Rising from the rug he walked across to the pine wood. ‘It is good to see you, Wyrd,’ he said.
The white-haired woman looked up at him and smiled. Her face was ageless, though she looked weary. ‘I cannot stay long, Stormrider,’ she said.
‘How have you made this happen?’ he asked, gesturing towards the trees. ‘It is mighty magic.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘not mighty at all. I have merely invaded your dreams. Look back. There you sleep by the fire.’
Gaise glanced round. His lean body was resting on its back, his head on a folded cloak. He saw with surprise that the sleeping face was drawn and haggard, the eyes dark-rimmed. ‘I look ghastly,’ he said.
‘Aye, you do. But you will wake refreshed. I’ll see to that.’
Sunlight lanced through the trees. Gaise felt the warmth on his face. Sitting down opposite the Wyrd he watched as the ruined room shrank away, the threshold covered by a screen of bushes and trees. Birds were singing, and he heard the soft lapping of a stream running over rocks. It was as if a burden had lifted from his soul. ‘Why have you come to me?’ he asked the little woman. ‘Is there something you need me to do?’
‘I need you to stay alive, Gaise Macon.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he answered, with a smile.
‘Have you found the answer yet?’ she said.
‘To which question?’
‘Why would a coward challenge you?’
He shrugged. ‘The nature of a coward is to avoid danger. If such a man courts peril there can be only two reasons. Either he is not a coward at all – or there is no danger.’
‘Exactly. So, how could it be that a pistol duel would offer no danger?’
‘The pistols would contain a charge and wadding, but no ball.’
‘One of them would be loaded. Not yours, I fear.’
Gaise nodded. ‘I know. Such treachery could not come from one coward. For such a foul enterprise to succeed there would need to be a conspiracy to murder me.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘I intend to win, Wyrd.’
‘There is more to this than Ferson’s conceit,’ said the Wyrd. ‘There is a source of evil, radiating its power. It is too strong for me to pierce. I have tried to find ways to read the future. All I see are fragmented images. I see you bearing a lost sword. I see a man with eyes of gold and green, yet he is not you. The more I search the less I find. I fear I am neither strong enough nor wise enough to find the way.’
Gaise heard the despair in her voice. Reaching out he took her hand. ‘What can I do to help you?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Enemies are seeking my death and I don’t know why. The power of a great evil is at work and I don’t know what it desires. Death is closing in on me, Stormrider. Day by day it gets closer. What I am sure of is that you must survive. It is vital.’
A cold breeze touched Gaise, and he saw a movement in the trees. The Wyrd sprang to her feet. ‘They have found me,’ she cried. Gaise rose alongside her. The sunshine disappeared. Two figures moved out of the gloom, dark swords in their hands. Their faces were grey and scaled. Iron circlets ringed their brows, and their eyes were swimming in blood. The Wyrd threw up her hands. Lightning flashed and a clap of thunder exploded. Gaise was hurled from his feet. He spun over and over, down through swirling blackness. He heard a shriek that chilled his blood.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding. Rolling to his feet he ran across the room to where his saddle was placed on a cracked bench. From the holsters stitched to the pommel mounting he drew two heavy pistols, and cocked them. Then he stood in the gloom and waited.
A lean figure moved through the doorway. Gaise swept up a pistol and pointed it.
‘I’d be obliged if you would refrain from shooting me, sir,’ said Mulgrave.
Gaise sagged back against the wall. ‘What is wrong, sir?’ asked Mulgrave, moving across to take the young noble’s arm. He helped Gaise to the fire, and both men sat down upon the rug.