It was almost dark as Marcellus left the library. Situated in the very centre of the city, the building was one of the tallest, oldest and finest, with a pillared entrance and five storeys. Streets and alleys in the vicinity were overshadowed by its bulk, affording rogues and thieves every opportunity to ply their trade in the secrecy of the dark. Marcellus walked purposefully down one of these alleys, becoming aware almost instantly that he was being followed. He continued to walk, decreasing his pace by a fraction so that the pursuer might catch up with him. He turned a corner and saw, a door or two along, an alcove, into which he stepped. The pursuer's footsteps, at the turn of the alley, hesitated, then continued on towards him, and as they neared the alcove Marcellus stepped from it, barring their way. It was a young girl, the one who had served them with refreshments in the antechamber of the great library. He grabbed her by the arm, not hurting her but using enough force to persuade her that she should not resist, and pulled her into the alcove.

'You were following me,' he said accusingly. Her young eyes darted anxiously about her, as if trying to assure herself that she had not been followed. She was no longer bare-breasted. It was not the fashion to walk about the streets thus. Beneath the thin film of a muslin tunic her young breasts heaved with the excitement of the tension.

'You are in great danger, lord,' she said in a taut whisper.

'Call me not lord,' Marcellus said angrily. 'I am but a warrior.'

'Your exploits go before you, and your reputation,' the girl said. 'There is not a citizen in Horta who awaited your homecoming with joy and admiration.'

'That would seem to be far from the truth,' he muttered. 'I have been told this last hour that there is a warrant out for my arrest.'

'I would beg leave to explain, lord.....'

'Call me not lord. I am no lord. I have not been thus honoured.'

'The people would thus honour you, lor.....listen, we cannot stay here. You are in great danger, and I, being with you, am also in great danger.'

'Is it then for yourself that you fear, or for me?'

'Both, if I am honest with you.'

'It is a chill evening. Where would you take me?'

'Somewhere safe.'

'Well, then, I am in your hands. Lead on.'

'Were you followed from the library?'

'By you, I think.'

'No one else, then?'

'I heard no one else.'

'Good, then there is yet time.'

'Time for what?'

'To get you out of the city.'

'That was my intention.'

'You would not get far on your own.'

'Horta is the city of my birth. I know its passages and pathways.'

'So do your enemies. And now, with the murder of Kestren the authorities would use the underground movement to catch you and trap you.'

'What do you mean, the murder of Kestren? He was alive when I left him.'

'And shortly after you left him, the guard who was listening to your conversation plunged his sword through Kestren's heart, leaving him dying. I watched, so that I would at least know the full extent of their intentions against you, and then came after you. You will be blamed for Kestren's death, that is their plot.'

'What is your name?'

'Lyissa.'

Marcellus stopped abruptly, frowning, drawing her round to face him.

'That is not a Barbesselian name,' he said with some suspicion.

'No,' she said, dropping her eyes to the ground. 'It is not my given name. It is my assumed name. I follow Kamen.'

'The moon God!'

'The same.'

'I was mad to come with you!'

'You are mad not to. We do no harm. We mean you no harm. You will be safer with us than anywhere in the whole of Horta.'

'I am not sure.'

'You are armed. You can take your chance. I swear to you I mean you only help and succour.'

Marcellus considered briefly. There had been nothing in her tone to suggest that she was not telling the truth about the assassination of Kestren.

'Lead on,' he grunted. A few minutes later they entered the quarter of the city in which the various poorer peoples lived, near to the open air markets. Rows of low, single-storey buildings, brick built but poorly finished and unpainted, adorned the cobbled street either side, interspersed with brothels and the occasional inn. Lyissa led Marcellus to a low door, on which was carved a sign, two vertical lines with a diagonal line crossing them at the middle and a small circle in the top half, a larger one in the lower half.

'It is the sign of Kamen,' Marcellus whispered. 'I cannot enter. This is not my people.'

'We are all Hortaians, lord,' the girl said anxiously. 'Just because we share different beliefs regarding the origin of our society does not mean that we cannot share the same roof, the same food and drink.'

'Yours is a secret society, Lyissa,' Marcellus said. 'I am fairly certain it banned by the senate.'

