Talbrik stared up at the sky, his face begrimed with tears and blood, and tore the parchment savagely into tiny pieces, dropping them to the ground. Inside him trembled a fury he had never known before. He raised his fists into the air and closed his eyes, shaking with the fury.

'Marcellus of Barbessel, wherever you are, I will find you and kill you!' he screamed, and then he sank to the ground, exhausted with grief and anger, and his head came to rest just an inch or so from the sweetly curved bosom of the girl he had come to love, and who had been torn from him by the man he had come to kill. With the sun sinking slowly behind the western hills, he sobbed out his heart, his tears running off onto her blood-stained chest. He had never cared for anyone as much. Eventually, with the sun almost gone, he took a shovel from the back of the wagon and began to dig. Deep into the night he worked, excavating a hole large enough to bury her, aware that burial was not the custom, but incineration by bonfire, but caring little, mindless only of the fact that if he left her lying on the ground, she would be attacked and eaten by silthen and the other carrion-eaters of the night. At last he had dug a hole large enough and returned to her stiff, lifeless body, and stooping, lifted her easily into his arms, the tears starting in his eyes once again as he felt her cold lifeform pressed against him. Silently and with a heavy heart he lowered her carefully into the grave he had dug, and then began to pile the earth on top of her until, when it was quite dark, and neither moon was yet visible, the job was done. Finally, and he would never be able to explain why he did it, he took two pieces of wood and fastened them together in the shape of a cross, and drove it into the ground where her head lay, scratching into the wood the words:

AVELLINE, BELOVED OF TALBRIK, THE ASSASSIN

and then he lay down beside the grave and closed his eyes. But sleep would not come, only visions of a great battle between himself and Marcellus, whom he now hated more than any other living being on Heraklion, and as the stars twinkled out of a black sky above him and the two moons of Heraklion rose majestically above the eastern horizon, he wept and wept and wept, aware that the energy he was expended made him vulnerable to attack from any creature that might happen on this scene of woe, but caring not. In a single day he and Avelline had found each other's love and affection, the glory of loving and their tearing apart by execution.

He found himself remembering the story told to him by Gennis of how Marcellus had come to the holy city of Prakussara in the night and stolen a dozen of the holy virgins to take back to Barbessel for slavery. Why any man would do such a thing was beyond him. He knew that the virgins of Prakussara were beautiful, beyond compare, and that any man who looked upon them must suffer the eventual fate of castration or execution. Neither had happened to the brigand they called Marcellus of Barbessel, and it seemed incredible that the man should be able to get away with something so awful, so sacrilegious, and still roam the countryside free to come and go as he pleased, inflicting suffering and hurt on whomever he chose.

He tried in vain to put himself int he place of Marcellus of Barbessel, to imagine how he had come to Prakussara in the first place, why he had dared to enter the holy city and take the virgins from the temple, but he could conceive of no reason why any man should violate another culture's holy place and carry off icons of their religion, and his hatred for the man was made the deeper by his lack of understanding.

His eyes red and sore from weeping, he crawled into the rear of the wagon and tried to sleep, but still sleep would not come, and instead he spent the rest of the night remembering how it had been with Avelline, how he had loved and treasured her, and ultimately how he had let her down, failed to protect her, and how he must now avenge her short life. She had not been one of the holy virgins of Prakussara. Her life had been infinitely more colourful than that. He knew that she had been forced to share her favours with a variety of men whom she had loathed and mistrusted, and it was no small comfort to him that it had been he who had freed her from the tyranny of slavery, he who had liberated her to love freely, without shackles, without fear of reprisal, and he discovered in himself a measure of pride that she had chosen him to be her first lover following her new life as a free woman.

In the early hours of the morning he finally drifted off, but his dreams were filled with the hatred and savagery he now found his life dominated by, and thoughts of Marcellus recurring in which he killed the man over and over with an ease he knew would not be manifest when he did eventually catch up with him.

With the gray light of dawn breaking in the west, he lay in the wagon observing the slow, almost imperceptible motions of the moons of Heraklion and the stars as they faded into the lighter blue of the morning sky. Abruptly he jumped down from the wagon and ran to bathe in the nearby stream. Now his heart was filled with a hatred and loathing which he knew had once terrified the now dead Avelline, and to a lesser extent Lienne. Nevertheless, his determination to find and slay Marcellus of Barbessel was strengthened and his resolve to champion his own new cause of revenge hardened. Now he climbed back into the seat of the wagon and urged the deichen forward, heedless of their reluctance to move any more. They protested, noisily, roaring and tossing their heads, but he brought the whip down hard across their snouts and they moved slowly off through the woods towards Pekeesh.

