He felt the sharp rise of anticipated pleasure, as he considered all he might do to fill Waylander's last hours with exquisite pain. There was the girl, of course. He could rape and kill her before Waylander's eyes. Or torture her. Or give her to the men, to use and abuse. Be calm, he told himself. Let the anticipation build. First you have to find him.

Swinging his leaf-green cloak about his shoulders he walked off in pursuit of Belash. The Nadir had made camp in a sheltered hollow and was kneeling upon his blanket, hands clasped in prayer, several old fingerbones, yellowed and porous, lying before him. Morak sat down on the other side of the fire. What a disgusting practice, he thought, carrying the bones of your father in a bag. Barbarians! Who would ever understand them? Belash finished his prayer and returned the bones to the pouch at his side.

'Your father have anything interesting to tell you?' asked Morak, his green eyes alight with amusement.

Belash shook his head. 'I do not speak with my father,' he said. 'He is gone. I speak to the Mountains of the Moon.'

'Ah yes, the mountains. Do they know where Waylander dwells?'

'They know only where each Nadir warrior rests.'

'Lucky them,' observed Morak.

'There are some matters you should not mock,' warned Belash. 'The mountains house the souls of all Nadir, past and future. And through them, if I am valiant, I will find the home of the man who killed my father. I shall bury my father's bones in that man's grave, resting on his chest. And he will serve my father for all time.'

'Interesting thought,' said Morak, keeping his voice neutral.

'You kol-isha think you know everything. You think the world was created for your pleasure, but you do not understand the land. You, you sit there and you breathe air and feel the cold earth beneath you, and you notice nothing. And why? Because you live your lives in cities of stone, building walls to keep at bay the spirit of the land. You see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing.'

I can see the boil starting on your neck, you ignorant savage, thought Morak. And I can smell the stench from your armpits. Aloud he said: 'And what is the spirit of this land?'

'It is female,' answered Belash. 'Like a mother. She nourishes those who respond to her, giving them strength and pride. Like the old man you killed.'

'And she talks to you?'

'No, for I am the enemy of this land. But she lets me know she is there and watching me. And she does not hate me. But she hates you.'

'Why would that be true?' asked Morak, suddenly uncomfortable. 'Women have always liked me.'

'She reads your soul, Morak. And she knows it is full of dark light.'

'Superstition!' snapped Morak. 'There is no woman. There is no force in the world save that which is held in ten thousand sharp swords. Look at Karnak. He ordered the assassination of the great hero Egel, and now he rules in his place, revered, even loved. He is the force in the Drenai world. Does the lady love him?'

Belash shrugged. 'Karnak is a great man – for all his faults – and he fights for the land, so maybe she does. And no man truly knows whether Karnak ordered Egel's killing.'

I know, thought Morak, remembering the moment when he stood over the great man's bed and plunged the dagger into his right eye.

Oh yes, I know.

It was close to midnight when Waylander returned. Angel was sitting beside the fire, Miriel was asleep in the back room. Waylander lifted the lock-bar into place on the iron brackets of the door then undipped the quiver from his belt, laying it on the table beside his ebony crossbow. Angel glanced up. The only light in the room came from the flickering fire, and in its glow Waylander seemed an eldritch figure surrounded by dancing demon shadows.

Silently, Waylander lifted clear his black leather baldric, with its three throwing knives, then untied the two forearm sheaths, placing the weapons upon the table. Two more knives came from hidden scabbards in his knee-length moccasins. At last he walked to the fire and sat down opposite the former gladiator.

Angel sat back, his pale eyes watching the warrior, observing his tension.

'I see you fought Miriel,' said Waylander.

'Not for long.'

'No. How many times did you knock her down?'

'Twice.'

Waylander nodded. 'The tracks were not easy to read. Your footprints were deeper than hers, but they overlaid one another.'

'How did you know I knocked her down?'

'The ground was soft, and I found where her elbow struck the earth. You beat her easily.'

'I defeated thirty-seven opponents in the arena. You think a girl should best me?'

Waylander said nothing for a moment. Then: 'How good was she?'

Angel shrugged. 'She would survive against an unskilled swordsman, but the likes of Morak, or Senta? She'd be dead within seconds.'

'She's better than me,' said Waylander. 'And I would survive against them for longer than that.'

'She's better than you when you practise,' replied Angel. 'You and I both know the difference between that and the reality of combat. She is too tense. Danyal once told me of the test you set her. You recall?'

'How could I forget?'

'Well, were you to try it with Miriel she would fail. You know that, don't you?'

'Perhaps,' admitted Waylander. 'How can I help her?'

'You can't.'

'But you could.'

'Yes. But why would I?'

Waylander threw a fresh chunk of wood to the coals, remaining silent as the first yellow flames licked at the bark. His dark gaze swung to Angel. 'I am a rich man, Caridris. I will pay ten thousand in gold.'

'I notice you don't live in a palace,' remarked Angel.

'I choose to live here. I have merchants looking after my investments. I will give you a letter to one of them in Drenan. He will pay you.'

'Even after you are dead?'

'Even then.'

'I don't intend to fight for you,' said Angel. 'Under­stand? I will be a tutor to your daughter, but that is all.'

'I need no one to fight for me,' snapped Waylander. 'Not now. Not ever.'

Angel nodded. 'I accept your offer. I will stay and teach her, but only so long as I believe she is learning. When the day comes – as it will – when I can teach her no more, or she cannot learn, then I leave. Is that agreeable?'

'It is.' Waylander rose and moved to the rear wall. Angel watched him press his palm against a flat stone, then reach inside a hidden compartment. Waylander turned and tossed a heavy pouch across the room. Angel caught it, and heard the chink of metal within. 'There is a part-payment,' said Waylander.

'How much?'

'Fifty gold Raq.'

'I'd have undertaken the task for this alone. Why pay so much more?'

'You tell me?' countered Waylander.

'You set the price at the same level as the hunt-geld upon you. You are removing temptation from my path.'

"That is true, Caridris. But not the whole truth.'

'And what is the whole truth?'

'Danyal was fond of you,' replied Waylander, rising to his feet. 'And I wouldn't want to kill you. Now I'll bid you goodnight.'

Waylander found sleep elusive, but he lay still, eyes closed, resting his body. Tomorrow he would run again, building his strength and stamina, preparing for the day when the assassins would come.

He was pleased Angel had chosen to stay. He would be good for Miriel, and when the killers finally tracked him down he would ask the gladiator to take the girl to Drenan. Once there she would inherit all his wealth, choose a husband and enjoy a life free from peril.

Slowly he relaxed and faded into dreams.

Danyal was beside him. They were riding by a lakeside, and the sun was bright in a clear blue sky.

'I'll race you to the meadow,' she shouted, digging her heels into the grey mare's flanks.