'Certain of our rituals and practices are banned by the laws of the senate,' Lyissa admitted, lowering her head. 'But we are free to meet and to talk and to take refreshments together. That is all I am asking you to do. Enter my people's house and take some wine and some bread with me. With us. We mean you no harm. In fact, you will be infinitely safer with us than anywhere else in Horta. You are already accused of three murders, and now the assassination of Kestren will be added.'

'Three murders? What are you talking about? I have murdered no one!' Marcellus protested.

'I know that you did not kill Kestren. I am the only witness. I know who did kill him, and at the appropriate time I will speak out. But at this particular time that will avail you nought. You are a marked and hunted man. Your only hope is to enter the world of my people. There you will be absolutely, totally safe. Come, the guards will be patrolling this street soon. You are easily recognised.'

She knocked three times, softly, on the stout door, and after a few moments it swung noiselessly open and they passed inside, Marcellus ducking by several inches to get his enormous height through the doorway. By the door stood a young man, slightly built, with black curly hair and a cheerful smile. He was painfully thin, and pale. He insisted on relieving Marcellus of his weapons. Lyissa grasped his hand and pulled Marcellus after her. The interior of the building was deceptively large, larger than anyone could have imagined from the outside. The entrance hall, in which they now stood, was brilliantly decorated with thousands of tiny coloured tiles, none more than an inch across, forming patterns and portraits, and in the very centre of the hall, a large representation of the symbol that Marcellus had seen on the outer door. Two doors gave off the entrance hall before them, and Lyissa crossed the cool floor to the left doorway, beckoning to Marcellus to follow her, and they were followed by the slight, pale youth who had opened the door to them. Along a narrow corridor they went until they emerged into a larger room, a room so splendidly decorated and appointed that it drew Marcellus's breath. Three people were in the room, two women, one old, one young, appearing to be roughly the same sort of age as Lyissa, and the third, a very old man, with long white hair and pupil-less, sightless eyes. He wore a white robe, similar to that which Kestren had worn, and slippers. His nose was crooked, as though it may have been broken in at least two places, and his beard, though over-long, was neat and clean. He sat on a gilt-edged chair, which again bore a strong resemblance to the one Kestren had occupied in the antechamber within the library. Here again the floor was delicately and brightly tiled, with images of snakes, and oxen, and silthen, and silkinen, the massive flying birds of Heraklion, big enough to carry a man. These symbols were in the four segments of a large outer circle, the inner circle being filled with some kind of runic writing, hieroglyphics which Marcellus did not recognise.

Lyissa walked across the floor to the old man, bowing her head in reverence, as though he could see her. The two other women, who had been kneeling at the side of the throne, for that is what it must surely have been, bowed their heads and retired, going through a doorway screened with beaded curtains, leaving Lyissa and Marcellus alone in the presence of the incredibly old man.

'Kestren is dead,' the old man said, staring straight ahead, yet aware that Lyissa was in the room.

'You know already?' Lyissa said.

'I saw it happen,' the old man replied.

Marcellus frowned. How could this be, he wondered?

'He is a seer,' Lyissa explained, turning her head slightly towards Marcellus. 'His name is Kharys. He is blind.'

'How did you know that Kestren was dead, Kharys?' Marcellus asked.

'I saw it happen. My sight was in the antechamber of the great library when the deed was done. Your life is now in great danger. You are accused of the murder. You are also accused of three other murders near the border with Hethoum. A man described as you was seen killing two men and stealing their cart, and later the same day killed an emissary in an inn in a village near the border.'

'Hethoum is to the south!' Marcellus protested. 'I have just returned from Pekeesh!'

Kharys nodded.

'You are not doubted here, Marcellus of Barbessel. You are welcome to stay with us whilst you decide what course of action to take.'

'My thanks to you, old man. Your generosity is welcome and unexpected. I had thought to find only friendship and welcome in Horta.'

'There are moves afoot to turn Barbessel in favour of the Controllers.'

'The Controllers!' Marcellus laughed. 'The Controllers are no more real than Kamen the Moon God!'

Kharys' face showed no sign of grievance at the contempt with which Marcellus dismissed his God. But Lyissa was displeased, and raising her hand, slapped him hard across the cheek. Surprised, he glared angrily down at her and rubbed his face.

