The Grey Man opened it. He was dressed in the same manner as when first she had seen him, dark leggings over riding boots, and a shirt of thin, supple leather. He wore no rings, or chains of gold, and his clothes boasted no brooches and no embroidery. He beckoned her inside. 'Come through,' he said, swinging away from her and strolling into the main living area. It was a rectangular room with only two hide-covered chairs and an old rug. There were no shelves or cabinets, and the fireplace was bare of ornament. A pile of logs was set beside it and a blackened iron poker. The Grey Man wandered through the room and out through a door at the rear. Keeva followed him, expecting to see a bedroom. Her anger began to rise once more.

She crossed the doorway and paused, surprised. It was no bedroom. The thirty-foot wall on the left was panelled with pine, and upon it hung many weapons: longbows, crossbows, Chiatze war darts, swords, knives of all descriptions, some small, others long and double-edged. The right-hand wall was set with six lanterns, their light casting flickering shadows over an array of wooden frames and curious apparatus. Targets had been placed around the room, some round, others crafted from straw, string and old clothing into the forms of men.

The Grey Man moved to a bench table from which he took his crossbow. Loading it with two bolts, he carried it back to Keeva. Then he pointed at the round target some twenty feet away. 'Direct two bolts into the centre,' he told her.

Keeva's arm came up, her hand settling into the worn pistol grip, her fingers on the two bronze triggers. As she had learnt when shooting at the pigeons, the weapon was front heavy, and as the triggers were depressed it tipped slightly downward. Adjusting for this, she loosed both bolts. They flew across the room, slamming into the small red centre of the target. The Grey Man said nothing. Relieving her of the weapon, he moved to the target, retrieving the bolts. Returning the crossbow to the bench he took up two throwing blades. They were diamond-shaped and around four inches in length. There were no hilts, but grooves had been cut into the metal for greater grip.

'Handle this with care,' he said, passing her a blade. 'It is very sharp.' She took it gingerly. It was heavier than it appeared. 'It is not just about direction and speed,' he told her, 'but about spin. The blade must reach its target point first.' He pointed to a nearby straw man. 'Hit that.'

'Where?'

'In the throat.'

Her hand came up, the arm snapping forward. The blade struck the throat area hilt first then bounced away. 'I see what you mean,' she said. 'Can I have the second?' He passed it to her. This time the blade sliced home through the straw man's chin. 'Damn!' she swore.

'Not bad,' he said. 'You have a good eye and excellent coordination. That is rare.'

'In a woman, you mean?'

'In anyone.' Moving to the straw target he extracted the blade, picked up the second from the floor and returned to her side. 'Turn your back to the target,' he said. Keeva did so. The Grey Man handed her a blade. 'At my command spin and throw – aiming for the chest.'

He stepped back from her. 'Now,' he said softly. Keeva whirled, the blade slashing through the air to cannon from the target's shoulder and strike the far wall. Sparks flashed briefly from the stone.

'Again,' he said, offering her the second blade. This time it thumped home – once more in the shoulder, but closer to the chest.

'Why are we doing this?' she asked.

'Because we can,' he answered, with a smile. 'You are very talented. With a little work you could be exceptional.'

'If I wanted to spend my life throwing knives,' she observed.

'You told me you had no craft, but were willing to learn. Skilled marksmen can earn a good living at market fairs and celebration days. Not one man in a hundred could have brought down three pigeons in four shots with an unfamiliar weapon. Not one in a thousand could have achieved it without some rudimentary training. In short, like me, you are a freak of nature. Mind and body in harmony. The gauging of distance, the balancing of weight, the power of the throw – all these require precise judgement. For some it takes a lifetime to acquire. For others it can be learnt in a matter of moments.'

'But I missed the chest. Twice.'

'Try again,' he said, gathering up the fallen blade.

She spun – and sent it hurtling into the target.

'Straight through the heart,' he said. 'Trust me. With training you can be among the best.'

'I do not know that I want to be skilled with weapons,' she told him. 'I loathe men of war, their posturing, their arrogance and their endless cruelties.'

Removing the knives from the target the Grey Man took them to the bench and began to clean them with a soft cloth. Placing them in sheaths of black leather he turned again to Keeva. 'I was once a farmer. I lived with a woman I adored. We had three children, a boy of seven and two babes. One day, when I was out hunting, a group of men came to my farm. Nineteen men. Mercenaries seeking employment between wars.' He fell silent for a moment. 'I rarely speak of this, Keeva, but today it is strong in my mind.' He took a deep breath. 'The men tied my Tanya to a bed then – after a little time – killed her. They also killed my children. Then they left.

'When I rode out that morning I recall the sound of laughter in the air. My wife and my son were playing a chasing game in the meadow, my babes were asleep in their cots. When I returned all was silence, and there was blood upon the walls. So I, too, loathe the men of war and their cruelty.'

His face was terribly calm, and there was no sign of the emotional struggle Keeva guessed was raging below the surface. 'And that is when you became a hunter of men,' she said.

The Grey Man ignored the question. 'My point is that there will always be vile men, just as there will always be men of kindness and compassion. It should have no bearing on whether you choose to develop your talents. This world is a troubled, savage place. It would, however, be even more ghastly if only evil men took the time to master weapons.'

'Was your wife skilled with weapons?' she asked.

'No. And before you ask, it would have made no difference had she been the finest archer in the land. Nineteen killers would have overpowered her and the result would have been the same.'

'Did you go after them, Grey Man?' she asked softly.

'Yes. It took many years, and in that time some of them committed other foul deeds. Others married, settled down and raised families of their own. But I found them all. Every one.'

It was suddenly quiet in the room, the air heavy. Keeva watched the Grey Man. His gaze seemed far away, and upon his face was a look of infinite sadness. In that moment she understood this grim and gloomy dwelling place, set alongside the gleaming white marble of his palace. The Grey Man had no home, for the home of his heart had been destroyed a long time ago. She glanced around at the targets of straw and the array of weapons upon the walls. When she looked back she met his gaze. 'I do not wish to learn this craft,' she said. 'I am sorry if that disappoints you.'

'People long ago ceased to disappoint me, Keeva Taliana,' he told her, with a rueful smile. 'But let me ask you this: how did you feel when you killed the raider captain?'

'I do not want to talk about it.'

'I understand.'

'Do you? You have been a killer so long I wonder if you do.' She reddened as she realized what she had said. 'I'm sorry if that sounds disrespectful, Grey Man. I do not mean it to be. You saved my life and I will be for ever in your debt. But what I mean is that I do not want to experience again the feelings I had when I killed Camran. What I did was needless. He was dying anyway. All I did was to inflict a little more agony. If I had the time again I would merely have walked away from him. What hurts and angers me is that, in those few heartbeats, I allowed myself to be dragged down in the filth of his evil. I became him. You understand?'