They were camped in a sheltered hollow within a wood, and a small fire flickered in a circle of stones. Senta, Angel and Belash were sleeping, Waylander taking the third watch. He was sitting on the hilltop, his back to a tree, his black clothing merging him into the night shadows. Beside him lay the hound, which he had named Scar.

Miriel lay wrapped in her cloak, her back to the fire, her shoulders warm, her feet cold. Autumn was fading fast, and the smell of snow was in the air. She could not sleep. The ride from the cabin had been made in near silence, but Miriel had linked into the thoughts of the riders. Belash was thinking of home and vengeance, and whenever his thoughts turned to Waylander he pictured a bright knife. Angel was confused. He did not want to travel north, yet he did not want to leave them. His thoughts of Miriel were equally contrasting. He was fond of her, by turns paternal and yet aroused by her. Senta suffered no confusion. His thoughts were filled with erotic images which both stimu­lated and frightened the young mountain girl.

Waylander she left alone, fearing the new-found dark­ness within him.

Sitting up, she added several sticks to the fire, then shifted her position so that her legs and feet could bathe in the warmth of the small blaze. A voice whispered into her mind, so faint she thought at first she had imagined it. It came again, but she could make no sense of the words. Concentrating her Talent she focused all her power on the whispers. Still nothing. It was galling. Lying down she closed her eyes, her spirit drifting up from her body. Now the whisper was clearer, but still seeming to come from an impossible distance.

'Who are you?' she called.

'Trust me!'

'No.'

'Many lives depend on your trust. Women, children, old ones.'

'Show yourself!' she commanded.

'I cannot – the distance is too great, my power stretched.'

'Then what would you have me do?'

'Return to the flesh and awake Belash. Tell him to hold his left hand over the fire and cut his palm. Let the blood fall into the flames. Tell him Kesa Khan commands this.'

'And then what?'

'And then I will come to you and we will talk.'

'Whose lives depend on this?' she asked. Immediately she sensed his agitation.

'I can talk no more. Do this swiftly or the link will be broken. I am nearing exhaustion.'

Miriel returned to her body and rose, moving to Belash. As she neared the Nadir warrior he rolled to his feet knife in hand, his eyes wary. She told him the message she had received from Kesa Khan and expected him to question her, or express his doubts. But the Nadir instantly moved to the fire, slicing his knife-blade across his open palm. Blood spilled instantly from the wound, splashing into the flames.

The voice of Kesa Khan boomed inside her mind, causing her to reel back. 'Now you may come to me,' he said.

'Can I trust this Kesa Khan?' she asked Belash.

'Does he say that you can?' he answered.

'Yes.'

'Then obey him,' advised the Nadir. Miriel did not rely on the words, but read the images beyond them. Belash feared Kesa Khan, but there was no doubt that he also admired him, and would trust him with his life.

Miriel lay back and let her spirit drift clear. Instantly she was swept into a bewildering maze of light and colour. Her senses reeled and she lost control of her flight, spinning wildly through a thousand bright rainbows and into a darkness deeper than death. But before fear could turn to panic the darkness lifted, and she found herself sitting by a lakeside village. There were houses here, rough-crafted but secure against the winter wind and snow. Children were playing at the water's edge, and she recognised herself and Krylla. Sitting beside them on an upturned boat was a man, tall and slim, with wide staring eyes and tightly curled hair.

Miriel's heart leapt, and for the first time in twelve years she remembered her real father's face. This was the winter just before the Vagrians had invaded, just before her parents and all her friends had been butchered. It was a peaceful time, full of quiet joy.

'Are you comfortable with this illusion?' asked the wizened old man sitting beside her.

'Yes,' she told him. 'Very.' She turned her attention to him. He was no more than four and a half feet tall, bird-boned ribs pressing against the taut skin of his chest. His head was too large for his body and his wispy hair hung lank to his shoulders. His two front teeth were missing and his words were sibilant as a result. He was wearing ragged leggings and knee-length moccasins tied with strips of black leather.

'I am Kesa Khan.'

'That means nothing to me.'

'It will,' he assured her. 'We share the same enemy. Zhu Chao.' He almost spat the name.

'I do not know this man.'

'He sent the Dark Knights to kill your father, just as he sends the Gothir army to wipe out my people. And you do know him, Miriel. Look.' The scene flickered, the village disappearing. Now they sat on a high wall overlooking a flower garden. A man sat there, his robes dark, his hair waxed to his head, his sideburns braided and hanging to his chin. Miriel tensed. This was the scaled hunter who had tried to capture her and Krylla five years ago, before the silver knight rescued them. But here he had no scales. He was merely a man sitting in a garden.

'Do not be misled,' warned Kesa Khan. 'You are gazing upon evil.'

'Why does he seek to kill my … father?' She hesitated as she spoke, the image of her real father strong in her mind.

'Bodalen serves him. He thought it would be a simple matter to hunt down Waylander and slay him. Then he could have returned Bodalen to the Drenai, awaiting the moment the son betrayed the father.' The old man chuckled, the sound dry and unpleasant. 'He should have known Way­lander as I knew him. Ha! I tried to hunt him down once. I sent six great merged beasts to destroy him, and twenty hunters of rare skill. None survived. He has a gift for death.'

'You are my father's enemy?'

'Not now!' he assured her. 'Now I wish him for a friend.'

'Why?'

'Because my people are in peril. You can have no conception of what it is to live under the Gothir yoke. We have no rights under their laws. We can be hunted down like vermin. No one will raise a hand to object – that is bad enough. But now Zhu Chao has convinced the Emperor that my tribe – the oldest of the Tent-people – needs to be eradicated. Exterminated! Soon the soldiers will march against us.'

'How can my father help you? He is only one man.'

'He is the Dragon Shadow, the hope of my people. And he has with him the White Tiger in the Night and old Hard-to-kill. Also there is Senta. And, more importantly per­haps, there is you.'

"That is still only five. We are not an army.'

'We shall see. Ask Waylander to come to the Mountains of the Moon. Ask him to help us.'

'Why should he? You are a man who tried to kill him.'

'Tell him we are outnumbered ten to one. Tell him we are doomed. Tell him we have more than two hundred children who will be slaughtered.'

'You don't understand . . . these are not his children. You are asking him to risk his life for people he does not know. Why would he even consider it?'

'I cannot answer that, Miriel. Just tell him what I have said.'

The colours swirled once more and Miriel felt a sickening lurch as her spirit was united with her body. Waylander was beside her, and the sun was high in the sky.

Waylander felt a surge of relief as Miriel opened her eyes. He stroked her hair. 'What happened?' he asked.

Taking hold of his arm she eased herself into a sitting position. Her head was throbbing with dull pain, her mouth dry. 'A little water,' she croaked. Pulling free the cork, Angel passed her a leather-bound canteen and she drank greedily. 'We need to speak,' she told Waylander. 'Alone.'