'I apologise. It was wrong of me to say what I did,' he said.

'Your apology is accepted,' Kharys said. 'We must assume from your outburst that something has happened to you to cause you to doubt the veracity of the Controllers.'

Marcellus approached the throne and sat on the floor cross-legged beside Kharys.

'I am persuaded that everything I have ever been told about the Controllers is untrue,' Marcellus said. 'I have learned that the Controllers are simply ambitious, avaricious men, preying on the minds and aspirations of simple people, persuading them to follow a course of action which has so far succeeded in plunging much of Heraklion into bloody civil war.'

'And your previous understanding of the nature of the Controllers was?' Kharys asked.

'That they were more than human, somehow divine, unapproachable, concerned with the affairs of men, there to protect the weak and the poor and the hungry.'

'At what stage did you learn that the Controllers were not as you thought them?'

'I was informed that Vitellius, along with Abbasid and one other, a man named Phocas, were the Controllers. Until then I had believed them to be some sort of Godlike creatures whom we never saw but paid homage to and did their bidding.'

Kharys nodded sagely.

'You were given another name, I believe,' he said, mysteriously. Marcellus frowned.

'Maerluinn, yes, but how could you have known such a thing?'

'Maerluinn, yes, that is the name. I knew him once, many years ago. You have met him?'

'I have met him. I formed an opinion that he was mad.'

Kharys laughed happily.

'He well may be mad! He is still alive, then?'

'He was when I left him.'

'And you do not believe he is a Controller?'

'I do not.'

'I had better not tell you then that of the four you have mentioned, his claim would be the strongest.'

'But you do not believe in the Controllers either!'

'True.'

'Then.....'

'I said only that Maerluinn's claim, if he ever made one, to be a Controller, would withstand greater scrutiny than any of the others. No, we do not subscribe to the belief in Controllers. You spoke of Vitellius. I met him too.'

'Vitellius is dead.'

Kharys' eyebrows raised.

'Dead, is he? How did this happen?'

Marcellus recounted briefly how he had killed Vitellius in single combat in the burial pit of the Hunyapi, in northern Pekeesh, a battle that had turned the tide in the favour of the Bronzeskins, though at an alarming cost in terms of lives and destruction. Kharys listened intently.

'You were deceived once into believing that you had killed Ravenna, Vitellius's henchwoman,' he said quietly. Once again Marcellus was stunned by the knowledge of his activities the old man appeared to have, and wondered if someone had got to Horta before him and had told the seer everything that had happened. For the time being, he was content to accept that the old man had some sort of psychic knowledge which he did not comprehend.

'Is it possible that you were also deceived into believing that you had killed Vitellius when in fact he still lives?' Kharys continued.

'I do not believe so,' Marcellus said.

'If you are satisfied, that is sufficient end to the matter for the time being. Let us instead talk of your apparent dismissal of a belief in the Controllers. You believed once, you do not believe now.'

Marcellus nodded.

'Is it possible that you were also wrong about the followers of Kamen, the moon God?'

'I find the moon God even less plausible than the Controllers.'

'Yet a year ago you would have claimed to still subscribe to a belief in them.'

'Correct.'

'Circumstances have changed your beliefs.'

'Also correct.'

'Circumstances may also change your belief in a moon God. The Moon God. Kamen. I derive my power from him.'

'I do not doubt that you believe it, Kharys.'

'I will not bore you further. I am tired, now. Go and refresh yourself. Lyissa will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow we will decide together what is to be done for the best.'

The old man's eyelids closed abruptly, and it was apparent that the audience was at an end. Lyissa took Marcellus's arm and escorted him from the room. A few moments later she had led him to a suite of rooms on the first floor, and pushed open a door.

'This is your room,' she said, lowering her eyes.

'My thanks for your assistance. And for your concern for my safety.'

'Kharys believes that you may hold the key to the survival of Heraklion.'

'He seems to know a great deal about me.'

'He has been following your career with great interest. Ever since you crashed on the shores of Lake Sharmak.'

'I do not understand.'

'You will never understand unless you allow yourself to acknowledge that others beliefs' may hold true. Yours is not the only true belief.'

'I am not sure what I believe at the moment.'

'You believe that something is guiding your destiny?'

'Maybe.'

