'No, I suppose not.' Risala began sharpening her own blade. 'But why must all this be our responsibility?'

Do you want me to lie to you? Do you want me to justify bringing you into such danger with some invented portent? Forgive me, my love, but I can't do that.

'Because we're here,' Kheda said simply. 'And even if Naldeth did start this particular crisis, we all chose to come on this voyage. We all bear a measure of responsibility.'

'And everything you've ever been taught as a warlord won't let you walk away from what you see as your duty.' There was just a hint of despair in Risala's voice. 'Do you think we'll ever get home?'

'If we possibly can,' Kheda said resolutely.

They sat in silence amid the growing bustle until Kheda stood up and sheathed his newly sharpened blades. Leaving Risala still doggedly polishing her dagger, he went in search of a gourd and stick to catch snakes with.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Is every snake on this accursed isle really poisonous? I can't see how I could have mistaken that old hunter's meaning. Pointing to a snake and then falling to the ground with your tongue lolling out is surely clear enough. Ideally I'd like the venom to fester for longer than half a day and a night but it's already past noon. Let's get this fight started on our own terms before we 're attacked by the tree dwellers or their black dragon.

Kheda rubbed a curl of shaving from the gourd's woody surface and studied the image he had carved. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see two inquisitive children watching him, one girl and one boy, naked but for strings of crude beads around their bellies. Another boy was looking with avid curiosity at the stack of white-fletched arrows laid beneath Kheda's leather-wrapped bow. Glutinous bloody paste marred the glistening points of deftly shaped black stone. Kheda studied the children as he sheathed his dagger.

You 're probably about the same age as Efi and Vida, even if poor diet and a harsh life have left you both a head shorter. Are you as adept as they are at sneaking in where you 're not expected and getting your hands on what's been forbidden to you?

Snapping his fingers to make sure he had the full attention of all three children, Kheda tapped a commanding finger on the carving he had just finished. A serpent wriggled across the curved belly of the gourd, crude

mouth open to show larger-than-life fangs. Kheda pointed to the arrowheads, careful not to touch them, and grimaced with exaggerated fear. He fixed the children with a sternly questioning look and all three took a step backwards, tucking their hands behind their backs, eyes downcast. All the same, they exchanged an unreadable glance beneath their eyelashes.

'I think I had better make sure these are safely out of reach,' Kheda commented aloud. He tugged at the lizard-skin sleeve he had sewn to the pared-down neck of the gourd and carefully put the envenomed arrows into the crude quiver. As he tightened the grass cord threaded through the top of the uncured hide, he glanced up to check the position of the sun. Then he looked at the throng milling around the broad stone ring of the hearth. More wild men and women than ever were gathered around the scatter of rickety huts.

Where did they all come from? Can we possibly wage any kind of warfare with people we know so little about? Can I be sure they understand what I'm asking of them? Is Naldeth right? Is this madness? Is Risala right? Should we just fight our way through to theZaise and leave this dreadful place behind us? Could I ever sleep easily in my bed if I did? And not just because my dreams would be full of dragons and savages' boats on the western horizon. How dare Naldeth think only northern barbarians have any kind of conscience?

Kheda realised the scarred spearman was looking keenly at him. Taking the warlord's nod of acknowledgement as some kind of invitation, the wild man hurried over, holding a gourd spattered with some pale substance. Kheda swallowed the sour apprehension that he recalled always preceded a battle.

/ suppose I had better eat something. Strange, I can't decide if it's better or worse to be facing a fight with or without omens giving some prediction as to the outcome. Is it easier

to be braver with even false reassurance to cling to? What do these people have to stiffen their resolve beyond the brutal realities of their lives here?

The spearman dipped his hand into the gourd and rubbed it on his chest. He came to sit beside Kheda and set the gourd down between them, smearing more of the pallid stuff on his long legs. Kheda wiped a little from the rim and rubbed it between finger and thumb.

Pale yellow clay and grey ashes from the fire and some kind of grease.

The spearman nodded vigorously, continuing to coat himself with the ointment. It covered the darkness of his skin remarkably effectively. The savage reached for a strand of grass that had escaped the bow-making and laid it across his slickly shining thigh. Thanks to the streaky yellow clay, his skin was now virtually the same colour. Grinning, he took Kheda's hand and thrust his fingers into the gourd, plainly urging the warlord to anoint himself.

'They had the wits to devise ways to hide themselves down in the grasses long since, it would seem.' Risala arrived, holding her own bow and arrows. Hers were the only other white-fletched shafts and she too had painted the leather of her quiver with a charcoal-black snake's head, long fangs prominent. 'That might almost be an omen.'

'It should help us tell friend from foe so we don't make pincushions of the wrong people.' Kheda scooped up a glob of the stuff and smeared it along his forearm. The spearman smiled and rose to return to the hearth where the other warriors were gathered in urgent debate. A more sizeable force than Kheda could ever have expected had gathered. The women stood a little way off, children kept close, babies strapped to their backs and bundles of necessities close at hand.

'I've just about got the measure of that bow,' Kheda

continued. 'If I'm not shooting at too great a distance. How about you?'

'I'm more likely to scare someone to death than hit them.' Risala set bow and quiver down and began spreading the concealing clay on her own arms.

'Are they ready to do this?' Kheda saw Velindre and Naldeth still deep in conversation beside the dead wild wizard's hut. 'They've been talking in that Tormalin tongue of theirs all morning. What is it they don't want me to understand?'

'Naldeth is still arguing that we don't have to attack the cave dwellers.' Risala's resigned tone nevertheless held some sympathy for the young mage. 'He says we have no quarrel with them. It's only the tree dwellers between us and the Zaise?

'We cannot leave them free to attack us from behind,' Kheda said sternly.

'I know,' Risala responded with mild rebuke. 'And so does Velindre.'

'In any case, I don't think he'd manage to convince the men here to leave the cave dwellers alone.' Kheda managed a brief smile and nodded towards a circle of wild warriors on the far side of the fire circle. Already disguised with the pale grease, they were intent on the charcoal map he had drawn on the hard-baked earth.

'They certainly seemed to understand the plan quickly enough.' Risala sighed.

'If I took their meaning aright, they would expect the cave dwellers to cross the river and kill the women and children here while the warriors are away.' Kheda didn't hide his distaste.

'Do you think they'll be able to defend this place?' Risala looked across to the older men and half-grown boys gripping battered spears and those leather-cased bows that Kheda had rejected as too untrustworthy.

'If we do our job properly, they shouldn't have to. Besides, the women are ready to run and hide in the forest again.' Kheda rubbed the pale grease up under the sleeve of his tunic. 'I hope this stuff washes off.'