'What are we here to see, Father?' asked Ekodas.

'Two men,' answered Dardalion. 'We have crossed the gates of time to be here. The scene you are about to witness happened five days ago.'

Still holding to the young priest's hand Dardalion floated down over the high palace walls and into a narrow room behind the throne hall. The Gothir Emperor was seated on a silk-covered divan. He was a young man, no more than twenty, with large protruding eyes and a receding chin, which was partly hidden by a wispy beard. Before him, seated on a low stool, was a second man, dressed in long dark robes of shining silk, embroidered with silver. His hair was dark and waxed flat to his skull, the sideburns unnaturally long and braided, hanging to his shoulders. His eyes were slanted beneath high flared brows, his mouth a thin line.

'You say the empire is in danger, Zhu Chao,' spoke the Emperor, his voice deep, resonant and strong, belying the weakness of his appearance.

'It is, sire. Unless you take action your descendants will be overthrown, your cities vanquished. I have read the omens. The Nadir wait only for the day of the Uniter. And he is coming, from among the Wolfshead.'

'And how can I change this?'

'If wolves are killing one's sheep, one kills the wolves.'

'You are talking of an entire tribe among the Nadir.'

'Indeed, sire. Eight hundred and forty-four savages. They are not people as you and I understand the term. Their lives are meaningless, but their future sons could see an end to Gothir civilisation.'

The Emperor nodded. 'It will take time to gather sufficient men for the task. As you know, the Ventrians are about to invade the lands of the Drenai and I have plans of my own.'

'I understand that, sire. You will wish to reclaim the Sentran Plain as part of Gothir, which is only just and right, but that will take no more than ten thousand men. You have ten times that many under your command.'

'And I need them, wizard. There are always those who seek the overthrow of monarchs. I can spare you five thousand for this small task. In one month you will have the massacre you desire.'

'You misjudge me, sire,' put in Zhu Chao, bowing deeply and spreading his hands like a supplicant. 'I am thinking only of the future good of Gothir.'

'Oh, I believe in the prophecy, wizard. I have had other sorcerors and several shamen telling me similar stories, though none named a single tribe. But you have other reasons for wanting the Wolves destroyed, otherwise you would have traced the line of this Uniter back to one named man. Then the task would have been made so much more simple: one knife in the night. Never take me for a fool, Zhu Chao. You want them all dead for your own reasons.'

'You are all-wise, sire, and all-knowing,' whispered the wizard, falling to his knees and touching his forehead to the floor.

'No, I am not. And knowing that is my strength. But I will give you the deaths you desire. You have been a good servant to me, and never played me false. And as you say, they are only Nadir. It will sharpen the troops, give a cutting edge to the soldiers before the invasion of Drenan. I take it you will send your Brotherhood knights into the fray?'

'Of course, sire. They will be needed to combat the evil powers of Kesa Khan.'

The scene faded and Ekodas felt again the warm prison of his body. He opened his eyes to find Dardalion staring at him. 'Am I supposed to have learned something, Father Abbot? I saw only evil men, proud and ruthless. The world is full of such.'

'Yes, it is,' agreed Dardalion. 'And were we to spend our lives travelling the earth and slaying such men there would still be more of them at the end of our journey than there were at the beginning.'

'But surely that is my argument, Lord Abbot,' said Ekodas, surprised.

'Exactly. That is what you must consider. I appreciate your argument, and accept the premise on which it is made, and yet I still believe in the cause of The Thirty. I still believe we must be a Temple of Swords. What I would like you to do, Ekodas, is to lead the debate tomorrow evening. I will present your arguments as if they were my own. You will deliver mine.'

'But . . . that makes no sense, Father. I do not even begin to understand your cause.'

'Do the best that you can. I will make this debate an open vote. The future of The Thirty will depend upon the outcome. I will do my utmost to sway our brothers to your argument. You must do no less. If I win then the swords and armour will be returned to the storerooms and we will continue as an order of prayer. If you win we will await the guidance of the Source and ride to our destiny.'

'Why can I not argue my own beliefs?'

'You believe I will do them less than justice?'

'No, of course not, but. . .'

'Then it is settled.'

Morak listened to the reports as the hunters came in, his irritation growing. Nowhere was there any sign of Waylander, and the man Dakeyras had proved to be a balding redhead with a face that looked as if it had seen a stampede of oxen from underneath.

I hate forests, thought Morak, sitting with his back to the trunk of a willow, his green cloak wrapped tightly around him. I hate the smell of mould, the cold winds, the mud and the slime. He glanced at Belash, sitting apart from the others sharpening his knife with long sweeping strokes. The grating noise of the whetstone added to Morak's ill-humour.

'Well, somebody killed Kreeg,' he said at last. 'Some­body put a knife or an arrow through his eye.' No one spoke. They had found the body the previous day, wedged in the reeds of the River Earis.

'Could have been robbers,' said Wardal, a tall, thin bowman from the Forest of Graven, far to the south.

'Robbers?' sneered Morak. 'Hell's teeth! I've had lice with more brains than you! If it was robbers don't you think a fighter like Kreeg would have had more wounds? Don't you think there would have been a fight? Someone very skilful sent a missile through his eyeball. A man with rare talent is killed – that suggests to me he was slain by someone with more talent. Is my reasoning getting through to you?'

'You think it was Waylander,' muttered Wardal.

'A giant leap of the imagination. Many congratulations. The question is, where in Hell's name is he?'

'Why should he be easy to find?' asked Belash, suddenly. 'He knows we are here.'

'And what mighty spark of logic leads you to that conclusion?'

'He killed Kreeg. He knows.'

Morak felt a chill breeze blowing and shivered. 'Wardal, you and Tharic take the first watch.'

'What are we watching for?' enquired Tharic.

Morak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Well,' he said at last, 'you could be watching for enormous elephants that will trample all over our supplies. But were I you, I would be alert for a tall man, dressed in black, who is rather good at sending sharp objects through eyeballs.' At that moment a tall figure stepped from the undergrowth. Morak's heart missed a beat, but then he recognised Baris. 'The normal procedure is to shout "Hallo the camp",' he observed. 'You took your time.'

The blond forester settled down by the fire. 'Kasyra is not a small place, but I found the whore Kreeg was living with. She told him about a man called Dakeyras who lives near here. I've got directions.'

'Wrong man,' said Morak. 'Wardal and Tharic already met him. What else did you find?'

'Little of interest,' answered Baris, pulling the remains of a loaf of bread from the pouch at his side. 'By the way, how long has Angel been a member of the Guild?'

'Angel? I've not heard that he is,' said Morak. 'Why?'

'He was in Kasyra a week or so back. Tavern-keeper recognised him. Senta is there, too. He said to tell you that when he finds your body he'll be sure to give it a fine burial.'