'Yet you are unprepared to speculate as to what form it might take.'

'I have had bad experiences recently which have destroyed much of what I once believed in.'

'The Controllers.'

'The Controllers, yes.'

'That means only that they were.....it is late. I will arrange for some supper to be brought up to you. We will talk again in the morning.'

'May I not join you for supper, Lyissa?'

She shook her head, meeting his eyes boldly.

'It is not possible. Not tonight.'

'Why not.....' he started to say, but she was gone, hurrying along the corridor. Marcellus entered the room. It was luxuriously appointed, as was the rest of the building, and on the floor and the walls there were more of the attractive but mysterious hieroglyphics. In the corner of the room stood a couch covered with plush red velvet, and in the centre a table with a marble top. Other than these two items the room was bare. There was one window, set high in the far wall, very small, which would not have allowed a great deal of light to enter even at midsun. In the opposite wall was an open doorway that he supposed was the entrance to the wash room and water closet.

An hour or so passed, then there came a knock on the door and he opened it to find a young girl before him bearing a tray on which were meats, bread, cheese, fruits and drink. He accepted the tray gratefully, and sat on the couch and began to eat. Then he heard the turning of a key in the lock and leaped to his feet angrily, testing the door and finding it locked fast. He beat on it with his fists, and when no one came to answer his commotion, he turned from it in disgust and finished his meal. For a while he paced the room, furious that he had allowed himself to be so fooled that he had been unable to prevent them from incarcerating him. Then he took another look at the window, which was perhaps twelve feet from the floor, directly above the couch. He examined the table, and found it sturdy and well made. He lifted it easily onto the couch and then climbed onto the structure he had made and tested it for stability. It could have been better, but it supported his weight. He judged that he would need to jump at least three feet in order to get his fingers onto the window ledge, and even then there was no guarantee that the window was open, or contained no glass, or bars, or cross members. If it was glassless, and there were no obstructions, he guessed that he might be able to squeeze through. He swung his arms back and forth, getting his balance right for the jump, aware that he would probably only get one attempt at it.

As he jumped, the table toppled sideways and crashed noisily to the floor, but his finger tips caught the ledge and he began to haul himself up until his stomach was resting on it. He could see that there was no obstruction to his getting through the window, provided his bulk would pass through.

It was dark beyond the window, and he had no idea what he was letting himself into, nor did he know how steep the drop was from the window ledge. For all he knew the ground below might be twenty or thirty feet down, even more. He squeezed his mighty frame through the window frame and with something of a struggle managed to bring his legs through so that he now sat on the outside window ledge. The air was clear, and he could hear the clicking and buzzing of insects, so he knew that this was the outside wall of the building. He could see nothing, only a dark void. He tensed himself, shut his eyes, and launched himself off the window ledge.

For what seemed an eternity he descended through the air and the soles of his feet landed in something wet and sticky. He toppled forward onto the damp grass. He had landed in some kind of pool, or pond, or even the open sewer that runs from most houses to the central sewage system of the larger Herakian cities. He hauled himself onto the grass and satisfied himself that he could stand upright and walk. Finding nothing wrong, he started to examine his surroundings, letting his eyes become used to the dark until he could make out another wall, some twenty feet ahead of him. He skirted along the length of this wall until it turned sharply to the left and then to the right. Now there was a light visible through a window, and he could hear the sound of voices, many voices, chanting as though taking part in some kind of ritual. He listened carefully but could make out no words that he understood. Peering through the dirty window he now saw that there were gathered inside an enormous hall some twenty to twenty-five people.

Eventually, as his eyes became accustomed to the light, he could make out that one of them was Lyissa, standing on the opposite side of the room, facing towards him, and beyond her, at the end of the room, sat Kharys. In front of him was a kind of trestle on which stood an enormous sarcophagus, richly decorated with gold and ornately carved. There was just visible the tip of the occupant's nose, and Marcellus was in no doubt that it was a coffin from the way the women wailed and the men beat their chests, and no one smiled.

As he watched, Kharys opened his sightless eyes and began to speak.

