‘How long have you been here?’
‘Three years. We moved when my wife died. I had a farm near Purdol, but raiders wiped me out -took all my seed-corn and the winter food store. So I set up here, helping an old Notas. He died last year, fell overboard.’
‘The tribes don’t bother you?’
‘Not as long as I keep the ferry operating. But they don’t like me. Mixed blood!’
‘You are taller than most Nadir,’ Waylander observed.
‘My mother was a Vagrian woman. My father was Notas, so at least I’m in blood feud with no one. I hear there’s a war in the south?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you are Waylander.’
‘The riders have been, then. Which were they, Nadir or Vagrian?’
‘Both,’ said the man. ‘But I won’t betray you; I owe you four lives.’
‘You owe me nothing – in fact the reverse. I led the creatures to you. When the riders come back, tell them what happened. Tell them I rode north.’
‘Why should I do that?’
Two reasons. First it is the truth, and second they know already where I am heading.’
The man nodded and stirred the blaze to fresh life before adding more fuel.
‘If they know, why do you travel there? They will be waiting.’
‘Because I have no choice.’
‘That is nonsense. Life is all about choice. From here you can ride in any direction.
‘I gave my word.’
The ferryman smiled in understanding. ‘That I cannot argue with. Nor would I try. But I am intrigued by it – what could make a man give such an oath?’
‘Stupidity cannot be ruled out,’ said Waylander.
‘But you are not stupid.’
‘All men are stupid. We plan as if we will live for ever. We think our efforts can match the mountains. But we fool ourselves – we count for nothing and the world never changes.’
‘I detect bitterness, Waylander. But your deeds do not match your words. Whatever quest you are engaged upon must count. Else why risk your life?’
‘Whether I succeed or fail, within a hundred years – maybe less – no one will remember the deed. No one will care. I can bring an hour’s sunshine to a mountain-side; if I fail, it will bring an hour’s rain. Does the mountain care?’
‘Perhaps not,’ said the ferryman, ‘but you care. And that is enough. There is too little caring in the world – too much greed and violence. I like to see things grow. I like to hear laughter.’
‘You are a romantic, ferryman.’
‘My name is Gurion,’ said the man, extending his hand.
Waylander took it and grinned. ‘And I was once called Dakeyras.’
‘You too are a romantic, Dakeyras, because only romantics stay true to their word despite the world. It ought to make us stronger, but it does not. Honour is a weighty chain that slows us down.’
‘A philosopher and a romantic, Gurion? You should be a teacher, not a ferryman.’
‘What is your quest, Dakeyras?’
‘I seek the Armour of Bronze.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘There is a Drenai general named Egal and I am to deliver it to him. It will aid him in his war.’
‘I have seen it.’
‘You have been to Raboas?’
‘Once, many years ago. It is a chamber deep in the caves. But it is guarded.’
‘By the Nadir?’
‘No, by creatures far worse – werebeasts that live in darkness at the centre of the mountain.
‘How then did you see it?’
‘I was with my wife’s people, the Wolfshead; there were fifty of us. It was a marriage ceremony: the Khan’s youngest son. He wanted to see the legendary Armour.’
‘I am surprised the Nadir did not remove it.’
‘They could not,’ said Gurion. ‘Did you know? It does not exist.’
‘Speak plainly, man.’
‘The Armour is an image; you can pass your hands through it. The real Armour is said to be hidden somewhere in the mountain, but no man knows where. All that can be seen is a ghostly, shimmering vision and that is why it is worshipped.’
Waylander said nothing. He stared into the fire, lost in thought.
‘I thought you knew where the real Armour was hidden,’ said Gurion.