The inn which was Sparhawk’s destination was on an unobtrusive back street. It was gated at the front of its central courtyard with stout oaken planks. Its walls were peculiarly high and thick, and a single, dim lantern glowed beside a much-weathered wooden sign that creaked mournfully as it swung back and forth in the rain-filled night breeze Sparhawk pulled Faran close to the gate, leaned back in his saddle, and kicked the rainblackened planks solidly with one spurred foot. There was a peculiar rhythm to the kicks.

He waited.

Then the gate creaked inward and the shadowy form of a porter, hooded in black, looked out. He nodded briefly, then pulled the gate wider to admit Sparhawk. The big knight rode into the rain-wet courtyard and slowly dismounted. The porter swung the gate shut and barred it, then he pushed his hood back from his steel helm, turned, and bowed. ‘My Lord,’ he greeted Sparhawk respectfully

‘It’s too late at night for formalities, Sir Knight,’ Sparhawk responded, also with a brief bow.

‘Formality is the very soul of gentility, Sir Sparhawk,’ the porter replied ironically ‘I try to practise it whenever I can.’

‘As you wish.’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Will you see to my horse?’

‘Of course Your man, Kurik, is here.’

Sparhawk nodded, untying the two heavy leather bags from the skirt of his saddle.

‘I’ll take those up for you, my Lord,’ the porter offered.

‘There’s no need. Where’s Kurik?’

‘First door at the top of the stairs. Will you want supper?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Just a bath and a warm bed.’ He turned to his horse, who stood dozing with one hind leg cocked slightly so that his hoof rested on its tip. ‘Wake up, Faran,’ he told the animal.

Faran opened his eyes and gave him a flat, unfriendly stare.

‘Go with this knight,’ Sparhawk instructed firmly. ‘Don’t try to bite him, or kick him, or pin him against the side of the stall with your rump – and don’t step on his feet, either.’

The big roan briefly laid back his ears and then sighed.

Sparhawk laughed. ‘Give him a few carrots,’ he instructed the porter.

‘How can you tolerate this foul-tempered brute, Sir Sparhawk?’

‘We’re perfectly matched,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It was a good ride, Faran,’ he said then to the horse. ‘Thank you, and sleep warm.’

The horse turned his back on him.

‘Keep your eyes open, Sir Knight,’ Sparhawk cautioned the porter. ‘Someone was watching me as I rode here, and I got the feeling that it was a little more than idle curiosity.’

The knight porter’s face hardened. ‘I’ll attend to it, my Lord,’ he said.

‘Good.’ Sparhawk turned and crossed the wet, glistening stones of the courtyard and mounted the steps leading to the roofed gallery on the upper floor of the inn.