'O Khamen, Great One of the sky in this your name of 'The Sky is safe', may you grant that I have power over water like you who saved us on that night of storm. Behold, the Elders who are before the throne have sent me just as the God whose name they do not know sent them, and they send me likewise. My nostrils are opened in Horta, I rest in Khamenos, my house is what you built for me, Khamen stands up for me on his battlements. If the sky comes with the north wind, I will dwell in the south; if the sky comes with the south wind, I will dwell in the north; if the sky comes with the west wind, I will dwell in the east; if the sky comes with the east wind, I will dwell in the west. I will pull the skin of my nostrils, I will open up at the place where I desire to be. Khamen-Ra sits in his Abode of Millions of Years, and there assemble for him the Nine Gods with hidden faces who dwell in the Mansions of Khepris, who eat abundance and who drink the drinks which the sky brings at dawn. Do not permit me to be carried off as booty to Khasivis, for I have never been in the confederacy of Cetus Pau, O you who sit on your coils before Him whose soul is strong, let me sit on the throne of Khamen and take possession of my body before Khamen-Ra; may you grant that I may go forth vindicated against thee; may the dreams of my enemies be the dreams of a silth. O you whose faces are hidden, who preside over the Mansions of Khamen-Ra, who clothe the gods in the Six-day Festival, who weave for ever and who knot eternally, I have seen the deichus put into fetters, but indeed he who was put under ward has been released, the deichen have been loosed. I have been reborn, I have gone forth in the shape of a living spirit whom the common folk worship on Heraklion. O you sick one who would harm me, be driven off from the wall of Khamen-Ra, let me go forth against my enemies, let me be vindicated against them in the tribunals of the Great God in the presence of the Great God. If you do not let me go forth against that enemy of mine that I may be vindicated against him in the tribunal, then Baraapi shall not ascend to the sky that he may live on truth, nor shall Khamen-Ra descend to the waters that he may live on fish. Then shall Khamen-Ra ascend to the sky that he may live on truth, and Baraapi descend to the waters that he may live on fish, and the great day on Heraklion shall end its condition. I have come against that enemy of mine, and he is given over to me, he is finished and silent in the tribunal.'

The soliloquy ended abruptly, and the wailing began anew. Marcellus saw that two young girls, weeping noisily, had been pushed forward from the congregation, each holding a newborn baby. As they neared the sarcophagus, it seemed to him that the infants were in some kind of danger. He pushed against the window frame, noting that the woodwork was rotten in places, and felt it give against the heel of his fist. He watched, almost mesmerised, as the two infants were placed inside the sarcophagus, and then Kharys was led to it, and a long, sharp knife was handed to him. Marcellus frowned angrily, and brought up his fist, smashing it hard against the wooden frame, splintering it open. A second later he had tumbled through the opening and was advancing towards the sarcophagus whilst the women inside the room began to scream. Several of the men ran to oppose him, some of them he pushed aside with a sweep of his mighty arm, but eventually he was overpowered and brought crashing to the ground where he was held.

'What is the commotion?' Kharys demanded, lowering the knife. Lyissa ran to him, comforting him, assuring him that all was well, and the ceremony began again. Kharys raised the knife and brought it down quickly, spilling the blood of the first infant as Marcellus looked on with contempt and hatred in his eyes.

'Do not kill the other,' he said sternly.

'Do not interfere, big man,' one of the men said, who sat on Marcellus's head. He watched, powerless, as the blade was again raised and brought down.

'You are barbarians!' he gasped, and the man sitting on his head raised an eyebrow quizzically.

'Do not comment on a ceremony which you do not understand, heathen,' the man said. At last Marcellus was allowed to rise. Lyissa made her way to his side, having first assisted Kharys back to his throne. She pulled him away from the sarcophagus towards the back of the room, but he shook her off with a look of disgust.

'Do not touch me!' he warned her.

'You do not understand,' the girl said. She opened the door, pulling him quickly outside as the ceremonial wailing and chanting began anew.

'Show me the quickest way out of this accursed place,' he demanded.

'You should not judge others by your own society,' she said softly, leading him along a dimly lit corridor.

'I understand that a member of your society has been despatched to an afterlife with two freshly-killed infants to keep him company!' he said, still seething with rage at having been unable to prevent the barbaric manner of their wasted lives.

'You have witnessed something you should not have witnessed, Marcellus,' Lyissa said. 'You have no knowledge of our beliefs, no understanding of our rituals, nor what they are intended to achieve. You should not have come here tonight.'

