Ekodas flew on to the temple. 'Dardalion!' he pulsed, using all his power. 'Dardalion!'

Three opponents appeared around him. The first he slew with a slashing cut across the belly, the silver sword slicing through the dark armour with terrible ease. The second he killed with a riposte to the head. The third loomed behind him, blade raised.

Vishna appeared, lancing his sword through the man's back. More warriors appeared above the temple, and the Thirty gathered, silver against black, swords of light against blades of fire.

Ekodas fought on, his sword forming glittering arcs of white light as it clove into the enemy. Beside him Vishna battled with controlled fury. All around them the battle raged in an awful silence.

And then it was over.

Weary beyond anything he had ever experienced, Ekodas returned to his body and sat up. He reached over to Duris, but the man was dead. So too was Branic in the far bed.

Ekodas stumbled from the room, down to the hall. One by one the members of the Thirty gathered there. Twenty-three priests had survived the attack, and Ekodas looked from face to face, seeking out those to whom he was closest. Glendrin was alive. And Vishna. But Magnic was gone. It seemed only moments before he had been talking with the blond priest about life and desire. Now there was only a body to be buried, and they would never, in this world, speak again.

The full weight of sorrow descended upon Ekodas and he sank to the bench-seat, resting his elbows on the table. Vishna moved alongside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'Your warning saved us, Ekodas,' he said.

'My warning?'

'You woke Dardalion. He made the Gather.'

Before Ekodas could respond Dardalion spoke up from the far end of the hall. 'My brothers, it is time to pray for the souls of our departed friends.' One by one he named them and many tears were shed as he talked of them. 'They are with the Source now, and are blessed. But we remain. Some days ago we asked for another sign. I think that we have just seen it. The Brotherhood are preparing to ride against the Nadir. It is my belief that we should be in the Mountains of the Moon to receive them. But that is only my view. What is the view of the Thirty?'

Ekodas rose. 'The Mountains of the Moon,' he said.

Vishna echoed the words, as did Glendrin, Palista, fat Merlon and all the surviving priests.

Tomorrow then,' said Dardalion. 'And now let us prepare the bodies of our friends for burial.'

12

Angel's head was pounding, and his anger flowed unabated as Miriel paid the fine to the master-at-arms.

'We don't like troublemakers here,' the man told Miriel. 'Only his reputation prevented him from receiving the flogging he deserves.'

'We are leaving Delnoch today,' she said, smiling sweetly as the man counted out the twenty silver coins.

'I mean, who does he think he is?' the soldier persisted.

'Why not ask me, you arrogant whoreson?' stormed Angel, his hands gripping the bars of the cell door.

'You see?' said the man, shaking his head.

'He is not usually quarrelsome,' replied Miriel, casting a warning glance at the former gladiator.

'I think he should have been flogged,' put in Senta, with a broad grin. 'What a mess. The tavern looks as though a tidal wave flowed through it. Disgraceful behaviour.'

Angel merely glared. The master-at-arms slowly rose and lifted a huge ring of keys from a hook by the door. 'He is to be taken straight from Delnoch. No stopping. Are your horses outside?'

'They are,' said Miriel.

'Good.' He unlocked the cell door and the glowering Angel stepped into the room. One eye was blackened and half-closed, and his lower lip was split.

'I'd say it was an improvement,' said Senta.

Angel pushed past him, striding out into the sunlight. Belash was waiting, his dark eyes inscrutable.

'Don't say a word!' warned Angel, snatching the reins of his mount from the tethering post and climbing into the saddle. Miriel and Senta emerged into the sunlight, the master-at-arms behind them.

'Straight out, no stopping,' repeated the soldier.

Miriel swung into the saddle and led the group down to the gate-tunnel below the fifth wall. Sentries examined the passes Miriel had obtained and waved them through, across the open ground to the next tunnel, and the next. At last they rode out into the pass itself.

Senta moved his horse alongside Angel's mount. 'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'Why don't you go …" He closed his mouth on the words as Miriel reined back, swinging her horse alongside.

'What happened, Angel?' she asked.

'Why don't you read my mind and find out?' he snapped.

'No,' she said. 'You and Senta are right – it is bad manners. I'll not do it again, I promise. So tell me how the fight started.'

'It was just a fight,' he answered with a shrug. 'Nothing to tell.'

Miriel turned to Belash. 'You were there?'

The Nadir nodded. 'A man asked old Hard-to-Kill what it is like to have a face that a cow has trampled on.'

'Yes? And then?'

'He said, "Like this!" Then he broke the man's nose.' Belash mimicked the blow, a straight left.

Senta's laughter pealed out, echoing in the pass. 'It is not something to laugh at,' insisted Miriel. 'One man with a broken nose and jaw, two others with broken arms. One even fractured his leg.'

'That was the man he threw out of the window,' said Belash. 'And it was not even open.'

'Why were you so angry?' Miriel asked Angel. 'Back at the cabin you were always so … so controlled.'

He relaxed and sat slumped in the saddle. 'That was then,' he told her, touching his heels to the gelding and riding ahead.

Senta glanced at Miriel. 'You don't see a great deal without your Talent, do you?' he observed, urging his horse into a canter and coming alongside Angel once more.

'What now?' asked the gladiator.

'You took out six men with your bare hands. That's impressive, Angel.'

'Is there a joke coming?'

'No. I'm sorry I missed the fight.'

'It wasn't much. A bunch of town-dwellers. Not a single muscle in sight.'

'I'm glad you decided to stay with us. I'd have missed your company.'

'I'd not miss yours, boy.'

'Oh yes, you would. Tell me, how long have you been in love with her?'

'What kind of a stupid question is that?' stormed Angel. 'I'm not in love. Shemak's balls, Senta, look at me! I'm almost as old as her father and my face would curdle milk. No, she'll be better off with a younger man. Even you, may my tongue turn black for saying it.'

Senta was about to speak when he saw a rider emerging from the rocks to the left. It was a young Nadir woman with jet-black hair, wearing a goatskin tunic and tan leggings. Belash galloped past them and leapt from the saddle. The woman dismounted and embraced him. Miriel, Senta and Angel sat their mounts quietly as the two Nadir conversed in their own tongue. Then Belash led the girl to the waiting trio.

"This is Shia, my sister. She was sent to find me,' he told them.

'It is good to meet you,' said Senta.

'Why? You do not know me.'

'It is a traditional greeting,' he explained.

'Ah. What is the traditional response?'

"That depends on the circumstances,' said Senta. 'And this is Miriel.' Shia glanced at the tall mountain woman, seeing the knives on the black baldric and the sabre at her side.

'What a strange people,' she said. 'Men who live like women and women who arm themselves like men. Truly it is beyond understanding.'

'And this is Angel.'

'Yes,' she said. 'Old Hard-to-Kill. It-is-good-to-meet-you.' Angel shook his head and grunted. Tugging his reins he moved off down the pass. 'Was the greeting incorrect?' Shia asked Senta.