Through watering eyes he saw their astonished faces; the crisped ends of the straw stinking and curling. In front of him, Galen was holding the box level, his eyes bleak.

‘Now that,’ Alberic said slowly, ‘is a relic worth having.’ He turned the knife in Raffi’s side. ‘Even if you get out, the boy won’t.’

‘Let him go.’

‘I might. If you give me that box.’ The dwarf stared at it, greedily.

‘Never.’ Galen was steady, without expression.

Alberic shrugged. ‘Your choice, keeper. Keep the box; lose the boy.’

4

It is vital to remember that the powers the Order claim to have are a complete illusion.

Rule of the Watch

Journal of Carys Arrin

Atelgarsday

3.16.546

Two days ago, at last, I found the cromlech.

As I wrote in my last report, the people of the forest hate to talk to strangers; finding anything out is difficult. I’m still travelling as a pack-merchant, so bribes have been easy to give, but it’s cost me a great deal in fabrics, buttons, agricultural tools. (NB – Claim the money for this when I get back.) The forest is an eerie place, and most of our charts of it are wrong. The old superstitions of the Order hang around here; also a number of fugitives and vagabonds. Other areas are empty. Once I travelled for three days down airless green paths, slashing my way through, and saw no one. Jekkles have attacked me twice – once scaring the pack-beast almost berserk. Fire seems to keep them off. There are also blue spiders that bite; as I write this my hand is swollen and black, but I killed the thing fast enough to save my life. All that Watchtraining, I suppose.

Once I’d found it, I watched the cromlech for three hours. No one came near it. Finally, wary for traps, I crawled out, gathered the pack-beasts together and picked my way down. The slope was steep and rocky. Night was coming; strange mists and veils of mirk clung round the rotting tree-stumps, and the enormous stones stood like shadows. As I clambered down to it, my whole skin prickled. The foul witcheries of the place hung on the air.

Someone had been living there, that was clear. There were fire-marks, a pit dug for rubbish, a lot of footprints. But the ashes of the fire were about a day old, and had already been scattered and scratched at by some animal. The Relicmaster had gone.

There was no chance of following straight away – twilight was closing and only four of the moons were up. Warily I wandered around, searching the ground carefully. The place is all humps and hollows; a green ditch surrounds the stones, and as I crossed it I thought I felt a whisper of power. Galen Harn and his boy were here. I’m close to them.