Agents of the Temple had located the hiding place of the Veiled Lady, and she would be arrested tomorrow. Everything was coming together. By the week's end the fading emperor would be replaced by Nalademus, the Tree Cult would begin to wither, and Voltan would be placed in charge of the army. At thirty-seven his destiny waited, a golden prize mere inches from his grasp.

Curiously he felt no excitement, no sense of fulfilment or satisfaction. This was irritating in the extreme, yet it had always been this way. Contentment and happiness were always just a little way ahead. I will be happy when I am Gladiator One, he had thought. On the day he had attained this he had felt a surge of achievement and deep pleasure. It had passed within an hour.

Voltan eased his way through the crowds and sat down on a rock, wondering yet again why he had come to this place. What do you expect to find? he asked himself. A group of fools, filled with death wish, listening to an idiot who would be burned within days. He sat quietly among the almost dead, thinking through the arrangements for the assassination of Jasaray. No plan was foolproof, but, satisfied he had considered all the potential hazards, he relaxed. He felt the crowd stir, and rose to his feet.

At the far end of the chamber a young woman, in a pale blue gown and a black veil, had entered, flanked by three white-haired men. The crowd raised their arms above their heads. Voltan copied the movement.

'May the Source guide you, and bless you, and receive you,' they chanted.

The woman also raised her hands, touching the palms, then opening her arms towards the crowd in a gesture of embrace. 'What do we see in this world around us?' she asked them. 'What do we see in tree and stream, in mountain and valley? What do we feel when we gaze upon the stars and the silver moon? What do we experience when the warmth of the sun touches our skin?'

'Joy!' chorused the crowd.

'And when a friend takes us into an embrace, or a child smiles, or we receive an act of unexpected kindness?'

'Joy!'

'From which deep well does that joy come, my friends?'

'From the Source!' they cried.

'From the Source of All Things,' she said. She fell silent for a moment, and stood head bowed. The crowd settled down, seating themselves upon the ground or jutting rocks and broken stalagmites.