Swiftly, his pain forgotten, Jasaray wrenched the robe from him and threw it to one side. Then he ran down the lane, cutting left and right.

Never before in his life had the Scholar known panic, and even now, in the midst of terrible fear, he had to acknowledge the sheer genius of this plan. The emperor killed by a wild beast while walking in his maze. Nalademus, as First Minister, would naturally take power, and swiftly appoint his own men to command the Panthers. Little risk of civil war, and no-one to blame, save perhaps some poor animal handler who failed to lock the cage properly.

Oh, it was sweet.

From somewhere behind he heard the tiger roar again. This was followed by the sound of rending cloth. Jasaray ran on, heading for the eastern exit. He forced himself to slow as he neared the archway, and, dropping to his belly, inched himself forward to peer round the hedge. The archway was blocked by a wooden frame, and he could just see the shadows of waiting men beyond it. Rising to his feet Jasaray moved back into the lane. All four exits would be blocked.

Jasaray smiled suddenly and shook his head. So this is how it ends, he thought. The man who created the Panthers is butchered by a tiger. 'It is almost droll,' he whispered.

Bane's eyes flared open, and he surged upright. The bedroom, in the west wing of the palace, was moonlit and silent. Bane glanced across at the bed in which Rage slept, close to the balcony. The big man was sleeping soundly on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, the other curled around a pillow.

It had been a long evening, sitting at the farewell dinner with Jasaray, Bendegit Bran, Fiallach and Rage. The talk was mostly of politics and treaties, and even when it veered away from such mind-numbing topics Bane remained uncomfortable, wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else, in fact. For they spoke of Connavar, of his life and legend and greatness. Bane had swallowed his anger. At one point the elderly emperor had turned to him.

'Have you met the king?' he asked.

'Briefly,' answered Bane. 'I won a race. He presented the prize.'

Jasaray looked closely at him, then turned his attention back to Bendegit Bran. 'My agents tell me that King Shard is once more building a great fleet,' he said. 'Is Connavar aware of this?'

'We are all aware of the threat,' said Bran. 'Shard hates Connavar, and has promised to cut off his head.'

'What is the source of this hatred?' asked Jasaray.

Bran glanced at Fiallach. 'You were there, my friend. Perhaps you should tell the story.'