'I have seen enough to persuade me that I could never understand your beliefs,' Marcellus retorted. 'I am leaving.'

'You will never get out of the city alive,' she said. 'Already they are looking for you.'

He glared at her.

'We have had this conversation before. I came with you because you said I would be safe, because you and your people would wish to help me. I cannot stay here. Show me out!'

'You cannot leave!'

'Show me!' he said through gritted teeth. Slowly, she nodded, realising that he was not a man to be trifled with. At the front door, through which they had entered, she laid her cool hand on his arm.

'I wish you would reconsider. I do not wish to learn of your death tomorrow.'

'It will not come to that.'

'It will. You cannot survive in the city without friends.'

'I will take my chances.'

'You heard what Kharys had to say. Vitellius lives. You thought you had killed him, but he yet lives. He will have you killed.'

'I do not believe that Vitellius is alive,' Marcellus said. 'It is all nonsense. Bring me my weapons.'

She handed him the weapons that had been taken from him when they arrived.

'With our help you could have achieved so much. Now you will be only a memory,' she whispered. He shook his head, angrily dismissing her sentiment.

'Do not bother, Lyissa. I have seen your people for what they are tonight. I had always suspected them, now it has been confirmed for me. You knew that I would.....no! I must go!'

He strode away, disappearing into the night. Lyissa closed the door quietly behind her, smiling mysteriously to herself in the dim light of the entrance hall.

It was now quite dark. Marcellus kept in the shadows, finding his way quickly and easily to a part of the city he knew well. At the northern gatehouse, there were guards to whom he had always been a friend, to whom he was certain he could turn for assistance in getting safely out of the city. It is common on Heraklion for city gates to be locked at nightfall, and admittance to the city and departure from it are always confined to the daylight hours. At the northern gatehouse garrison, two men lounged against the wall. Marcellus, keeping still in the shadows, approached to within hearing distance.

'Hsssst!' he whispered. 'It is Marcellus of Barbessel! I need your help.'

The two men came to him at once.

'Marcellus! It is good to see you! We heard you were back! Keep your voice down, there is a warrant for your arrest, issued this evening.'

'I know that well enough, Garain. How goes it with you and your family? Is your daughter well? And your good lady?'

'They are both well. We now have also a son, Marcellus.'

'I knew you would be on duty. It is a steady job.'

'It is that.'

'Who is with you? Do I know him?'

'It is Radulf, son of Rainauld, whom you know well.'

'I wish you good fortune, Radulf. Your father is well?'

The younger of the two guards stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, and gaunt, but handsome, with long dark hair.

'My father has the wasting disease,' he said grimly.

'Rota Virensis!' Garain whispered.

'I am sorry to hear it. How did he come to contract the wasting disease?'

'From the plains bronzeskins. The Warikeewa. He went to fight with the Hor-Lakis against the Warikeewa and the Hunyapi,' Radulf said. 'The campaign in which, if we are to believe what we are told, you played a leading part. Against Barbessel, your homeland, and against Hor-Lak, with whom we have an alliance!'

'You are mistaken, Radulf,' Marcellus said. 'The plains bronzeskins have no disease. Rota Virensis must have been introduced from some other quarter.'

Radulf shook his head darkly.

'No, it was the bronzeskins,' he said, bitterly. 'I know it, everyone knows it. They are raddled with disease. It was inevitable. The campaign should never have taken place. You could have prevented it.'

'You are mistaken,' Marcellus said again. 'No-one knows better than I how it was in the war with Hor-Lak. You are all lucky the bronzeskins won the campaign. Even so they suffered terribly, losing many men and women. Their villages were destroyed.....'

'Do you think I care about the stinking bronzeskins!' Radulf cried. Garain, sensing that the young man might shortly raise the alarm, tried to shut him up.

'Be quiet, Rad!'

'Why should I? Is your father wasting away before your very eyes? Did your father come back from a war with savages, raddled with Rota Virensis?'

'No! And I thank God he did not!' Garain said. 'But you have heard only one side of the story, Rad. I have known Marcellus many, many years. I would hear his story before I condemn him out of hand.'

'The evidence is heavy against him!' Radulf said angrily.

