‘Always,’ said Niallad. ‘It is the curse of my family to be hunted by assassins. My uncle was the king of the Drenai. Did you know that?’ Waylander nodded. ‘He was killed by a cowardly traitor,’ continued the young man. ‘Shot through the back while he was praying.’
‘Praying can be a perilous business,’ said Eldicar Manushan.
The youth looked at him quizzically. ‘Murder should not be the subject of jests, sir,’ he said.
‘I was not jesting, young man,’ answered Eldicar Manushan. With a bow he turned and left the room.
Niallad watched him go. ‘I will not be assassinated,’ he told Waylander. ‘Gaspir and Naren will see to that.’
‘We will indeed, young sir,’ said Gaspir, the taller of the men. He turned to Waylander. ‘Which is the safest beach?’ he asked.
‘I shall have my manservant, Omri, show you,’ said Waylander. ‘And I will have fresh towels and cool drinks served there.’
‘Most kind,’ said Gaspir.
‘When will Uncle Eldicar be back?’ asked the blond page.
‘I do not know, boy,’ Waylander told him, ‘but it might be after dark.’
‘Where shall I stay? I do not like the dark.’
‘I shall have a room prepared for you that shines with light, and someone to sit with you until he returns.’
‘Could it be Keeva?’ asked the youngster. ‘I like her.’
‘It shall be Keeva,’ Waylander promised.
Chapter Seven
Waylander watched the Duke and his soldiers ride away from the palace, then moved back out on to the terrace. The sunshine was bright against his tired eyes, but the breeze from the bay felt good upon his face. Omri joined him there and Waylander gave him various instructions. The white-haired manservant bowed and walked away.
Waylander continued down the steps, past the waterfall, across the rock garden and on to his spartan accommodation. The door was open. He moved to the porch then closed his eyes. He felt calm, and sensed no danger. Pushing the door further open, he stepped inside. The priestess Ustarte was seated by the hearth, her gloved hands folded on her lap, her high-collared red silk robe buttoned to the chin. She rose as he entered. ‘I am sorry for the impertinence of entering your home-place,’ she said, bowing her head.
‘You are welcome here, Lady.’
‘Why did you tell Eldicar Manushan that I had left?’
‘You know why.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But how did you know he was the enemy?’
Moving past her, he poured himself a goblet of water. ‘Tell me of him,’ he said, ignoring her question.
‘I do not know him, though I know his masters. He is an Ipsissimus – a sorcerer of great power. I have felt the emanations of his power for some time now. He has crossed the gateway for two reasons. First, in order to establish allies in this world, and, second, to break the Great Spell, which prevents their armies from crossing over.’
‘Is he a king of some kind?’
‘No, merely a servant of the Council of Seven. Believe me, that makes him more powerful than many kings of your world. Are you aware that he knew you were lying?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then why did you do it?’
Waylander ignored the question. ‘Are you strong enough to withstand his power?’
‘No. Not directly.’
‘Then you and your companions should leave the palace. Find somewhere to hide – or return whence you came.’
‘I cannot leave now.’
Waylander lifted the water jug and left the building, hurling the stale liquid to the flower garden and refilling the jug from the waterfall. Returning to the main room, he offered the priestess a drink. She shook her head and he filled his own goblet. ‘What is it that Eldicar Manushan can offer to potential allies here?’ he asked.
‘Have you looked closely at Aric?’
‘He seems fitter and leaner.’
‘Younger?’
‘I see,’ said Waylander. ‘Is it real, or an illusion?’
‘It is real, Grey Man. Some servant of Aric’s will have died perhaps to supply it, but it is real. The Seven long ago mastered the art of enhancement and regeneration, just as they mastered the vileness of Joining.’
‘If I killed this magicker, would it aid you in keeping the gateway sealed?’