ROGAN entered the designated storehouse, Tapel at his side. Immediately the heavy doors swung shut behind him and he heard the sound of bolts being thrown. The darkness was complete and absolute, and all he could hear was the sound of his and Tapel's breathing. Rogan caught the smell of sawdust and old foodstuffs. He hadn't wanted to bring Amelia's son but it was one of the conditions of this meeting.

"Quit the theatrics," Rogan said. "How about some light over here?"

A light came on, and he was suddenly blinded.

Rogan felt Tapel grasp his hand. "Don't worry, lad," Rogan said. "If they wanted to harm us they would have done so."

After a moment, Rogan's eyes adjusted and he could see the area lit up by the glow of the nightlamp. A long table of polished wood stood on carved legs in the empty space, four chairs around it. The nightlamp rested in the centre of the table, but outside the circle of light Rogan could see nothing.

"Come out," Rogan growled. "You're fools, do you know that? If you don't trust someone, then don't invite them to your lair."

"Why would this be our lair?" a voice came out of the darkness.

"The storehouse is in a disused part of town, yet the hinges on the door are well-oiled. The table is heavy and expensive, as are the chairs, and there'd be marks in the dust if they'd been brought here recently."

"Anything else to add?" the voice asked.

"Finally, you're fools because you're wasting your time when your people need you," Rogan said.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. He was a young man, well-dressed in clothing the son of a prosperous merchant might wear, but his boots were those of a soldier, Rogan noticed, and at his side he carried a worn scabbard that had seen some use, the hilt of his sword polished from handling.

"Who are you, to dictate to us, Alturan?" the young man said.

"He's —"

Rogan silenced Tapel with a squeeze of his hand. "Surely there are more of you? I expected to find some resistance, not a couple of bravos hiding out in a barn."

A second man walked forward, older than the first, with a receding hairline and neatly trimmed moustache. "The two of us are all there are, Alturan."

"That's not true!" the younger Halrana said.

"Hush, Marcus," the older man said. "Yes, there are farmers and wives, craftsmen and priests, all working for our cause."

"But no soldiers?" Rogan said. "No warriors?"

"We are still in the process of… recruitment," the older man said. "Now, I think we are long overdue for some introductions."

"I think I know who you are," Rogan said. "You have the look of a Telmarran about you."