'There was a man – years ago – who used such a weapon. Some say he was killed. Others claim he left the lands of the Drenai and bought himself a palace in Gothir territory. But perhaps he came instead to Kydor.'

Camran laughed. 'You think we are being hunted by Waylander the Slayer?'

'I hope not.'

'Gods, man, we're two thousand miles from Gothir. No, this is just another hunter using a similar weapon. Whoever he is, we're ready for him now,' said Camran. 'Put two men on watch and tell the rest to get some sleep.'

Camran moved to the girl, re-tied her hands and feet, then settled down on the ground. He had served in six campaigns and knew how important it was to rest whenever possible. Sleep did not come instantly. Instead he lay in the darkness thinking about what Okrian had said.

Waylander. Even the name made him shiver. A legend back in the days of his youth, Waylander the Assassin was said to be a demon in human form. Nothing could stop him; not walls or armed guards, not spells. It was said that the terrifying priests of the Dark Brotherhood had hunted him. All had died. Werebeasts, created by a Nadir shaman, were sent after him. Even these he had slain.

Camran shivered. Get a grip on yourself, he thought. Back then Waylander was said to be a man in his late thirties. If he was following them now he would have to be a man close to sixty, and an old man could not kill and move as this one did.

No, he decided, it could not be Waylander. With that thought he slept.

He awoke suddenly and sat up. A shadow moved across him. Hurling himself to his right, he ducked and scrabbled for his sword. Something struck him on the brow and he pitched back. Okrian shouted a battle cry and sprinted forward. Camran surged to his feet, sword in hand. Clouds covered the moon once more, but not before Camran saw a shadowy figure merge into the darkness of the trees.

'Who was on watch?' shouted Camran. 'By the gods I'll cut his bastard eyes out!'

'No point in that,' said Okrian, pointing to a sprawled figure. Blood was pooling around the man. His throat had been slashed open. Another dead man was hunched by a boulder. 'You've been wounded,' said Okrian. Blood was dripping from a shallow cut in Camran's brow.

'I ducked at the right moment,' said the captain. 'Otherwise his blade would have opened my throat.' He glanced at the sky. 'Another hour and it will be light.' Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he held it to the bleeding wound on his brow.

'I think I cut him,' said Okrian. 'But he moved fast.'