Ghorent had to be close now, Isak reckoned – despite the sense of menace that hung over the borderlands, he was looking forward to a night in a town, anywhere with clean beds and fresh food. All those years as a wagon-brat had been wiped out by a few brief months in hrah Palace, he laughed to himself, until he saw movement, a jerking shadow in the evening gloom.

He readied himself unconsciously, relaxing only when the shadow

resolved into Jeil to answer his unspoken prayer. The ranger reined

in just before reaching the party and called out in a clear voice, 'My

Lord, there's a fortified town up ahead with scouts watching the road; do you want us to announce you?'

Isak looked to Vesna and nodded. The count reached out and touched Tila on her gloved hand, an apology for cutting their conversation short, before handing her the reins to his second horse and cantering forward. Jeil wheeled about and then sent his stock pony in

eager pursuit.

'Do you want to approach under a flag?' Carel knew the answer already, but Isak must confirm all decisions. The white-eye might not care about minor details like where they camped, knowing that if he did object, his word would be heeded, but he had to get used to the protocols of Parian life. So when the rangers pointed out a possible camp-site, the greying soldier would turn to Isak and ask whether he

would like to stop.

'No,' Isak replied, 'Somehow I don't think that would be appreciated here.'

The villagers around here saw Ghorent as the heart of these disputed lands. This was where most of the inhabitants came for guidance or justice. The town council was respected precisely because it had no authority and expected none. The arrangement seemed almost absurd to the Parian, who were used to rigid laws and conventions: there were no taxes paid, no real system of governance, certainly no army. What the people of the borderlands did have was a fierce pride in their way of life, and,respect that bordered on affection for the

views of Ghorent.

'Clearly not: they would see it as a boast of strength. Humility and respect is what these people want,' Tila said from within the pale blue folds of her cape, wrapped around her to keep off the evening chill. Isak bobbed his head in agreement and nudged Toramin into a brisker

pace.

'Well, let no man say I'm lacking in respect. We had better not keep them waiting.' As the charger kicked forward into a canter, he heard Tila mutter something to Carel. The words were too soft to hear, but when they caught up and drew level with him they were

both smiling.

It wasn't long before they caught sight of Ghorent's three towers and the wooden palisade that encircled the hilltop town. The gate way itself was made of stone, set into the tallest of the towers. Beacons shone out against the encroaching night, illuminating a line of bowmen who watched their approach with keen interest.

Vesna and the two rangers waited a hundred yards from the gate

with two men, also on horseback. As they approached, Carel gave a signal and the Ghosts riding ahead split into two columns to allow Isak to the fore.

'Welcome, Lord Isak. You honour Ghorent with your presence,' called the better-dressed of the two men with the count. His Parian was heavily accented. His choice of words reminded Isak of an observation Tila had made a few minutes before: The people see Ghorent as an entity. 'We' were not honoured, Ghorent was. She was right. It was Ghorent that was respected, not the individual people. A foreign dignitary would be unlikely to find such unity in Tirah.

'I am Councillor Horen, this is Captain Berard,' the man continued. 'Please, enter Ghorent as friends. We've been looking forward to your arrival.'

Isak cocked his head, wondering if they would comment on their very effective tracking system.

The councillor noted Isak's face and smiled. 'All will be explained when you meet the Seer. He has asked that you be brought directly to him before being presented to the council.'

Without waiting for a reply, Horen turned his horse and indicated for them to follow. Captain Berard, dressed in mail with a sheathed sword at his side, smiled in a guarded manner. He looked tough and proud, a professional soldier rather than just a mercenary, but his long dark hair drawn back from his face revealed a welcoming face. Life here must been strange, considering neither man appeared either awed or surprised – most people were taken aback by Toramin's monstrous size even before they got to Isak.

Isak nudged his horse to follow and Vesna dutifully fell in beside his Lord, moving closer when Isak learned over to whisper, The Seer?'

'I'm not sure. A mage of some sort, I assume. That might account for the town's prosperity.'

Isak looked up as they approached the town walls. Vesna was right. 1 he walls might have been of wood, but they looked strong and well maintained. The councillor was dressed as a Tirah city official might; he didn't look like the wealthy tradesmen who populated most town councils. As they passed through the gate, Isak and his party were watched by guards who betrayed little emotion: these were obviously disciplined men who trusted their leaders. They had no form of uniform or livery but they were clearly a strong and ordered unit.

Within the walls were tidy rows of wide, solid houses, well built and well maintained, for all their lack of decoration. Isak concluded that the security Ghorent offered had attracted men and women of many different skills. There were too many curls of smoke rising from squat chimneys to count: whoever had organised these people had a very tidy mind. If the Seer was the one running the council, he must be a dour man of facts and figures, to keep this town so well-ordered,

Isak thought.

The houses this close to the wall were no more than two storeys high, but Isak could see taller buildings further in. Councillor Horen led them down the wide main street and past a tavern that looked like it was doing good trade – until sight of the visitors stopped the noise

and bustle.

Toramin noticed the audience and picked up his feet a little more, showing off his well-muscled shoulders and flanks. Isak had no need to make an effort to impress; he gave the beast a tap on the neck, but Toramin responded by tossing his head haughtily and continuing to prance. In Kasi's dim light, Isak's white-sleeved cape took on an ethereal glow. The deep blue of his hood looked even more forbidding to the onlookers. More than a few found that dark face disturbingly similar to the icons of Nartis in the temple. They all heard the mutters that sounded like prayers in the sudden quiet.

Once past the tavern, Isak smiled slightly at the voices behind. It felt good to stir excitement in others. The wagon-brat had come a long way: now his presence in town was an event – he would be remembered wherever he drank or spent a night. The innkeepers would be able to say to customers, Til give you the best room in the inn, Lord Isak himself slept in it.' More curiously, people would care that

he had.

Up ahead, Isak saw that the road ended abruptly at a copse of trees standing at the centre of the town, where he would have expected a market square. The undergrowth had been cut back enough to allow passage and the councillor and captain went straight on in without pausing. Isak and Vesna exchanged glances. The trees were not densely packed – there was no cover for an ambush – so they followed their guides into the gloomy thicket. Isak could make out carved stones, sitting upright in the ground. They formed no apparent pattern, but were evenly spread – Isak could sense some echo there, a faint pres-ence lingering in the copse. He guessed that this was dedicated ground, probably a temple of sorts to an Aspect of Amavoq or Belarannar.