It’s a long way down, the voice pointed out, the tall man feeling the sword give a small tug towards the cliff edge. A clumsy stumble by an ignorant barbarian. Who would question it?

“Why would you imagine,” he began, meeting her gaze, “that I am any less intent on my prayer than you are on yours?”

Because she thinks you’re a hero, the voice laughed as the woman set her jaw, saying nothing. She wants to spare you. How wonderfully naive. Still, she might at least let you rut with her before this is over. That’s something, eh, my liege?

He clamped his mouth shut to cage the rebuke, forcing himself to turn about and start towards the chapel. “Others have already gathered,” he told the woman over his shoulder, gesturing to the tents pitched alongside the chapel. “With any luck we shouldn’t have to wait very long. I suggest you sing your Sky Song now. I doubt the priests will tolerate it in their holy place.”

Two

Chapter Two

The Whispering Sands

T he priest was young, his features delicate almost to the point of femininity. To the tall man’s eyes his recently shaven head and stooped posture made him appear diminished, cowed somehow, as did the tension in his neck and jaw.

Pain, the voice observed, something it never failed to recognise in others. This boy has had a whipping in recent days. Not assiduous enough in his grovelling perhaps?

“You require names,” the priest said to those assembled in the chapel. There was no seating of any kind so they were forced to stand. The priest stood before the altar, a plain table of aged wood adorned only with a stone carving of a crescent; the symbol of the Absolved. The other priests, ten in all, were arrayed behind the altar, faces concealed within the cowls of their red robes. There were numerous discoloured rectangular patches on the walls, outlines of icons and tapestries that had hung here for many years.

Once the Church of the Absolved possessed many treasures, the voice explained. All long since sold off to preserve this pathetic remnant.

“Those who journey into Alnachim bearing their true name face swift damnation,” the priest went on. “It is known. During our sacred trial you will know me only as Priest. I will answer to no other name. Now you must tell me what name you will answer to.”

He turned an expectant gaze on the tall man, perhaps because he stood closest to the altar. No, the voice chided impatiently, he senses authority in you, my liege.

“Pilgrim,” the tall man said. “Know me as Pilgrim.”

Priest nodded and turned to the beast charmer. “And you?”

Her paint-covered brows creased in momentary consideration before she said, “Seeker.”