‘There they are,’ whispered Baski. Gorkai forced the memories away and narrowed his eyes. Still some distance away, the man was riding just ahead of the woman. This was the closest they had been. Gorkai narrowed his eyes and studied the man. A bow and quiver were looped over his saddle-horn, and a cavalry sabre was scabbarded at his waist. The man drew rein some sixty paces from Gorkai. He was young, and this surprised Gorkai; judging by the skill he had shown so far, the Notas leader had expected him to be a seasoned warrior in his thirties.
The woman rode alongside the man and Gorkai’s jaw dropped. She was exquisitely beautiful, raven-haired and slender. But what shook him was the resemblance to the girl he had once loved. Surely the gods were giving him a chance to find happiness at last? The sound of rasping steel broke the silence and Gorkai swung an angry glance at Djung, who had drawn his sword.
Out on the steppes the rider swung his mount, cutting to the left. Together he and the woman galloped away.
‘Idiot!’ said Gorkai.
‘There are three of us. Let’s ride them down,’ urged Baski.
‘No need. The only water within forty miles is at Kail’s Pool. We will find them.’
Talisman was sitting back from the fire when the three riders rode in to the camp he had prepared some two hundred yards from Kail’s Pool. It was yet another rock tank, fed in part by deep wells below the strata. Slender trees grew by the poolside, and brightly coloured flowers clung to life on the soft mud of the water’s edge. Zhusai had wanted to camp by the water, but Talisman had refused, and they had built their fire against a rock wall in sight of the water. The girl was asleep by the dying fire as the riders made their entrance, but Talisman was wide awake with his sabre drawn and resting on the ground before him. By his side was his hunting-bow, three arrows drawn from the quiver and plunged into the earth.
The riders paused, observing him as he observed them. In the centre was a thickset warrior, his hair close-cropped, a widow’s peak extending like an arrowhead over his brow. To his right was a shorter, slimmer rider with burning eyes, and to his left was a fat-faced man wearing a fur-rimmed iron helm.
The riders waited but Talisman made no move, nor did he speak. At last the lead rider dismounted. ‘A lonely place,’ he said softly. Zhusai woke and sat up.
‘All places are desolate to a lonely man,’ said Talisman.
‘What does that mean?’ asked the warrior, beckoning his comrades to join him.
‘Where in all the Land of Stone and Water can a Notas feel welcome?’
‘You are not very friendly,’ said the man, taking a step forward. The other two moved sideways, hands on their sword-hilts.
Talisman rose, leaving the sabre by his feet, his hands hanging loosely by his sides. The moon was bright above the group. Zhusai made to rise, but Talisman spoke to her. ‘Remain where you are . . . Zhusai,’ he said. ‘All will be well in a little while.’
‘You seem very sure of that,’ said the widow-peaked leader. ‘And yet you are in a strange land, and not among friends.’
‘The land is not strange to me,’ Talisman told him. ‘It is Nadir land, ruled by the Gods of Stone and Water. I am a Nadir, and this land is mine by right and by blood. You are the strangers here. Can you not feel your deaths in the air, in the breeze? Can you not feel the contempt that this land has for you? Notas! The name stinks like a three-day dead pig.’
The leader reddened. ‘You think we chose the title, you arrogant bastard? You think we wanted to live this way?’
‘Why are you talking to him?’ snarled the fat-faced warrior. ‘Let’s be done with him!’ The man’s sword snaked from its leather scabbard and he ran forward. Talisman’s right hand came up and back, the knife-blade slashing through the air to hammer home into the man’s right eye, sinking in to the ivory hilt. The warrior ran on for two more paces, then pitched to his left, striking the ground face first. As the second warrior leapt forward, Zhusai’s knife thudded into the side of his neck. Blood bubbled into his windpipe. Choking, he let go of his sword and tore the knife clear, staring down at the slender blade in shock and disbelief. Sinking to his knees he tried to speak, but blood burst from his mouth in a crimson spray. Talisman’s foot flipped the sabre into the air and he caught it expertly.