'We could raid the Green Monkeys, steal some children,' offered Anshi.

'No! I will not sacrifice Nadir young.'

'But they are the enemy.'

'This day they are the enemy, but one day all Nadir will unite – this is written. This is the message Zhu Chao has carried to the Emperor. This is why the dragon is in the dream.'

'You cannot help us, then?'

'Do not be a fool, Anshi Chen. I am helping you now! Soon the Gothir will come against us. We must prepare for that day. Our winter camp must be close to the Mountains of the Moon, and we must be ready to flee there.'

"The Mountains?' whispered Anshi. 'But the demons…'

'It is that, or die. Your wives and your children, and the children of your children.'

'Why not flee south? We could ride hundreds of leagues from Gulgothir. We could merge with other tribes. How would they find us?'

'Zhu Chao would find you,' said Kesa. 'Be strong, warlord. From one among us will come the leader the Nadir have longed for. Can you understand that? The Uniter! He will end Gothir rule. He will give us the world.'

'I will live to see this?'

Kesa shook his head. 'But neither will I,' he told the chieftain.

'It will be as you say,' pledged Anshi. 'We will move our camp.'

'And send for Belash.'

'I don't know where he is.'

'South of the new Drenai fortress, in the mountains they call Skein. Send Shia to bring him.'

'Belash has no love for me, shaman. You know this.'

'I know many things, Anshi. I know that in the coming days we will rely on your steady judgement, and your calm skills. You are known and respected, as the Wily Fox. But I know we will need the power of Belash, the White Tiger in the Night. And he will bring another: he will give us the Dragon Shadow.'

Ekodas paused outside the Abbot's study, composing his thoughts. He loved life at the temple, its calm and camaraderie, the hours of study and meditation, even the physical exercises, running, archery and sword skills. In every way he felt a part of The Thirty.

Bar one.

He tapped at the door then pushed the latch. The room was lit by the golden light of three glass-sided lanterns and he saw Dardalion sitting at his desk, poring over a goatskin map. The Abbot looked up. In this gentle light he seemed younger, the silver highlights in his hair gleaming gold.

'Welcome, my boy. Come in and sit.' Ekodas bowed then strode to a chair. 'Shall we share thoughts, or would you like to speak out loud?' asked Dardalion.

'To speak, sir.'

'Very well. Vishna and Magnic tell me you are still troubled.'

'I am not troubled, Father. I know what I know.'

'You do not see this as arrogance?'

'No. My beliefs are only those that you enjoyed before your adventures with the killer, Waylander. Were you wrong then?'

'I do not believe that I was,' replied Dardalion. 'But then I no longer believe that there is only one road to the Source. Egel was a man of vision, and a believer. Three times a day he prayed for guidance. Yet he was also a soldier, and through him – aye, and Karnak – the lands of the Drenai were saved from the foe. He is dead now. Do you think the Source refused to take his soul to paradise?'

'I do not know the answer to that question,' said the young man, 'but what I do know is that I have been taught, by you and others, that love is the greatest gift of the Source. Love for all life, for all His Creation. Now you are saying that you expect me to lift a sword and take life. That cannot be right.'

Dardalion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. 'Do you accept that the Source created the lion?'

'Of course.'

'And the deer?'

'Yes – and the lion slays the deer. I know this. I do not understand it, but I accept it.'

'I feel the need of flight,' said Dardalion. 'Join me.'

The Abbot closed his eyes. Ekodas settled himself more comfortably in the chair, resting his arms upon the padded wings then took a deep breath. The release of spirit seemed effortless to Dardalion, but Ekodas mostly found it extra­ordinarily difficult, as if his soul had many hooks into the flesh. He followed the lessons he had learned for the last ten years, repeating the mantras, cleansing the mind.

The dove in the temple, the opening door, the circle of gold upon the field of blue, the spreading of wings in a gilded cage, the loosing of chains on the temple floor.

He felt the first loosening of his hold upon his body, as if he was floating in the warm waters of the womb. He was safe here, content. Feeling drifted back to him, his spine against the hard wood of the chair, his sandalled feet on the cold floor. No, no, he chided himself. You are losing it! His concentration deepened once more. But he could not soar.

Dardalion's voice whispered into his mind, 'Take my hand, Ekodas.'

A light shone golden and warming and Ekodas accepted the merging. The release was instant and his spirit broke clear of the temple of his body, soaring up through the second temple of stone to float high in the night sky above the land of Drenai.

'Why is it so difficult for me?' he asked the Abbot.

Dardalion, young again, his face unlined, reached out and touched his pupil's shoulder. 'Doubts are fears, my boy. And dreams of the flesh. Small guilts, meaningless but worrisome.'

'Where are we going, Father?'

'Follow and observe.' East they flew, across the glitter­ing, star-dappled Ventrian Sea. A storm raged here, and far below a tiny trireme battled the elements, great waves washing over her flat decks. Ekodas saw a sailor swept overboard, watched him fall below the waves, saw the gleaming spark of his soul float up and vanish.

The land appeared dark below them, the mountains and plains of Ventria stretching to the east, while here on the coast, brightly-lit towns and ports shone like jewels on a cloak of black. Dardalion flew down, down . . . The two priests hovered some hundred feet in the air and Ekodas saw the scores of ships harboured here, heard the pounding of the armourers' hammers in the town.

"The Ventrian battle fleet,' said Dardalion. 'It will sail within the week. They will attack Purdol, Erekban and Lentrum, landing armies to invade Drenai. War and devastation.'

He flew on, crossing the high mountains and swooping down over a city of marble, its houses laid out in a grid pattern of wide avenues and cluttered streets. There was a palace upon the highest hill, surrounded by high walls manned by many sentries in gold-embossed armour of white and silver. Dardalion flew into the palace, through the walls and drapes of silk and velvet, coming at last to a bedchamber where a dark-bearded man lay sleeping. Above the man hovered his spirit, formless and vague, unaware and unknowing.

'We could stop the war now,' said Dardalion, a silver sword appearing in his hand. 'I could slay this man's soul. Then thousands of Drenai farmers and soldiers, women and children, would be safe.'

'No!' exclaimed Ekodas, swiftly moving between the Abbot and the formless spirit of the Ventrian king.

'Did you think I would?' asked Dardalion, sadly.

'I … I am sorry, Father. I saw the sword and . . .'his voice tailed away.

'I am no murderer, Ekodas. And I do not know the complete Will of the Source. No man does. No man ever will, though there are many who claim such knowledge. Take my hand, my son.' The walls of the palace vanished and with bewildering speed the two spirits crossed the sea once more, this time heading north-east. Colours flashed before Ekodas' eyes and, if not for the firm grip of Dardalion's hand, he would have been lost in the swirling lights. Their speed slowed and Ekodas blinked, trying to adjust his mind.

Below him was another city with more palaces of marble. A huge amphitheatre to the west and a massive stadium for chariot races at the centre marked it as Gulgothir, the capital of the Gothir empire.