Emerging from the wood, Talbrik saw that the trail now went into the foothills and he believed the terrain might be too rough for the enormous beasts. He dropped to the ground lightly, and released them from the shafts of the wagon, and turned them loose, caring not whether they would survive here or die. They were no longer his concern. In the event, had he been concerned, he need not have been, for the beasts turned in their tracks and lumbered off back through the woods towards the city of Horta, whence they had but recently come.

Talbrik gathered food and drink from the rear of the wagon and slung his weapons around his waist, a short sword and a dagger, then turned the wagon and pushed it down a ravine, satisfied that it would not be found for some time to come. He began to pick his way up through the shrubs that grew around the base of the foothills, until he reached the grassy slopes, wet from the morning dew, and slippery, and climbed, well away from the clearly-marked trail to his left. Several times his feet slipped and he sprawled tohis stomach, clutching on to the trunk of a shrub or a stout bush to prevent himself from slipping all the way to the path where he had left the deichen. At last he reached the overhang of rock that marked the end of the greenery and the beginning of the scree. Now the going was infinitely more dangerous, and he began to wonder if he would have served himself better by sticking to the path. However, his mind was resolved. He would travel away from marked trails, avoiding the possibility of being seen as much as he could. He believed that he would find Marcellus in Pekeesh, that the man had executed Avelline and returned to live with his bronze-skinned companions just across the border.

By the time the sun was fully up, he was halfway up the steep slope, knowing that beyond the foothills were the mountains that he had to traverse in order to enter Pekeesh. He rested for a while, reflecting on the fact that nowhere in Heraklion was the terrain as harsh as this, remembering how easy it had been to cross from the province of Hor-Lak into the province of Barbessel.

He was aware that there were still two groups of people following him, though if they were on his trail they were making a remarkably good job of keeping out of sight. He drank sparingly from one of the leather bottles, and ate an oaten biscuit before continuing up the scree. At last, after another hour, he had reached the ridge that heralded the end of the foothills and the beginning of the mountains separating the two provinces. There was grass on the ridge, and shrubs and flowers, and looking back towards Barbessel the landscape took away his breath momentarily. He thought he had never seen a sight more magnificently breathtaking than this, and wished that Avelline could have stood by his side to witness the glory of what now caught his eye.

But he needed to be on his way, believing taht Marcellus of Barbessel might be only a few paces ahead of him, barely out of sight, or else a few hundred paces to his left, keeping him in sight, able to pick him off with a well-aimed arrow at any time. He traversed the ridge quickly and easily, his booted feet slipping but occasionally on the wet grass. In a few minutes he was at the base of the rocks, and casting around he soon found the trail that led through the mountains and into Pekeesh, and started off along it. For a while the going was comparatively easy, a gentle slope, bounded either side by the massive escarpments of rock that formed the lower part of the mountain. But then the trail degenerated into a fissure, through which he could barely squeeze, and wondered if he had taken the wrong turn. Climbing all the while, he went quietly and slowly through the fissure, his head pressed against the cold sharp face of the rocks, and at one point he even found it necessary to break away large chunks of the granite in order to proceed any further, and eventually came to realise that although this was clearly a trail through the mountains, for there were indications everywhere of others having passed through it, he no longer believed that it was the trail, and that perhaps it was a trail used by outlaws because it was so narrow and awkward. By and large he reached the end of the fissure and found himself in a kind of natural amphitheatre of rock, with a further trail clearly defined leading off from the opposite side. Some one hundred feet across, this feature gave all the appearance of having been carved out of the rock by human hands, and further investigation produced evidence to that effect. There were the remains of camp fires, and away to the left, stashes of food, cuts of meat and bags of water, and piles of human droppings in a remote corner which he did not examine too closely. Too, there was evidence of fighting, or else of the spilling of blood in some other fashion, for in the centre of the amphitheatre there was a large flat rock with copious blood stains upon it. Talbrik grinned. The freshness of the meat and the droppings convinced him that this place was in constant use, maybe even by Marcellus himself.

He started off along the track which would take him into Pekeesh, but on the distant wind he could hear voices, perhaps as many as ten men. He retraced his steps and found himself a place to hide within the amphitheatre from which he would have the opportunity of observing whoever it was that was returning to the camp. At length a group of men came through the opening in the rocks and into the amphitheatre. For the most part they were small, swarthy men, although amongst them were one or two almost as big as Talbrik. There were twelve in all, and that they had but recently been in battle with someone he was in no doubt.

'Stash your weapons, let's get something to eat,' the man who was clearly their leader said. He was a good two inches above six feet tall, immensely muscled and battle-scarred, and Talbrik observed that he appeared to be light-skinned, fair-haired and bearded, and presumed that he was from the north. The men dispersed to their various corners of the amphitheatre and a meal was swiftly and primitively prepared, a fire lit with a pan thrown across it on a tripod of sticks, and joints of meat tossed into it. But the smell was nevertheless most appetising, and Talbrik licked his lips, hoping that there might be something left of the meal when the men had eaten their fill.

