'It will be as you say, sir,' said Jonan miserably.

Keeva pulled away from the hatch as Conae returned with a dress of blue wool, a pair of high-laced ankle-length shoes, and a brown woollen cloak lined with rabbit fur. Keeva put them on. The dress was a little loose, the shoes a perfect fit.

Jonan called out for the women and they both returned to the living room. The Grey Man was on his feet. Reaching into a pouch by his side, he gave Jonan several small silver coin, in payment for the clothes.

'That is not necessary, sir,' said Jonan.

Ignoring him, the Grey Man turned to Conae. 'Thank you for your hospitality, lady.'

Conae curtsied.

The horses were outside, the saddlebags bulging with food for the journey. The Grey Man helped Keeva to mount, then stepped into the saddle.

Without a word of farewell he rode from the settlement, Keeva following.

They rode in silence for a little while and Keeva saw that the Grey Man's face was stern. She guessed he was angry. Even so, she noted that he studied the lands as he rode, always alert and watchful. Clouds obscured the sun and a little light rain began to fall. Keeva lifted her hood into place and drew her new fur-lined cloak about her.

The rain passed swiftly, sunlight spearing through a break in the clouds. The Grey Man angled his horse up a shallow slope and paused at the top. Keeva drew alongside. 'How are your wounds?' she asked him.

'Almost healed,' he said.

'In such a short time? I don't think so.'

He shrugged and, satisfied the way was clear of danger, heeled the steeldust forward.

Throughout the long afternoon they rode steadily, once more entering the forest. An hour before dusk the Grey Man found a campsite beside a stream and set a fire. 'Are you angry with the villagers for cheating you?' asked Keeva, as the flames licked at the dry wood.

'No. I am angry at their stupidity.' He looked at her. 'You were listening?'

She nodded. The Grey Man's face softened. 'You are a canny girl, Keeva. You remind me of my daughter.'

'Does she live with you?'

'No, she lives far away in another land. I have not seen her in several years. She is married now to an old friend of mine. They had two sons, last I heard.'

'You have grandsons.'

'In a manner of speaking. She is my adopted daughter.'

'Do you have children of your own?'

He fell silent for a moment, and in the firelight she saw a look of deep sadness touch him. 'I had children, but they . . . died,' he said. 'Let us see what food Jonan's wife prepared for us.' Rising smoothly he moved to the saddlebags, returning with a hunk of ham and some freshly baked bread. They ate in silence. Keeva gathered more dry wood and fed the fire. The clouds had returned, but the night was not cold.

The Grey Man removed his shirt. 'Time to draw these stitches,' he said.

'The wounds cannot have healed,' she told him sternly. 'The stitches should remain for at least ten days. My uncle . . .'

'. . . was a very wise man,' said the Grey Man. 'But see for yourself.'

Keeva moved closer to him and examined the wounds. He was right. The skin had healed, and already scar tissue had formed. Taking his hunting knife, she carefully cut through the twine, pulling each stitch clear. 'I have never heard of anyone healing this fast,' she said, as he pulled on his shirt. 'Do you know magic?'

'No. But once I was healed by a monster. It changed me.'

'A monster?'

He grinned at her. 'Aye, a monster. Seven feet tall, with a single eye in the centre of his forehead – an eye that had two pupils.'

'You are making fun of me,' she chided him.

The Grey Man shook his head. 'No, I am not. His name was Kai. He was a freak of nature – a man beast. I was dying and he laid his hands upon me and all my wounds closed, healed in a heartbeat. Ever since then I have known no sickness, no winter chills, no fevers, no boils. I think even time has slowed for me, for by now I should be spending my days sitting in a comfortable chair with a blanket around my knees. He was a fine man, Kai.'

'What happened to him?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. Perhaps he is happy somewhere, perhaps he is dead.'

'You have lived an interesting life,' she said.

'How old are you?' he asked her.

'Seventeen.'

'Kidnapped by raiders, and taken away into the forest. There are some in years to come who will hear of this tale and say, "You have lived an interesting life." What will you say to them?'

Keeva smiled. 'I shall agree – and they will envy me.'

He laughed then, the sound full of good-humour. 'I like you, Keeva,' he said. Then, he added wood to the fire, stretched out and covered himself with a blanket.

'I like you too, Grey Man,' she said.

He did not answer, and she saw that he was already asleep.

She looked at his face in the firelight. It was strong – the face of a fighter – and yet she could detect no cruelty there.

Keeva slept, and woke with the dawn. The Grey Man was already up. He was sitting by the stream and splashing water to his face. Then, using his hunting knife, he shaved away the black and silver stubble from his chin and cheeks. 'Did you sleep well?' he asked, as he returned to the fire.

'Yes,' she told him. 'No dreams. It was wonderful.' He looked so much younger without the stubble, a man perhaps in his late thirties. She wondered momentarily how old he was. Forty-five? Fifty-five? Surely not older.

'We should be at your settlement by noon,' he said.

Keeva shivered, remembering the murdered women. 'There is nothing there for me. I was staying with my brother and his wife. They are both dead, the farmhouse burned.'

'What will you do?'

'Go back to Carlis and seek work.'

'Are you trained in some craft or skill?'

'No, but I can learn.'

'I can offer you employment at my home,' he said.

'I will not be your mistress, Grey Man,' she told him.

He smiled broadly. 'Have I asked you to be my mistress?'

'No, but why else are you offering to take me to your palace?'

'Do you think so little of yourself?' he countered. 'You are intelligent and brave. I also think you are trustworthy and would be loyal. I have one hundred and thirty servants at my home, administering often to more than fifty guests. You would clean rooms, prepare beds for those guests, and help in the kitchens. For this I will pay you two silvers a month. You will have your own room and one day a week free of all duties. Think on it.'

'I accept,' she said.

'Then let it be so.'

'Why do you have so many guests?'

'My home – my palace, as you call it – houses several libraries, an infirmary and a museum. Scholars come from all over Kydor to study there. There is also a separate centre in the South Tower for students and physicians to analyse medicinal herbs and their uses, and three further halls have been set aside for the treatment of the sick.'

Keeva remained silent for a while, then she looked into his eyes. 'I am sorry,' she said.

'Why would you apologize? You are an attractive young woman, and I can understand why you would fear unwelcome advances. You do not know me. Why should I be trusted?'

'I trust you,' she told him. 'Can I ask you a question?'

'Of course.'

'If you have a palace why are your clothes so old, and why do you ride out alone to protect your lands? Think of all you could lose.'

'Lose?' he asked.

'All your wealth.'

'Wealth is a small thing, Keeva, tiny like a grain of sand. It seems large only to those who do not possess it. You talk of my palace. It is not mine. I built it, I live within it. Yet one day I will die and the palace will have another owner. Then he will die. And so it goes on. A man owns nothing but his life. He holds items briefly in his hand. If they are made of metal or stone they will surely outlive him and be owned by someone else for a short time. If they are cloth he will – with luck – outlive them. Look around you, at the trees and the hills. According to Kydor law, they are mine. You think the trees care that they are mine? Or the hills? The same hills that were bathed in sunlight when my earliest ancestor walked the earth. The same hills that will still be covered in grass when the last man turns to dust.'