Legana laughed. 'You're only saying that because you're trying to get used to the idea of living in Raland; I've just come from there and it’s a bigger shithole than this dump.'

So you sa,’ Tochet replied, 'but you won't say why you were there that'srather more interesting to me.'

Legana shifted in her seat. ‘One of the Chief Steward’s little projects, that’s all – nothing to concern.

Tochet was her friend, but she could say nothing of why she'd been there.The man she'd been

sent to had died in a bar fight, presumably arranged by Duke Nemarse, and she could guess what Lesarl's next move would be. She didn't want her friend protecting the duke when that happened. 'Why don't you come with me instead?'

Tochet broke into a smile and put his hand on hers. 'Do you mean all these years of wooing have finally paid off?'

'Hah, not unless there's something you've been hiding from your men all these years.' She delicately removed the Chetse's hand from hers and gave him her best smile. Legana knew Tochet couldn't resist that; he was a fool for any pretty face. 'You know perfectly well that \ meant to command the forces in Lomin; Scion Lomin won't accept a Farlan's authority and you're the perfect alternative. He could hardly refuse a man of your experience.'

'Well now, I've given my word and a mercenary has nothing if he breaks that. I have accepted the commission from Duke Nemarse and that's where we'll go. It will be a good rest for us after Tor Milist; I'm buggered if I'm doing that all winter again. I said as much to Duke Vrerr, so I don't think I'm his favourite mercenary any longer.'

Destech snorted in amusement. 'You'll be even less popular when his wife gives birth.'

'And without you to support the duke?'

'With me, without me. Lords stand on their own feet or they fall on their own. Vrerr is an idiot; he turns his own people against him. No one likes the White Circle, but he's doing grand work in bringing over the neutrals. If it wasn't for the men from Narkang he'd have died a handful of times already.'

'Men from Narkang?'

'I think so. They're not a friendly bunch, and I must have seen five different agents over my time there, but my orders were always more intelligent when one of them was around. They're hard men. I've seen the type at home; good soldiers, too good to waste on the line. They're the bloody hands that drive history.'

'Why would the King of Narkang get involved? He knows meddling in Tor Milist might bring him in conflict with the Parian.'

'From what I've heard, that man's not afraid of anything, but tt would be an inconvenience to him if Tor Milist fell. This fair city of Helrect is run by the White Circle and rumour has it they pull the strings in Scree too. If Vrerr is overthrown, King Emin suddenly haS a nation to rival his own just over the border; one full of experienced soldiers and mercenary companies. As long as King Emin's not obvious about it, vour masters will turn a blind eye because they don't want the White Circle there either.

Legana glowered: the White Circle was a sisterhood of noble-born women, one so close-ranked that even Lesarl hadn’t been able to penetrate far enough in to discover who was really in charge – or, more importantly, what their real ambitions were. Publicly they claimed no agenda beyond a fairer, less corrupt system of governance, but they were active recruiters and Lesarl considered altruism and power rare companions. Legana expected to be assigned to infiltrate the Circle one day soon; even she, a trained killer of both talent and experience, was willing to admit a slight unease at the prospect.

'And is there any way I could persuade you to come north?' Legana knew Tochet was a man of his word and would not be swayed, but as a friend she had to try again. 'Land? A title? To go home?'

'Farlan land? Hah! Too cold and too wet. Don't care about titles; the only words that count are those carved above the entrance of your stonedun. Going home? That I could hope for, and nothing more than that. Lord Bahl might hold better sway with Chalat than any other man, but what I called him, no Chetse would forgive. I lost my head, I know, but there's no taking some words back.' He drained his cup and was about to reach for more wine when his hand sagged. Legana saw the fatigue and sadness on his face, the look of a man who was getting too old to be a mercenary.

'But if a truce could be arranged somehow? Living your life out in Cholos or Lenei would be home enough, wouldn't it?'

Tochet scowled. 'If he forgot himself and did welcome me with open arms, I'd push a blade under his ribs and plant a fat kiss on his lips as the life ran out of him. He had my wife killed, my children, my cousins…' Tochet's voice trailed off and men round the table fell silent. Legna saw anger on their faces, not sadness, and raw murder in their eyes. 'There's no taking back there. No forgiveness. And now I’m for my bed; the fun's gone from the evening and we're marching out tomorrow.' Tochet rose and looked around at the tables of Chetse soldiers. His men had not risen at his departure, but they watched his every movementt with sober eyes. Taking a leather purse from his belt, Tochet tossed it on to the table where it fell with a heavy clink.

. 'There you go; you've all toasted my boys before and you'll do it again tonight. Make sure you can walk in the morning.'

Touching Legana on the arm to say goodbye, he made for the door of the inn. After a moment, she caught him up and slipped an arm under his. She knew she couldn't ease the pain in his eyes, but a friend had to try.

CHAPTER 6

Gradually the darkness gave way to leaden shades of grey and a seeping chill that drained the warmth from Isak's blood. All alone in the •void, he felt his body grow numb and fade until he could hardly sense any part of him.

Then there was pain; a cold discomfort that grew to become a hungry licking flame. The swirls of grey began to thicken and press down on him, swamping his eyes and mouth, causing him to choke in the silence. He tried to struggle free, to fight his way clear, but the cold had sapped his strength and the pressure was all around. There was nowhere to escape to and soon he fell into helpless exhaustion, surrendering to the tug of icy depths that dragged him further down to a place of no light and no memory, only the chill cradle of the grave.

And a voice.

'Isak.

'Raise your head, Isak.

'Raise your head and see me.'

He had scarcely enough strength to obey, but somehow, he did lift his head. He could see nothing, but an image of a figure was imprinted on his mind: a man, tall and powerful, terrifying, and yet almost featureless, with blank eyes, smooth, midnight-blue skin and only the impression of a mouth. The only shape that had any definition was the ornate bow that rested at the man's side. The pitch-black frame was flecked with gold and silver, and set with spirals of jewels.

‘I am your master now. You are the blade I wield; the arrow I send

high into the night. You are my Chosen, you share in my majesty and

the Land will see my glory echo in your deeds.'

Isak tried to flee the voice, to hide from the words crashing through his head. He could sense others all around now, the faint touch of their rnovements and the melodious echoes of their voices, but the

figure swept them all aside – except for one, the softest touch of them all, one that was scarcely noticeable until the others were gone and then it was a thread of pure light, distinct against the dark background and impervious to the figure's palpable fury.

It began to move, caressing the curve of his hip and moving up over his belly towards his heart. Isak relaxed under its soothing touch, then curled tightly as the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Pain blossomed on his chest, then drove so deep the light burst through his body and burned a path through the darkness. In a heartbeat it had dissipated and all that remained was a faint voice: the sound of a girl calling a name, but so distant her cry was lost on the wind.