'Partly because you are here,' she said simply, then fell silent.

'And the other part?'

'That is even more complicated.'

Waylander laughed. 'More complicated than magical enemies who can read thoughts over great distances? It is a bright morning, with a fresh breeze and a blue sky. I am fresh from a cooling swim. My mind is clear. Speak on, Lady.'

'This is not the only world, Grey Man.'

'I know. There are many lands.'

'That is not what I meant. We dwell at this time in Kydor. But there are other Kydors, an infinite number of them. Just as there are an infinite number of Drenai worlds. Many have identical histories, many are different. In some the assassin Waylander killed the Drenai king and the land was overrun by Vagrian forces. In others he killed the king and the Drenai won. In some he did not kill the king and there was no war. You follow?'

Waylander's good humour seeped away. 'I murdered the king. For money. It was unforgivable. But it happened. I cannot change it. No one can change it.'

'It happened here,' she said softly. 'But there are other worlds. An infinite number. Somewhere, at this moment, in the vastness of space there is another woman, sitting with a tall man. The scene is exactly as this one, save perhaps that the woman is wearing a blue robe and not one of gold. The man may be bearded, or dressed differently. But she is still me, and he is still you. And the land they dwell in is called Kydor.'

Waylander took a deep breath. 'He is not me. I am me.'

'I am sure he is saying exactly that.'

'And he is right,' said Waylander. 'He might also be about to ask the point of this conversation. What does it matter if there are two Waylanders, or two hundred, if they never meet or interact?'

'A good question. I have seen some of these worlds. In all of them, no matter what the outcome, the man known as Waylander has a part to play.'

'Not in this world, Lady. Not any longer.'

'We shall see. Do you wish us to go?'

'I will think on it,' he told her, rising from his chair.

'That is kind of you. One other small matter …"

'Yes?'

'You did not ask Keeva how she killed the pigeons she cooked for you.'

'No, I did not.' He gave a wry smile. 'I had other matters on my mind.'

'Of course. She used your crossbow. She missed with the first bolt, but then killed all three – the last as it took flight.'

'Impressive,' he said.

'I thought that it would interest you.'

He paused in the doorway. 'In all your studies have you come across anything about the ruins to the west?'

'Why do you ask?'

'I was there yesterday. I… did not like the feel of the place. And yet I have passed through it many times. Something today was different.'

'You felt in danger?'

He smiled. 'I felt fear, and yet all I saw was a mist.'

'I know that the ruins are five thousand years old,' she said. 'Perhaps you sensed the spirit of someone long dead. But if I find anything of interest I will call upon you, Grey Man,' she told him.

'It is probably nothing. But it was too warm for a mist, and it seemed to be flowing against the breeze. Had the girl not been with me I would have investigated the phenomenon. I do not like mysteries.'

Then he turned and was gone.

As the Grey Man left the library a small door opened and a slender, round-shouldered man stepped into the presence of the priestess. Like her he was shaven-headed, and wearing an ankle-length robe. It was of white wool, with matching gloves and boots of thin, pale grey leather. His tawny eyes cast a nervous glance towards the outer door. 'I do not like him,' he said. 'He is a savage just like them.'

'No, Prial,' she said. There are similarities, but he does not have their cruelty.'

'He is a killer.'

'Yes, he is a killer,' she agreed. 'And he knew you were beyond the door.'

'How could that be? I scarcely even allowed myself to breathe.'

'He knew. He has an unconscious talent for these matters. It is, I think, why he has survived so long.'

'And yet he did not know one of the raiders was hiding in a tree above him?'

The priestess smiled. 'No, he did not. But he had strung his crossbow minutes before, and was holding it ready when the man leapt. As I said, it is an unconscious talent.'

'I thought for a moment you were going to tell him,' said Prial.

She shook her head. 'I am hoping still that I do not have to. Perhaps they will not find us before we have completed our mission.'

'You believe that?'

'I want to believe it.'

'As do I, Ustarte. But time is short, and we still have not found the way. I have scanned over two hundred tomes. Menias and Corvidal have at least equalled me in this, and there are still more than a thousand to study. Has it occurred to you that these people have long forgotten the truth of Kuan-Hador?'

'They cannot entirely have forgotten,' said Ustarte. 'Even the name of the land remains similar. We have come across references to demons and monsters, and heroes who fought them. Fragments, mostly, but somewhere there will be a clue.'

'How soon will the gateway begin to open?' he asked her.

'Within days rather than weeks. But the creatures of the mist are already here. The Grey Man sensed their evil.'

'And now the deaths will begin,' said Prial sadly.

'Yes, they will,' she admitted. 'And we must continue our search with hope in our hearts.'

'I am fast losing hope, Ustarte. How many worlds must we see fall before we admit we are too weak to save them?'

The priestess sighed and rose from her chair, the heavy silk gown rustling as she moved. 'This one world did defeat them three thousand years ago. They drove them back through the gateways. Despite the power of their sorcery, and the allies they brought with them, they were beaten back. Even the Kriaz-nor could not save them.'

Prial did not look her in the eyes. 'Five years we have been searching and have found nothing. Now we have – perhaps – a few days. Then they will send an Ipsissimus and he will sense our presence.'

'He is already here,' she said softly.

Prial shivered. 'You have seen him?'

'There is a cloak-spell around him. I cannot see him, but I can sense his power. He is close.'

'Then we must flee while we have the opportunity.'

'He does not yet know we are here, Prial. There is some power left in me. I also know how to cloak our presence.'

He stepped forward, taking her gloved hand in his and raising it to his lips. 'I know that, Ustarte. But you cannot stand against an Ipsissimus. If he has not found us it is because he is not yet looking for us. When he does he will kill us.' Prial began to tremble, and she felt his gloved fingers close tightly about her hand.

She watched him closely, and saw him take a deep, shuddering breath. 'I am calm,' he told her. 'Truly I am.' Then he pulled away from her, embarrassed by his show of weakness. 'These clothes chafe me,' he complained. Opening his robe he pushed it back from his shoulders. Ustarte moved behind him, scratching her fingers through the thick grey fur of his back and shoulders.

His tawny eyes closed, and he grunted with pleasure, his terror subsiding.

But it would return, she knew.

Keeva was tense and more than a little angry as she reached the unusual buildings set aside for the Grey Man. Despite Norda's directions, she had lost herself twice in the maze of corridors and stairs, and had emerged on a lower level, only to see that the building she sought was one storey above and to the right. Climbing a set of stone steps, which cut through a rockery, she finally arrived at the entrance. She stood for a moment, surprised by what she saw. The Grey Man's dwelling place was set back into the cliff, the stone facing roughly fashioned and blending with the natural rock around it. This made it virtually invisible from the bay side of the palace. It looked stark and unprepossessing – not the home of a rich man at all. Her disquiet grew. Keeva had told the Grey Man she would not be his mistress, but now, within a day, he had summoned her to his rooms. Keeva's anger subsided, and she felt a sudden sadness. For a little while today she had allowed herself to believe she might be happy here. She liked Norda, and the other girls of the team had been friendly. They all spoke highly of old Omri, and the atmosphere among them had been full of good humour. Ah, well, she thought, best get it over. Stepping forward she tapped on the door.