Kutch started some kind of low-throated chant, attended with a series of increasingly complex hand gestures. He gazed at the pyre intently, brow creased. At first his utterances and movements were uncertain, then his confidence visibly grew and his voice rose.

All at once the wood stack and corpse were bathed in dazzling white light. Flames erupted, burning with unnatural, magic-fuelled intensity. The pyre blazed.

‘Well done,’ Caldason said.

They stood together for some time, watching the fire do its work.

Then Caldason gently tugged at Kutch’s arm. The youth turned and looked to where Reeth was pointing.

On the top of an adjacent hill stood a lone figure, staring down at them. The distance was too great to make out much detail, but they could see he was an older, distinguished looking man. His tailored white robe was of a quality denoting rank. The wind ruffled his three-quarter length cape. His posture was straight and proud, his expression sombre.

‘Any idea who that is?’ Caldason wanted to know.

Kutch blinked at the stranger. ‘No, I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Perhaps he’s someone who owed Domex a debt of gratitude.’

‘It seems your master wasn’t forgotten after all.’

They watched the figure for a while, then returned their attention to the blaze, its heat stinging their faces. When Caldason looked again a moment later, the stranger was gone.

The pyre roared and crackled, belching thick, inky smoke.

Mesmerised by the sight, Kutch fell into a reflective mood. ‘You know, if my master had lived I really think he might have been able to help you.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ll never forgive myself for my cowardice, Reeth.’

‘I thought we agreed you weren’t to blame,’ Caldason replied firmly. ‘There’s no way you could have stood against his killers, get that into your head.’

‘I’m trying to. It isn’t easy. I keep thinking that if only I’d -’

Caldason raised a hand to quiet him. ‘That’s enough. Don’t sully the moment with regrets. They serve no purpose, believe me.’

‘I still think he could have done something for you. He was a great man, Reeth.’

‘I have a feeling I need the kind of help I’ll never be able to find.’

‘Who’s being a doubter now?’

They both wrapped themselves in their own thoughts then.

The warmth sent ash and cinders billowing above the pyre. Orange sparks danced in the smoke.

‘Phoenix,’

Kutch whispered, half in reverie.

‘What was that?’

‘Phoenix,’ he repeated, as though it were some kind of epiphany.

‘I don’t -’

‘Why didn’t I think of it before?’

‘What the hell are you talking about, Kutch?’

‘Covenant, of course. Don’t you see? If anybody can help you, they can!’

‘Covenant’s a myth. A story mothers tell to frighten their sucklings.’

‘My master didn’t think so.’

‘He was wrong. They don’t exist.’

A succession of noisy pops and cracks issued from the pyre as it consumed wood and bone.

‘They do, Reeth,’ Kutch insisted, eyes shining, ‘and I’m going to prove it to you.’

7

They saw a bird, flying low and fast, wings beating frantically. It had the shape and size of a raven, but was betrayed by its colour; a burnished silver that made their eyes ache. In an instant it was gone, lost to sight among trees and rolling hills in the direction of the hamlet.

Caldason and the boy dismissed it.

Kutch took up the thread as they tramped on. ‘My master was adamant on the subject,’ he persisted. ‘He said Covenant was real and I believe him.’

‘Real once,’ Caldason allowed. ‘But they were suppressed. A long time ago.’

‘They tried to stamp them out, yes. Some escaped and Covenant grew again.’

‘Well, I’ve never met a member.’

‘That doesn’t mean they don’t exist!’

‘I’m not trying to pick an argument with you, Kutch. If Domex told you they’re still around, fine. But what makes you think a bunch of unlicensed sorcerers could help me?’

‘Because they’re much more than that. Some say their magic’s a strain that goes back to the time of the Founders themselves.’

Caldason didn’t reply. His silence could have been thoughtful, or it might have been disbelieving. Kutch couldn’t tell.

Far behind them now, a column of whitish smoke rose lazily from the cliff-top pyre. Kutch glanced back at it. His shoulders sagged, and a host of cares pinched his features.

‘What do you know about their leader?’ Caldason asked, perhaps to distract him.

‘Phoenix?’ Kutch bucked up a little. ‘Probably no more than you’ve heard yourself. You know; that he, or she, is somebody with great skill in the Craft, and can’t be caught. Can’t be killed either.’

‘How can that be?’ Caldason said, real interest in his eyes.

‘What does it matter? The important thing is that Covenant could be your best chance of aid. They don’t just have the magic, Reeth. They’re patriots, and they oppose Gath Tampoor. Which means they’re a thorn in the paladins’ side. Makes you natural allies, I’d say.’

Caldason’s expression hardened. ‘You know what I think about allies. And I’m no patriot. Not as far as Bhealfa’s concerned anyway.’

The ground began to level. They were in sight of the hamlet’s outlying buildings.

‘You should go and find them,’ Kutch ventured.

‘Where?’

‘Valdarr.’

‘Do you know where in Valdarr?’

‘No… no, I don’t. But it’s the biggest city. It makes sense Covenant would be there, doesn’t it? We could -’

‘There’s no

we

, and you’re just guessing they can be found there. If I go looking for Covenant, I’ll be doing it by myself.’

‘Why can’t I come with you?’ the boy pleaded.

‘I’ve

told

you. I travel alone.’

‘I wouldn’t get in your way, and I can shift for myself.’

‘No. People around me tend to end up dying.’

‘I know it’d be dangerous, with you an outlaw and all,

and

a Qalochian, but -’

‘They don’t just die the way you think. There’s ways other than violently.’

Kutch didn’t understand. But they’d reached the edge of his settlement, putting their conversation on hold. ‘This is a quicker way to the house,’ he announced morosely, leading Caldason into a side street.

The street became an alley, darkened by overhanging upper storeys of houses. It narrowed, twisted, intersected other byways, all deserted. Then they turned into a downward-sloping, cobbled lane, lined to the right by stables, to the left by mean cottages.

Twenty or thirty paces ahead, with his back to them, someone walked briskly in the same direction they were heading.

‘It’s him,’ Kutch whispered. ‘The man at the funeral.’

Caldason regarded the figure and nodded, adding, ‘He takes risks.’

‘How?’

‘He’s far from young, and by the cut of his clothes, moneyed. Yet no sign of bodyguards.’

‘He has protection. There’s a defensive shield around him. Good quality, too.’

‘Damned if I can see it, Kutch.’

‘You have to know how to look. Come on, let’s talk to him.’

Reeth caught his arm. ‘Why?’

‘Aren’t you curious to know who he is?’

‘Not greatly. If a man looks like a threat, or like somebody who could help me, I’m curious. I doubt he’s either.’

‘He was the only one at my master’s funeral apart from us.’ Kutch shook loose his arm. ‘I’d like to know why.’

Reeth shrugged. ‘All right. But I’m not for lingering, remember.’

They quickened their pace.

Kutch was right. As they approached, Caldason spotted an indistinct sheath of agitated air, a finger’s span deep, enveloping the stranger’s body. It shimmered like a heat haze.

The man heard their footfalls, stopped and turned. The questioning look on his distinguished, grey-maned features mutated into apprehension.

Kutch stretched his hands placatingly, palms up. ‘We mean you no harm!’