Now he heard the shrill laughter of females, and from another trail in the rocks, this time to his right, he saw emerging from cover a group of women, six in all, mostly young, but not so young as Avelline or Lienne, and evidently the companions of the men, for they giggled and sang, and draped themselves over the men openly and flirtatiously. From where he was he heard names being mentioned but caught none of them. He watched for a time whilst the women assisted in the preparation of the meal and waited for the men to eat before themselves tucking into what was left. Sadly Talbrik watched as more or less every last morsel was cleaned up.

There was talk of a successful raid, and Talbrik reasoned that they had returned from Pekeesh, from the way they had entered the amphitheatre. At last the wind changed direction and he was able to hear what they were saying and the names they called each other.

'Where do we go tomorrow Gurtz? ' one of the men called across to the leader. Gurtz, who was still eating, but had nevertheless given permission for the women to begin their meal, looked up angrily.

'Tomorrow?' he roared. 'Tomorrow, always tomorrow! Today, later today we journey to Barbessel. There are crops recently sown which require our attention!'

The man who had asked the question laughed uncertainly, and Talbrik got the distinct impression that here was a man not unlike Swarbard, who ruled ruthlessly, stood no nonsense from any of his men or women, who killed wantonly and savagely.

'And tomorrow?' another man asked.

'Tomorrow it is back into Pekeesh. They will send out a hunting party to see who did this terrible thing to the bronze-skins, and we do not want to be in Barbessel when the militia turn out to see who has destroyed their crops!' Gurtz replied.

One of the women draped herself across Gurtz's lap lasciviously and ran her hands through his beard and down across his greasy throat. Talbrik watched, fascinated, hoping that it would not be too long before they started off on their next mission, to destroy the crops he and Avelline had passed on their journey out of Horta. He wondered if he should be thinking about throwing in his lot with these men, in view of the fact that they were engaged in covert action against the people of the man he was sworn to kill, both the people of Barbessel and the plains bronzeskins, but he doubted if their activities would assist him in finding the whereabouts of Marcellus of Barbessel, and decided to remain hidden for as long as was possible. He was beginning to feel the emptiness of hunger in his belly, and it had been some time since he had last had anything to drink. Moreover, he was beginning to stiffen where he stood, squeezed between two rock faces, and wanted more than anything to stretch his legs and arms. But he dared not move.

To his disappointment, Gurtz threw off the woman and tossed aside the bone of whatever meat joint he had been eating, wiped his greasy hands and chin with his forearm, and sat back against the rock face, closing his eyes. One or two of the men followed suit, and pretty soon the women, for the most part ignored except for some intimate fondling and kissing, slunk away to their own devices, waiting to be called upon for more strenuous activity at a later time.

Talbrik watched each of the men sink into a drunken stupor, for they had drunk vast quantities of alcohol with their makeshift meal, and satisfied that there was no-one to see him, squeezed out of his hiding place to see if there was any food left anywhere in the camp. At length he found a bone, presumably that of some fowl or other, which still bore a good quantity of meat. He started off back to his hiding place with it, intent on eating it before doing anything else, but as he reached the fissure a figure darted out from behind an overhang and barred his way. It was one of the girls, tall and pretty, with golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

She stared at him, her hands on her hips, with the ghost of a smile playing about her lips. Then, without a word, she took his hand and drew him towards an opening in the rocks, through which he had no doubt there would be another path through the mountains.

After a short while they reached what she evidently considered to be a safe distance from the main camp. She was wearing a loose-fitting tunic, belted at the waist and reaching just below the curve of her buttocks, and open at the top so that the twin curves of her breasts were clearly visible, though the nipples were just covered. Her hair reached almost to the small of her back and was wavy, and soft, though it appeared a little dirty, which was not surprising, given the nature of the terrain.

'You're new, aren't you?' she said, and drew him towards her so that he could almost feel her breasts pushing against his chest.

'New, yes,' he muttered thickly.

'You may have me if you want me,' she said, raising her hands to his neck and pulling him even closer.

'I could have you if I wanted you anyway,' he growled, and she saw in his face a demeanour she had somehow not expected. She pulled away, but only slightly.

'What is your name?'

'What business is it of yours?' he said, and began to disengage her hands from behind his neck.

'You are not one of Gurtz's men, are you?' she said, her eyes widening. When he did not answer, she pulled abruptly away from him and started back towards the camp, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, at the same drawing his knife and holding it against her throat.

'You do not want to warn the others,' he said. For some reason, though her half-naked body was pressed firmly into his, he was not excited by it as he had been by Avelline's.

'Who are you? What do you want?' the girl demanded, terrified.