'That does not make him guilty,' Garain said quietly. 'At least listen to him.'

'Why is he come here, now?' Radulf demanded. 'Ask him!'

'I wish to leave the city,' Marcellus said.

'Hah!'

'I am aware of a plot against me, intended to discredit me. If I stay, they will put me in gaol or kill me. Then the city and all the homelands will be at the mercy of the enemy. I need to get out of the city. Only then will I be able to work towards defeating them, and restoring the city to safety.'

'You are guilty as hell!' Radulf said. 'I am arresting you.....'

'Rad, please, as my friend, as your father's friend.....'

'You are wasting your time, Garain,' Marcellus said, pulling the young man round to face him. 'I need Garain's help in getting out of the city. I know now that you will not help me. If I ask him to, he will put you out of action whilst he assists me. But then he will be in as much trouble as I am already, because you will report him. I am therefore going to take you with me.'

Radulf's eyes widened, then Marcellus laid him out with a stunning blow to the chin. As his body crumpled, he hoisted him over his shoulder, remarking to himself how light the boy was.

'Now, Garain, will you help me to leave the city?'

'You know I will, Gar!'

'How will we achieve it?'

'The gate is not yet locked.'

'How can that be?'

'I have the key.'

'The gate should have been locked an hour ago.'

'I am aware of that.'

'Yet you did not lock it?'

'No, I did not lock it.'

'You were expecting me?'

'I was.'

'Who told you?'

'Ask yourself who knew, old friend.'

'I do not understand.'

'This evening a warrant was issued for your arrest. This much you already knew.'

'Yes.'

'Someone sheltered you until nightfall.'

'The moon worshippers.'

Garain nodded sagely.

'An hour ago, as I was supposed to be locking the gate, a message was delivered to me by a young lad, telling me to expect you around this hour, and that I should leave the gate unlocked if I wanted to help you.'

'You could have been in great danger, Garain!'

'I would risk everything to help you.'

'My thanks for that, at any rate.'

'Come, you must leave. I cannot leave the gate unlocked indefinitely.'

'I am ready.'

'Just tell me one thing, Marcellus.'

Garain opened the enormous wooden gate as quietly as he could. Marcellus slipped out of the city, then turned back to his old friend.

'Anything.'

'Are you innocent?'

'Innocent? Of what?'

'Of the murder of Kestren. Of the murders of the three men at the Hor-Laki border. Of consorting with our sworn enemies?'

'I am innocent of all of those things, Garain, as you well know. Would you have assisted me had I been guilty?'

'I would,' Garain said gravely.

'For the sake of our ancient and lasting friendship, eh?'

'For that. For that at least, Gar,' Garain whispered, once more giving Marcellus his pet name, the name he had been called during his youth.

'I wish you good fortune, Garain.'

'I wish you good fortune, Marcellus. Take care of that young man for me.'

'He will be safe enough with me. He has the anger of youth on his side. I can make good use of that in the coming season of unrest.'

'I must go now, take care, warrior. Your stay in Horta was too short!'

'I will be back.'

'I ill watch for you.'

Marcellus watched the gate swing shut and heard the key turn in the lock. Then, settling his burden more comfortably across his neck, he started off along the well-marked trail for a time, then struck off the path and into the shrub which led to the foothills and the mountains between Barbessel and Pekeesh.

As Marcellus deposited him on the ground and started to search for wood with which to build a fire, Radulf stirred from his unconsciousness and rubbed his bruised chin. By the time the fire was going, and the small animal Marcellus had killed, skinned and gutted was turning on the spit, he was fully conscious. He leapt to his feet, reaching for his knife, but it was not there. Marcellus regarded him coolly.

'I have your knife,' he said, taking it from his belt to show. 'If you give me your word that you will not attempt to kill me with it, you may have it back.'

'Where are we?'

'Some miles from the city.'

Radulf's eyes darkened with fear and anger.

'You brought me out of the city?'

'I had no choice, Radulf.'

'If you are innocent, as you claim to be, you should have allowed me to arrest you and stand trial. That is where you prove your innocence!'

'You are angry, and your pride is hurt. These two sentiments are colouring your feelings towards me. There is nothing I can do about that. Tomorrow we will talk. Now we will eat. Do you want your knife back?'

