In the distance he saw a dust-cloud heading towards Raboas. Many riders were galloping towards the mountain, but Waylander did not care.

This was his day. This glorious hour of beauty was his hour.

He stepped into the saddle and located the narrow path between the rocks, urging the horse onward.

All his life he had been heading for this path, he knew. Every experience of his existence had conspired to bring him here at this time.

From the moment he killed Niallad he had felt as if he had reached the peak of a mountain from which there was no return. All the paths had been closed to him, his only choice to step from the peak and fly!

Suddenly it did not matter whether he found the Armour, or indeed whether the Drenai won or died.

This was Waylander's hour.

For the first time in two decades he saw without anguish his beloved Tanya standing in the doorway of the farm and waving him home. He saw his son and his two daughters playing by the flower garden. He had loved them so much.

But to the raiders they had been no more than playthings. His wife they had raped and murdered; his children they had killed without thought or remorse. Their gain had been an hour of sated lust, several bags of grain and a handful of silver coin.

Their punishment had been death, hideous and vengeful – not one of them had died in less than an hour. For Dakeyras the farmer had died with his family. The raiders had created Waylander the Slayer.

But now the hatred was gone … vanished like smoke in the breeze. Waylander smiled as he remembered his first conversation with Dardalion.

'Once I was a lamb playing in a green field. Then the wolves came. Now I am an eagle and I fly in a different universe.'

'And now you kill the lambs?' Dardalion had accused.

'No, priest. No one pays for lambs.'

The path wound on and up, over jagged rocks between towering boulders.

Orien had said that werebeasts guarded the Armour, but Waylander did not care.

He would dismount and walk into the cave, fetch the Armour and wait for the enemy he could not slay.

His horse was breathing hard as they reached level ground. Ahead of him was a wide cave and before that a fire at which sat Durmast and Danyal.

'You took your time,' said the giant, grinning.

Waylander dismounted as Danyal ran to him, folding his arms around her he kissed her hair, closing his eyes to stem the tears. Durmast looked away.

'I love you,' said Waylander softly, his fingers touching the skin of her face. His words carried such overwhelming regret that Danyal pulled away from his arms.

'What is the matter?'

He shook his head. 'Nothing. You are well?'

'Yes. You?'

'Never better.' Taking her by the hand, he walked back to Durmast. The giant pushed himself to his feet, eyes flicking from one to the other.

'It is good to see you,' said Waylander. 'But I knew you would make it.'

'You too. Is everything all right with you?'

'Of course.'

'You seem strangely distant.'

'It has been a long journey and I am tired. You saw the dust-cloud?'

'Yes. We have less than an hour.'

Waylander nodded agreement.

Hobbling the horses, the trio prepared torches and entered the cave. It was dark and foul-smelling and, as Orien had promised, split into three tunnels. Waylander led the way and they moved deeper into the gloom.

Shadows leapt and swayed on the damp granite walls and Danyal, sword in hand, stayed close to the warriors. At one point they walked into a deep chamber where the flickering torchlight failed to pierce the darkness. Danyal pulled at Waylander's cloak and turned.

'What is it?'

At the furthest edges of the torchlight were scores of glittering, feral eyes.

'Ignore them,' said Waylander.

Durmast swallowed hard and drew his battleaxe from its sheath.

They walked on and the eyes closed in around them.

At last they reached the chamber Orien had described.

Inside, along the walls, were placed torch brackets containing sticks soaked with pitch. One by one Waylander lit them all until the chamber was bathed in light.

At the far end, on a wooden frame, stood the Armour of Bronze: winged helm, ornate breastplate bearing an eagle with wings spread, bronze gauntlets and two swords of rare beauty.

The three travellers stood silently before the Armour.

'It makes you believe in magic,' whispered Durmast.

'Who could lose, wearing such as that?' asked Danyal.

Waylander walked forward and reached out his hands.

They passed through the armour and he reached again.

But the image remained.

'Well, get it, man!' said Durmast.

'I cannot. I am not the Chosen One.'

'What? ' hissed Durmast. 'What are you talking about?'

Waylander chuckled, then sat down before the Armour.

'There is a spell on it, Durmast. The old King, Orien, told me of it. Only the Chosen One can remove the Armour. It is a safeguard, I suppose – it is so vital to the Drenai that they could not risk it being taken by an enemy. But it does not matter.'

'Doesn't matter?' stormed Durmast. 'We've risked our lives to get this damned tin suit! Even now the Nadir are gathering – and I'm not too damned sure about those eyes out there. Of course it matters.'

'All that matters is that we tried,' said Waylander.

Durmast's response was short, vulgar and explosive. 'Horse dung! The world is full of sorry triers and I'll have no part of it. What do we do now? Wait for some golden-haired grinning Drenai hero who's been blessed in some magic fountain?'

Danyal approached the Armour and tried to touch it, but it remained ethereal.

'What do you think you're doing?' snapped Durmast.

'You try,' she said.

'What's the point? Do I look like a Drenai hero to you?'

'I know what you are, Durmast. Try anyway. What can you lose?'

The giant pushed himself upright and stalked to the Armour.

It looked so damned solid. He shrugged and his fingers snapped out …

And struck metal.

Danyal's jaw dropped. 'Gods! It is him!'

Durmast stood transfixed, then he swallowed hard and reached out once more. This time he lifted the helm and placed it reverently before Waylander. Then he stared at his hands – Waylander saw they were shaking uncontrollably. Piece by piece Durmast lifted the Armour from the stand. Then he sat beside Waylander, saying nothing.

The torches were guttering now and Danyal tapped Waylander's arm. 'We should go.'

Waylander and Durmast gathered up the Armour and followed Danyal to the doorway. Outside a sea of eyes gazed in at them. Danyal froze, then she lifted her torch and the eyes withdrew into the shadows.

'It's going to be a long walk,' muttered Durmast.

He stepped forward and the torchlight fell on the Armour of Bronze. A sibilant whispering rose up from all around them, then subsided into silence. But the eyes fell back and Danyal led the way out into the light.

Once in the open, Durmast and Waylander strapped the Armour to the back of Durmast's pack pony and covered the shining metal with a grey blanket.

The sound of hooves on stone brought a curse from Durmast and sweeping up his bow, he ran to the sloping path. Waylander joined him, crossbow in hand.

Two Nadir warriors rode into sight, lances in their hands. They catapulted from the saddle, one with a bolt through the eye, the other with a long shaft through the ribs.

'They are merely the vanguard; I think we are in trouble,' said Durmast, pulling a second arrow from his quiver. 'Unfortunately, I think we're trapped up here.'

'The second path may be clear,' said Waylander. 'Take Danyal and run. I'll hold them here and join you later.'

'You take her and run,' said Durmast. 'I have had enough of her company.'