Angel, Belash and Senta withdrew and she recounted her meeting with Kesa Khan. Waylander listened in silence until she had finished.

'You believed him?'

'Yes. He did not tell me all he knew, but what he said was true. Or at least he believed it to be true. His people face annihilation.'

'What did he mean by calling me the Dragon Shadow?'

'I don't know. Will you go?'

He smiled. 'You think I should?'

She looked away. 'When we were young Krylla and I used to love the stories that Mother . . . Danyal. . . told. You know, of heroes crossing seas of fire to rescue princesses.' She smiled. 'We felt like princesses because you had rescued us. You were the man who helped save the Drenai. We loved you for that.'

'It wasn't for the Drenai,' he said. 'It was for me.'

'I know that now,' she told him. 'And I don't want to sway you. I know you would die for me, as you would have risked all for Mother or Krylla. And I know why you are heading north. You want vengeance.'

'I am what I am, Miriel.'

'You were always better than you knew,' she said, reaching up and stroking his lean face. 'And whatever choice you make I will not condemn you.'

He nodded. 'Where do you wish to go?'

'With you,' she answered simply.

'Tell me what he said again.' She repeated the words of Kesa Khan. 'A cunning old man,' said Waylander.

'I agree. But what makes you say so?'

'The children. He wanted me to know about the children. He knows me too well. By heaven I hate sorcerors!' Waylander took a long, deep breath. And saw again the flowers in bloom around the dead face of his son. How old would he have been now? A little older than Senta, perhaps?

He thought of Bodalen. And Karnak.

Senta, Belash and Angel were standing by the tethered horses. Summoning them to him he asked Miriel to tell the story for a third time.

'He must think we are insane,' said Angel, as Miriel concluded her tale.

'No,' said Senta softly, 'he knows us better than that.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh come on, Angel, don't you just love the thought of impossible odds?' asked Senta, grinning.

'No, I don't. I leave that sort of idiocy for young men like you. Talk sense to him, Dakeyras.'

'You are free to ride where you please,' said Waylander. 'There is nothing holding you here.'

'But you are not going to go to the Mountains?'

'Indeed I am,' said Waylander.

'How will you stop the killing? Will you ride out on a tall horse and face the Gothir army? Tell them you're Waylander the Slayer and you're not going to allow them to butcher a few Nadir?'

'As I said, you are free to go where you will,' repeated Waylander.

'What about Miriel?' asked Angel.

'She can speak for herself,' said Miriel. 'And I shall ride to the Mountains of the Moon.'

'Just tell me why,' pleaded Angel. 'Why are you all doing this?'

Waylander was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. 'I don't like massacres,' he said.

Vishna's voice was calm, but Dardalion could sense the tension in the priest as he spoke. 'I do not see how we can be sure that the woman is sent by the Source. We have all agreed to risk our lives in the battle against evil. I have no qualms concerning that decision. To stand upon the walls of Purdol against the Ventrians would help Karnak maintain the defence of the Drenai, as would offering our assistance to the General at Delnoch. But to ride into the steppes and risk our lives for a small Nadir tribe . . .?' He shook his head. 'What purpose would it serve, Father?'

Dardalion did not answer, but turned to the others, the blond Magnic, the slender Palista and the silent, reserved Ekodas. 'What is your view, brother?' he asked Magnic.

'I agree with Vishna. What do the Nadir offer the world? Nothing. They have no culture, no philosophy, save that of war. To die for them would be meaningless.' The young priest shrugged. 'But I will follow your orders, Father Abbot.'

Dardalion nodded towards Palista. 'And you, my boy?'

'It is a difficult question,' answered Palista, his voice deep, incongruously so, issuing as it did from his small slender frame. 'It seems to me the answer depends on how we view the arrival of the woman. If the Source directed her to us then our way is clear. If not. . .'he spread his hands.

Ekodas spoke. 'I agree with Palista. The woman's arrival is the central issue. For, although I respect Vishna and Magnic, I believe the argument they use is flawed. Who granted us the right to judge the worth or otherwise of the Nadir? If our actions should save a single life, only the Source can know what that life is worth. The saved one could be a future Nadir prophet, or his son may become one, or his grandson. How can we know? But is the woman directed by the Source? She has asked us for nothing. Surely that is the key?'

'I see,' said Dardalion. 'You believe that she should have received wisdom in a dream perhaps, and approached us directly for help?'

'There are many examples of such happenings,' said Ekodas.

'If such was the case here, where would faith begin?' countered the Abbot.

'I do not understand, Father.'

'My dear Ekodas, we are talking about faith. Where is the need for faith, if we have proof?'

'Surely another flawed argument,' put in Palista. 'By this token anyone who came and said they were sent by the Source would have to be disbelieved.'

Dardalion laughed aloud. 'Excellent, my dear Palista! But this moves us from one extreme to another. What I am saying is that there must always be an element of faith. Not proof, but faith. If she had come and claimed to be Source-directed we would have read her thoughts and known the truth. Then there would have been no faith. We would have acted thereafter in sure knowledge. Instead, we have prayed for a sign. Where should the Thirty ride? And what was our answer? Ekodas rescued a Nadir woman. Why is she here? To find her brother and bring him home to help face a terrible enemy. Who is that enemy? None other than Zhu Chao, the man whose evil led me to gather the Thirty together. Do these facts not speak to you? Can you not feel the threads of destiny drawing together?'

"This is difficult for me,' said Vishna, with a sigh. 'I am the only Gothir present among the Thirty. My family and friends are high in the council of the Emperor. It is likely that old friends will be riding against these same Nadir. It does not make me feel comfortable to know that I may have to draw a sword against these men.'

'I understand that,' said Dardalion. 'But it is my belief that Shia is sent to us, and that the Mountains of the Moon beckon. What else can I say?'

'I think we all need more prayer – and more guidance,' observed Ekodas. The others nodded in agreement.

'Faith is essential,' added Vishna. 'But there must be another sign.'

'It is unlikely to come with letters of fire in the sky,' said Dardalion softly.

'Even so,' put in Ekodas, 'if it is our destiny to die in Nadir lands then the Source will lead us there.'

Dardalion looked to each of the young men before him, then he rose. 'Very well, my brothers, we will wait. And we will pray.'

Ekodas slept fitfully, Shia's words haunting him like a curse. And he did dream of her, and woke often, his body tense with suppressed passion. He tried prayer, and when that failed he repeated the longest, most complex medita­tion mantras. For a while his concentration held. Then he would picture her ivory skin, tinged with gold, her dark almond-shaped eyes . . .

He rose silently from his bed in the hour before dawn, moving with care so as not to awaken the five brothers who shared the small dormitory. Taking a clean white robe from the chest beneath his bed he dressed swiftly and made his way down to the kitchens.