Then the first of them emerged from a shadowy alley with a clay vessel balanced on her shoulder. She was robed and hooded in black, and a black veil covered the lower half of her face. She moved through the pale light with a grace so exquisite that it made Sparhawk’s heart ache. Then there were others. One by one they emerged from doorways and alleys to join the silent procession, each with her clay vessel upon her shoulder, and each following a ritual so old that it had become instinctive. However it was that the men began their day, the women inevitably started theirs by going to the well.

Lillias stirred. ‘Mahkra,’ she said in a voice blurred with sleep, ‘come back to bed.’

He could hear the bells in the distance even over the incessant bawling of the half-wild cows in the yards around him. The religion of this kingdom discouraged bells, so Sparhawk knew that the sound came from a place where members of his own faith were gathered. There was no other place to go, so he stumbled on towards the sound of the bells. The hilt of his sword was slippery with blood, and the weapon seemed very heavy now. He wanted to be free of its weight, and it would be so easy to let it slip from his fingers to he lost in the dung-smelling darkness. A true knight, however, surrendered his sword only to death, and Sparhawk grimly clamped his fist about the sword-hilt and lurched on, following the bells. He was cold, and the blood flowing from his wounds seemed very warm, even comforting. He staggered on through the chill night with the blood flowing from his side warming him.

‘Sparhawk.’ It was Kurik’s voice, and the hand shaking his shoulder was firm. ‘Sparhawk, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.’

Sparhawk opened his eyes. He was sweating profusely.

‘That same one?’ Kurik asked.

Sparhawk nodded.

‘Maybe you’ll be able to put it to rest when you finally kill Martel.’

Sparhawk sat up in bed.

Kurik’s face was creased with a broad grin. ‘I thought it might have been a different one,’ he said. ‘This is your wedding day, after all. Bridegrooms always have bad dreams on the night before their weddings. It’s sort of an old custom.’

‘Was your sleep uneasy the night before you married Aslade?’

‘Oh yes,’ Kurik laughed. ‘Something was chasing me, and I had to get to a seacoast so I could get on board a ship to escape. The only problem was that they kept moving the ocean. Do you want your breakfast now, or do you want to wait until after you’ve bathed and I shave you?’

‘I can shave myself.’

‘That wouldn’t be a good idea today. Hold out your hand.’

Sparhawk extended his right hand. It was visibly trembling.

‘You definitely shouldn’t try to shave yourself today, My Lord. Let’s call it my wedding present to the queen. I won’t let you go to her bed on her wedding night with your face in tatters.’