Kreeg found Taric, a slim blond hostler, working at the Earl's stables.

'We tracked the beast for three days,' he said, sitting back on a bale of hay and drinking deeply from the leather-bound flask of brandy Kreeg offered him. 'Never saw him break sweat – and he's not a young man. And when the bear reared up he just levelled the bow and loosed. Incredible! There's no fear in the man.'

'Why were you with him?'

Taric smiled. 'I was trying to pay court to Miriel, but I got nowhere. Shy, you know. I gave up in the end. And he's a strange one. Not sure I'd want him for a father-in-law. Spends most of his time by his wife's grave.'

Kreeg's spirits had soared anew. This was what he had been hoping for. Hunting a man through a forest was chancy at best. Knowing his victim's habits made the task slightly less hazardous, but to find there was one place the victim always visited. . . that was a gift from the gods. And a graveside at that. Waylander's mind would be occupied, full of sorrow, perhaps, and fond memories.

So it had proved. Kreeg, following Taric's directions, had located the waterfall soon after dawn this morning, and found a hiding place which overlooked the headstone. Now all that was left was the killing shot. Kreeg's gaze flickered to the ebony crossbow, still lying on the grass beside the grave.

Ten thousand in gold! He licked his thin lips and carefully wiped his sweating palm on the leaf-green tunic he wore.

The tall man walked back to the pool, collecting more water, then crossed to the furthest rose bushes, crouching once more by the roots. Kreeg switched his gaze to the headstone. Forty feet away. At that distance the barbed bolt would punch through Waylander's back, ripping through the lungs and exiting through the chest. Even if he missed the heart his victim would die within minutes, choking on his own blood.

Kreeg was anxious for the kill to be over and his eyes sought out the tall man.

He was not in sight.

Kreeg blinked. The clearing was empty.

'You missed your chance,' came a cold voice.

Kreeg swung, trying to bring the crossbow to bear. He had one glimpse of his victim, arm raised, something shining in his hand. The arm swept down. It was as if a bolt of pure sunlight had exploded within Kreeg's skull. There was no pain, no other sensation. He felt the crossbow slipping from his hands, and the world spinning.

His last thought was about luck.

It had not changed at all.

Waylander knelt by the body and lifted the ornate cross­bow the man had held. The shoulder-stock of ebony had been expertly crafted, and embossed with swirling gold. The bow itself was of steel, most likely Ventrian, for its finish was silky smooth and there was not a blemish to be seen. Putting aside the weapon he returned his scrutiny to the corpse. The man was lean and tough, his face hard, the chin square, the mouth thin. Waylander was sure he had never seen him before. Leaning forward he dragged his knife clear of the man's eye-socket, wiping the blade across the grass. Drying the knife against the dead man's tunic he slipped it once more into the black leather sheath strapped to his left forearm.

A swift search of the man's clothing revealed nothing, save four copper coins and a hidden knife, hanging from a thong at his throat. Taking hold of the leaf-green tunic Waylander hauled the corpse upright, hoisting the body over his right shoulder. Foxes and wolves would fight over the remains, and he wanted no such squabbles near Danyal's grave.

Slowly he made his way to the second waterfall, hurling the body out over the rim and watching it plummet to the rushing stream below. At first the impact wedged the corpse against two boulders, but slowly the pull of the water exerted itself and Kreeg's lifeless form floated away, face-down towards the distant river. Retrieving his own crossbow, and taking up the assassin's weapon, Waylander made his way back to the cabin.

Smoke was lazily drifting up from the stone chimney and he paused at the edge of the trees, staring without pleasure at the home he had crafted for Danyal and himself. Built against the base of a rearing cliff, protected from above by an overhang of rock, the log cabin was sixty feet long, with three large, shuttered windows and one door. The ground before it had been cleared of all trees, bushes and boulders, and no one could approach within a hundred feet without being seen.

The cabin was a fortress, and yet there was beauty also. Danyal had covered the corner joints with mottled stones of red and blue, and planted flowers beneath the windows, roses that climbed and clung to the wooden walls, pink and gold against the harsh, ridged bark.

Waylander scanned the open ground, searching the tree line for any second assassin who might be hidden. But he could see no one. Carefully keeping to cover he circled the cabin, checking for tracks and finding none, save those made by his own moccasins and Miriel's bare feet. Satisfied at last, he crossed to the cabin and stepped inside. Miriel had prepared a meal of hot oats and wild strawberries, the last of the season. She smiled as he entered, but the smile faded as she saw the crossbow he carried.

'Where did you find that?' she asked.

'There was a man hidden near the graveside.'

'A robber?'

'I don't believe so. This bow would cost perhaps a hundred gold pieces. It is a beautifully crafted weapon. I think he was an assassin.'

'Why would he be hunting you?'

Waylander shrugged. 'There was a time when I had a price on my head. Perhaps I still have. Or maybe I killed his brother, or his father. Who knows? One thing is certain, he can't tell me.'

She sat down at the long oak table, watching him. 'You are angry,' she said at last.

'Yes. He shouldn't have got that close. I should have been dead.'

'What happened?'

'He was hidden in the undergrowth some forty paces from the graveside, waiting for the killing shot. When I moved to get water for the roses I saw a bird fly down to land in the tree above him, but it veered off at the last moment.'

'It could have been a fox or any sudden movement,' she pointed out. 'Birds are skittish.'

'Yes, it could have been,' he agreed. 'But it wasn't. And if he'd had enough confidence to try for a head shot I would now be lying beside Danyal.'

"Then we've both been lucky today,' she said.

He nodded, but did not answer, his mind still puzzling over the incident. For ten years they had lived without his past returning to haunt him. In these mountains he was merely the widower Dakeyras. Who, after all this time, would send an assassin after him?

And how many more would come?

The sun was hanging over the western peaks, a blazing copper disc of fire casting a last, defiant glare over the mountainside. Miriel squinted against the light.

'It's too bright,' she complained.

But his hand swept up, the wooden chopping board sailing into the sky. Smoothly she brought the crossbow to her shoulder, her fingers pressing the bronze trigger. The bolt leapt from the weapon, missing the arcing wood by little more than a foot. 'I said it was too bright,' she repeated.

'Picture failure and it will happen,' he told her sternly, recovering the wooden board.

'Let me throw it for you, then.'

'I do not need the practice – you do!'

'You couldn't hit it, could you? Admit it!'

He gazed into her sparkling eyes, and noted the sunlight glinting red upon her hair, the bronzed skin of her shoulders. 'You ought to be married,' he said suddenly. 'You are far too beautiful to be stuck on a mountainside with an old man.'

'Don't try to evade the issue,' she scolded, snatching the board from him and walking back ten paces. He chuckled and shook his head, accepting defeat. Carefully he eased back the steel string of the lower bow arm. The spring-loaded hook clicked and he inserted a short black bolt, gently pressing the notch against the string. Repeating the manoeuvre with the upper bow arm, he adjusted the tension in the curved bronze triggers. The weapon had cost him a small fortune in opals many years ago, but it had been crafted by a master and Waylander had never regretted the purchase.