Halfway down the hill he began to shout for the ferryman.

A lantern flared in the window of the shack and a tall man walked out into the night.

'Take me across the river,' said Waylander.

I'll take you in the morning,' replied the man. 'You can bed down in the house.'

'In the morning we'll be dead. There are six beasts from Hell just behind me. If you have family in the house, get them on the ferry.'

The man held up his lantern. He was tall, with wide shoulders and a thick black beard; his eyes, though slanted, gave evidence of his mixed blood. 'You'd better explain,' he said.

'Believe me, there is no time. I will give you twenty silver pieces for the crossing, but if you don't move fast I'll make a try at swimming the river.'

'You won't make it – the current is too strong. Wait here.'

The man walked back into the house and Waylander swore at his lack of speed. Several minutes later he emerged leading three children; one held a rag-doll clutched to her face. He led them to the ferry, lifting the bar to allow Waylander's horse to scramble aboard. The assassin dismounted and locked the bar in place, then unhooked the ropes from the jetty as the ferryman moved to the front, took a firm hold on the lead rope and pulled. The ferry inched forward and the man leaned harder into the rope as Waylander stood at the stern, watching the hillside.

The creatures came into sight and burst into a run.

The ferry was still only yards from the jetty.

'By all the Gods, what are they?' shouted the ferryman, letting go of the rope.

'Pull if you want to live!' screamed Waylander and the man seized the rope, throwing his full weight against it. The creatures plunged down the slope and on to the jetty, in the lead a giant with glittering eyes. Talons outstretched, it reached the end of the jetty and sprang. Waylander tugged on the first trigger and the crossbow bolt flew into the beast's mouth, punching through the bone above the throat and skewering the brain. The creature crashed against the bar, snapping it in two. Waylander's horse reared and whinnied in terror as a second beast leapt. A second bolt bounced from its skull and it hit the ferry and staggered. Waylander ran forward and leapt feet-first, his boots hammering into its chest so that it catapulted from the ferry into the swirling water of the river.

The other beasts howled in rage as Waylander came to his feet and snapped two bolts into place. He loosed one across the twenty-foot gap, watching it thud home in a fur-covered chest. The creature roared in anger, then plucked the bolt free and hurled it into the river.

A taloned hand fastened on Waylander's ankle. Dropping the crossbow, he dragged his sword from its scabbard and sliced downwards with all his strength. The blade bit deep into the creature's arm, but did not break the bone. Three times more Waylander hacked at the limb, until at last the talons loosened. Dragging his foot clear, he jumped back.

The creature rolled to its back, the crossbow bolt jutting from its mouth and blood pumping from its mutilated arm. It was lying on the edge of the ferry and Waylander ran forward and kicked it clear; the body sank like a stone.

'Where else can they cross?' asked Waylander

'About twenty miles upstream, fifteen down. What were they?'

'I don't know. I don't want to know.'

The children were huddled in the far corner of the ferry, too frightened for tears.

'You had better see to them,' said Waylander. I'll pull for a while.' The man left the rope and knelt by his children, talking to them in a low voice, taking them into his arms. Opening a chest fixed near the front of the ferry, he removed blankets and the children lay down on the deck, cuddled together.

It took just over an hour to cross the river, and Waylander was deeply grateful that he had not been forced to swim it. Out in the centre the current was too powerful for human endeavour.

The ferryman moved to the front, lifting a mooring rope as the jetty loomed. A second shack was built beyond the jetty and he and Waylander carried the now sleeping children inside, laying them on two beds pushed together by the far wall. The man prepared a fire and the two of them sat together as the blaze crackled to life.

'It's bad enough with the tribes,' said the ferryman suddenly, 'but now I think I'll move.'

'The beasts are hunting me. I do not think they will return to trouble you.'

'All the same, I have the children to think of – this is no place for them.'

'How long have you been here?'

'Three years. We moved when my wife died. I had a farm near Purdol, but raiders wiped me out –took all my seed-corn and the winter food store. So I set up here, helping an old Notas. He died last year, fell overboard.'

'The tribes don't bother you?'

'Not as long as I keep the ferry operating. But they don't like me. Mixed blood!'

'You are taller than most Nadir,' Waylander observed.

'My mother was a Vagrian woman. My father was Notas, so at least I'm in blood feud with no one. I hear there's a war in the south?'

'Yes.'

'And you are Waylander.'

'The riders have been, then. Which were they, Nadir or Vagrian?'

'Both,' said the man. 'But I won't betray you; I owe you four lives.'

'You owe me nothing – in fact the reverse. I led the creatures to you. When the riders come back, tell them what happened. Tell them I rode north.'

'Why should I do that?'

'Two reasons. First it is the truth, and second they know already where I am heading.'

The man nodded and stirred the blaze to fresh life before adding more fuel.

'If they know, why do you travel there? They will be waiting.'

'Because I have no choice.'

'That is nonsense. Life is all about choice. From here you can ride in any direction.

'I gave my word.'

The ferryman smiled in understanding. 'That I cannot argue with. Nor would I try. But I am intrigued by it – what could make a man give such an oath?'

'Stupidity cannot be ruled out,' said Waylander.

'But you are not stupid.'

'All men are stupid. We plan as if we will live for ever. We think our efforts can match the mountains. But we fool ourselves – we count for nothing and the world never changes.'

'I detect bitterness, Waylander. But your deeds do not match your words. Whatever quest you are engaged upon must count. Else why risk your life?'

'Whether I succeed or fail, within a hundred years – maybe less – no one will remember the deed. No one will care. I can bring an hour's sunshine to a mountain-side; if I fail, it will bring an hour's rain. Does the mountain care?'

'Perhaps not,' said the ferryman, 'but you care. And that is enough. There is too little caring in the world – too much greed and violence. I like to see things grow. I like to hear laughter.'

'You are a romantic, ferryman.'

'My name is Gurion,' said the man, extending his hand.

Waylander took it and grinned. 'And I was once called Dakeyras.'

'You too are a romantic, Dakeyras, because only romantics stay true to their word despite the world. It ought to make us stronger, but it does not. Honour is a weighty chain that slows us down.'

'A philosopher and a romantic, Gurion? You should be a teacher, not a ferryman.'

'What is your quest, Dakeyras?'

'I seek the Armour of Bronze.'

'For what purpose?'

'There is a Drenai general named Egal and I am to deliver it to him. It will aid him in his war.'

'I have seen it.'

'You have been to Raboas?'

'Once, many years ago. It is a chamber deep in the caves. But it is guarded.'

'By the Nadir?'

'No, by creatures far worse – werebeasts that live in darkness at the centre of the mountain.

'How then did you see it?'

'I was with my wife's people, the Wolfshead; there were fifty of us. It was a marriage ceremony: the Khan's youngest son. He wanted to see the legendary Armour.'