'I am going back to the city. I will raise the alarm and they will come and get you.'

He turned to walk away, but Marcellus was suddenly beside him, laying a restraining hand on his arm.

'I would strongly advise that you do not do that, Radulf.'

'Why?' the youth demanded.

'You will already have been missed. They will assume that you have escaped from the city with me.'

'Why would they think that? I owe you no allegiance.'

'Garain would have told them.....'

'He would not!'

'His friendship for me is stronger than his friendship for you, I regret to say,' Marcellus said with a grin. 'He will have told them that he saw you escaping with me. He would have done everything he could to prevent you from leaving, but I am bigger and stronger than him, and my powers of persuasion to my cause seem to have worked on you.'

Radulf shook his head in sad disbelief.

'You do not mean it!' he whispered, sinking to the ground. In the light of the fire he looked pale, and thin, and tired. His chin was changing colour where Marcellus had hit him.

'I am sorry. Had my cause not been one I believe in, I would not have done it, I would not have involved you.'

'I cannot believe that you would do such a thing!' Radulf said. 'You have kidnapped me!'

'I'm afraid so. Now come and eat, then sleep, and tomorrow we will talk some more.'

'I am going back to the city,' Radulf said again, getting to his feet. 'I will tell them exactly what happened. My father was a respected member of the militia. He will vouch for me.'

'Would you expect of him anything else?' Marcellus said quietly. 'They will not believe you. I am sorry. Your father is now on a pension. They will believe Garain.'

Radulf shook his head defiantly.

'Then I will take my chances in the courts of justice. Garain will not testify against me. He will not perjure himself! He is a good and honourable man!'

'No, you are right, he will not testify against you. He will have no need, because you are staying with me.'

'You cannot keep me here!'

'I can if I must. You are coming with me. If you return to the city and tell your story, and it comes to court, Garain will not testify against you. Then they will come after me, and my opportunity to set things right is lost. No, I am sorry, Radulf, but I have to insist that you stay with me.'

He held out a piece of meat for the youth to take, and he took it, reluctantly, again sitting, near to the fire. Marcellus noticed that he was shivering. He was again struck by the painful thinness of the boy.

'Why did you join the militia?'

'I am going back!' Radulf said. 'If you try to stop me, I will die fighting. You will have to kill me! Then they will find my body, and they will come after you anyway!'

'Finish your meal first, then we will discuss it some more. How did you come to join the militia? You are very thin for a guardsman.'

Radulf hung his head, would not meet Marcellus' eyes.

'There has been little time for eating,' he said quietly. 'I have had to look after my father.....'

'Could your mother not.....'

'My mother died of the virensis within a week of contracting it!' the lad blurted out. 'My father lingers on in a painful wasting death! Because of your stinking allies, the bronzeskins!'

'Is there someone else who could look after your father now that you are with me?'

'My brother. My father will not last the week out.'

'I am sorry. You should have been there.'

'It does not matter!' Radulf said bitterly. 'He no longer knows who I am. Have you seen someone dying from the virensis?'

Marcellus nodded.

'Yes, I have seen it.'

'Then you will know that I am pleased not to be there when he finally passes away!'

'You do not mean that.'

'It does not matter anyway. I am here, with you.'

'I thought you were going back to the city.'

'Very probably I will.'

'You have not eaten for several days, have you?'

Radulf's colour heightened visibly.

'How did you expect to assist in the defence of the city in such a state? What is the matter with your superior officers that they did not notice this?' Marcellus demanded angrily.

'I have been on night duty for the last week,' Radulf explained.

Marcellus nodded.

'Eat some more.' He held out another joint of the meat. The boy took it and devoured it, hungrily.

'If you are interested, I will tell you my side of the story,' Marcellus said. 'In the morning, when you are rested.' He took a flask from his pack and poured a generous measure for the boy. Radulf took a mouthful of the juice, coughed and spluttered. Marcellus could not help smiling to himself. He ate his own meal, and sat watching the boy as he continued to eat, more slowly now, and then finished off with more of the fermented juice Marcellus had given him. Eventually, as the moon passed behind the clouds, Marcellus kicked earth over the fire to put it out, and the boy, Radulf, sank to the ground, his chin greasy from the juices of the meat and the liquor, and his eyes closed.