Will shrugged. 'If you say so. Any particular reason? You're not ashamed of me, are you?' he added in a bantering tone.

A faint smile touched Halt's face, the equivalent of a guffaw in anyone else. 'No more than normally,' he said. `No. But Ferris is used to the two of us. If we turn up with an extra person, it'll make him suspicious.' He sighed. `Anything makes that man suspicious. And besides, it might be useful if we keep you in reserve. It never hurts to have a potential ace up your sleeve.'

`So I'm an ace?' Will grinned. 'I'm flattered, Halt, flattered. I had no idea you regarded me so highly.'

Halt gave him a long-suffering look. 'I might have been more accurate to say a joker.'

`Whatever you say.' A thought struck Will. `Oh, I meant to say: Tennyson has three new recruits. Foreigners, dressed in leather, with dull purple cloaks and large, feathered hats. They carry crossbows and a whole array of nasty-looking daggers – and they look as if they know how to use them.'

Halt's expression grew serious as he listened to the description. At the mention of the weapons, he nodded. `Genovesans,' he said softly.

Horace frowned at the word. 'Who-novesans?' he asked. He'd never heard the word before.

Halt shook his head. 'You warriors don't do much geography in Battleschool, do you?'

Horace shrugged. 'We're not big on that sort of thing. We wait for our leader to point to an enemy and say, "Go whack him." We leave geography and such to Rangers. We like you to feel superior.'

`Go whack him, indeed,' Halt said. 'It must be comforting to lead such an uncomplicated life. They're from the city of Genovesa, in Toscana. They're mercenaries and professional assassins – that's pretty much the main industry in the city. In addition to their weapons, they usually know a dozen ways to poison their victims. If Tennyson has hired three of them, he's upping the stakes. They don't come cheap and they're trouble.'

Will was nodding knowledgeably. 'Genovesans. I thought as much,' he said. Horace shot a pained look in his direction.

`You had no idea,' he said and Will couldn't manage to keep a straight face.

`Maybe not. But I knew they were trouble,' he said. His smile faded as Halt replied.

`Oh, they're trouble, all right. They're big trouble. Be very careful if you come up against them, both of you.'

'I can't do it,' said Ferris.

Halt's eyes darkened in anger as he looked at his brother. Ferris quailed before the look, shrinking back onto his throne as if the oversized wooden seat gave him strength.

`I won't,' he repeated petulantly. 'I can't. And you can't force me to do it.'

`Don't be too sure of that,' Halt told him. He glanced at Horace and Sean, saw the contempt on one face and the bitter disappointment on the other. But he knew Ferris was right. He couldn't force him to stand up to Tennyson.

`Why should I, Halt? Why should I do what you say? What's in it for you, after all?' His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he said the words. In Ferris's world, people only did things out of self-interest. Now he wondered what Halt stood to gain if he, Ferris, denounced Tennyson as a charlatan. And as he had the thought, the obvious answer rose up before him. He slid off the throne and stepped forward to face Halt, emboldened now that he could see his brother's ulterior motive.

`Suddenly, I see. You want me to stand against Tennyson in the hope that he and his followers will kill me. That's it, isn't it? You'll let them do your dirty work for you, and then you'll magically reappear and take my place on the throne. And I wager you'll simply accept Tennyson's conditions when you do.'

Halt studied his brother's face for a few seconds, saw the devious mind working behind the ever-shifting eyes. He shook his head in utter contempt.

`I might think that way, Ferris. If I were you. But my real concern is for the people out there.' He gestured in the direction of the town below them. 'The ones who call you their King – who look to you for leadership and protection. And God help them for they'll get little of either from you.'

`Please, your majesty,' Sean said, stepping forward. `Please reconsider. Halt is right. The people do need you. They need someone to lead them. To take charge.'

Ferris laughed scornfully at his nephew. `Oh, it's "please, your majesty" now, is it, Sean? Yesterday, you were all too ready to call him your majesty, weren't you? Don't think I don't see through your treacherous ways. You're in it with them.'

Sean stepped back now, as if being too close to his uncle made him feel unclean. His voice was low and angry as he spoke.

`I have never been disloyal to you, your majesty. Never!'

The anger was so palpable that Ferris eyed his nephew nervously. Perhaps he had gone too far. He knew howmuch he relied on Sean. But he still refused to budge on the main question.

`Perhaps I spoke too hastily,' he said in a conciliatory tone. Then his voice hardened and he turned to Halt. 'But I will not do as you ask. If you want to oppose Tennyson, you take the risk. You go out and rally the people behind this ridiculous Sunrise Warrior of yours.'

`If it comes to it, I will,' Halt told him. 'But I'm a stranger here and you're the King. It will seem..

Before he could continue, Ferris seized on his words and interrupted. 'That's right. I am the King. I'm glad someone here remembers that small fact. I am the King and I will decide for myself.'

He drew himself up, trying to look haughty and decisive. But the eyes, as ever, gave him away as they constantly shifted and slid away from any contact with the other three.

Halt silently cursed Ferris. He had hoped to browbeat him into defying Tennyson. But the King's abject and cowardly refusal meant his plan was in ruins. Without the King's authority, any resistance to the Outsiders would be ineffectual. The people would not follow an unknown stranger and a young warrior against Tennyson, the saviour of Mountshannon and half a dozen other villages, a skilled orator and an expert at whipping a crowd into a frenzy.

And a man with hundreds of fanatical followers at his back.

In spite of his inner turmoil, Halt allowed no sign to show on his face. He drew breath for one last attempt to convince Ferris. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, for it had all been said already. He stopped when he heard a commotion outside the throne room doors. Then one of the doors opened and a guard entered, hurrying towards the small group at the far end of the room. Halt noticed that he reported to Sean, not Ferris. That might be simply protocol. Or it might indicate where the man's real loyalty lay.

`Sir Sean, there's a messenger outside. Claims it's urgent. He wants to see this one.' He indicated Halt.

Sean turned to him. 'Are you expecting a message?'

Halt hesitated. It could only be one person. He addressed the guard. 'Is he dressed like me?' he said, indicating the mottled cloak and empty double scabbard – as before, they had left their weapons outside.

The guard nodded. 'He is indeed. Exactly so, your honour.'

`Yes,' Halt told Sean. 'I was expecting him. He has important news bearing on this problem.' He had no idea why Will had come after them. But he reasoned that it must be important.

Sean nodded to the guard. 'Let him in.'

The guard withdrew and a few seconds later Will entered the room. Ferris let out a snort as he took in the cowled cloak, the drab brown and green tunic and leggings.

`Brought your own follower, have you, Halt?' he sneered. 'I'd say that Tennyson has a few more than you.'

Will glanced curiously at the King, seeing the same similarities, and dissimilarities, that Horace had noted the day before. Then he dismissed him and looked to Halt.