'That also is not your business. I was passing this way. I was trapped in the camp whilst they ate their meal. I mean them no harm. You will not warn them.'

'Let me go!'

'If you scream, the movememnt of your throat may well cause the blade of my knife to slip into it!' he warned her, and she subsided a little.

'What are you going to do with me?'

'I do not know yet. I cannot let you go back to them. You will warn them, and they will come looking for me. My business is not with them.'

'Who, then?'

'My business is with the man they call Marcellus of Barbessel.'

At last her eyes were drawn to the small dagger-shaped cross around his neck. She gasped.

'You are an assassin!'

'Correct. And if you know anything of my kind, you will know that we seek out and kill not for pleasure, but for business. I am contracted to kill Marcellus of Barbessel, and I have no business to conduct with Gurtz or any of his men, or women.'

'I will not say anything. You can be on your way, and I will not say anything,' she said, pleadingly, but he did not believe for an instant that she was to be trusted in that respect.

'I think I will take you with me,' he said. 'That way you can tell nobody. They will think that you just wandered off and got lost. This is not safe countryside, especially for a girl.' As he concluded, he reflected on how true that statement was, thinking sadly of Avelline and the arrow from the blue that had killed her. Had this band of outlaws not been returning from Pekeesh he might have had some suspicion that they were in some way involved with her death. But having seen for himself the direction through the mountains they had taken to return to their camp, he was satisfied that she had indeed been killed by Marcellus of Barbessel himself or else one of his agents.

'What is your name?' he demanded of the still terrified girl.

'Jacleen,' she said, desperately trying to keep her throat still against the sharp blade of his knife.

He nodded.

'If you so much as breathe out of turn when I remove the blade, you are a dead woman. Do you understand?'

She nodded her understanding and he removed the knife and sheathed it.

'Now,' he said, 'tell me about Gurtz and his men. What is the purpose of their raids into Barbessel and Pekeesh?'

'I should have thought that was obvious,' she said, but catching the warning in his eyes, she hurriedly carried on. 'Barbessel and Pekeesh have traditionally been allies for many hundreds of years. The plains bronzeskins do not enter Barbessel, and Barbessel respects the homelands of the bronzeskins. Lately, however, there have been moves to break the agreement between them. I do not know much about it, only that Gurtz is working for a man who wants Barbessel's militia to enter Pekeesh to go to war with the bronzeskins. He raids the homelands of the bronzeskins, slaughtering them with his superior force and weaponry, the bronzeskins think his men are from Barbessel and there is unrest in their camps. Then he enters Barbessel and destroys their crops and raids their villages, killing and plundering, and the Barbesselians believe it to be the work of the plains bronzeskins. There is unrest in Barbessel, and the bronzeskins are blamed for the raids. Soon there will be all-out war between the two peoples.'

'For whom does Gurtz work, Jacleen?'    

'I do not know his name,' she replied. Talbrik's hand returned to his knife. She raised her hands anxiously.

'I do not know his name,' she repeated. 'I have never seen him. I do not believe even Gurtz knows his name. He receives his orders from a bronze-skinned man - his name I do not know either. I have not seen him often. He comes to the camp in the mountains under cover of darkness and passes instructions to Gurtz.'

'Then it was not Gurtz's idea to carry out raids on  both provinces?'

Jacleen laughed shortly.

'He does not have that kind of intelligence!'

'Yet he has many men in his band.'

'He is strong, and ruthless, and feared.'

'He evidently treats you well.'

'What makes you say such a thing?'

'You come and go as you please, in and out of his camp. You were not there to prepare his meal when he returned from the raid on Pekeesh.'

'We are not slaves!' she said defiantly.

'You are not slaves? Who and what are you, if you are not slaves? Are you then free women?'

'As free as we need to be!'

'Where do you live?'

'In Gurtz's camp.'

'You are then his women.'

'We are free to leave whenever we wish.'

'You do not believe that.'

'It is true.'

'Then why do you remain here, with Gurtz?'

'He treats us well enough.'

'You perform for him.'

'We do most things for him.'

'You are as good as owned by him. Try to leave and see what happens. You would be the  victims of his next raid.'

'You may be right. It is not important. For now, we are content to stay and serve Gurtz.'

'You thought I was one of his men.'

'I have never seen you before.'

'I am an assassin, from Ancyros.'

'I worked that out for myself,' she said, with heavy sarcasm. He was tempted to fetch her a blow across the face, but decided that it would serve no purpose for the time being.

'I seek a man they call Marcellus.'

'Marcellus of Barbessel?'

'The same.'

'He is not here.'

'I do not doubt that.'

'You will not find him in Pekeesh, either.'

'You know his whereabouts?'

'There was a raid in Pekeesh a while ago. Many men and women from the Warikeewa were slaughtered. There were no survivors.'