancers leapt above the tiny blaze, twisting and pirouetting, flinging their arms high with sparks streaming from their tiny fingers, the walls of the cave creaked and swelled and Waylander chuckled as his horse grew wings and horns. The chuckle faded as he saw his own hands had become scaled and taloned. Now the fire reshaped itself into a face, broad and handsome with flaming hair.

'Why do you seek to thwart me, man?' asked the fire.

'Who are you?'

'I am the Morning Star, the Lord of Dark Light.'

Waylander leaned back and threw a stick at the face. Fire leapt from its mouth and devoured the stick; the tongue of flame, Waylander noticed, was forked.

'I know you,' said the assassin.

'So you should, child, you have served me for many years. I am filled with sadness that you should betray me now.'

'I never served you. I have always been my own man.'

'Think you so? Then we will leave it at that.'

'No – tell me.'

'What is there to tell, Waylander? You have hunted and killed for many years. Do you think your actions aided the Source? They served the cause of Chaos. My cause! You are mine, Waylander – you have always been mine. And in my way I have protected you from harm, turned aside the daggers in the night. Even now I protect you from the Nadir huntsmen who have sworn to eat your heart.'

'Why would you do this for me?'

'I am a good friend to those who serve me. Did I not send Cadoras to you in your need?'

'I don't know. Yet I do know you are the Prince of Deceivers, so I doubt it.'

'Harsh words, mortal. Words of death, if I so choose.'

'What do you want from me?'

'I want to rid you of your taint. You are less of a man since Dardalion touched you with his weakness. I can remove it – I almost did when you went hunting Butaso – but now I see it reaffirming itself like a cancer in your heart.'

'How will you rid me of this taint?'

'Merely say that you desire it and it will be gone.'

'I do not desire it.'

'You think the Source will take you? You are defiled by the blood of the innocents you have slain. Why risk death for a God who despises you?'

'It is not for any God, it is for myself.'

'Death is not the end, Waylander – not for such as you. Your soul will enter the Void, be lost in the darkness, but I will find it and lash it with tongues of flame for eternity. Can you understand what you are risking?'

'I find your threats more acceptable than your promises. They are more in keeping with your reputation. Now leave me.'

'Very well, but know this: I am not an enemy you should desire, assassin. My reach is long and my talons deadly. Your death is already set; the scenario is written in the Book of Souls and I have read it with pleasure. But there is someone you should consider – Danyal. She travels with another whose soul is mine.'

'Durmast will not harm her,' said Waylander, though his words were empty and filled more with hope than conviction.