piercing whistle broke the stillness, no bird sound, this, but a warning that Jeil had been seen. The ranger rose and drew his sword, stabbing it into the earth within easy reach before fully drawing his bow.
'Enough of the birdsong,' called a voice no more than thirty yards ahead. 'I know you're there, so come out.'
He heard footsteps crunching over dead branches advancing towards him and stepped around the hawthorn, still certain that no one could have seen or heard him. The silk of his bowstring caressed his cheek as he caught sight of the speaker. He wasn't much to look at: dressed in roughly patched leathers and a ragged wolf's pelt, with a longbow slung over his shoulder and a short-handled axe at his belt. 'I'm alone,' he said. 'I've been waiting for you all morning.' He looked about fifty summers, with traces of white on the week's growth of beard. An easy smile hovered on his lips, one that put Jeil on edge.
The border with Scree is a strange place to be waiting alone and on foot,' Jeil replied, keeping his bow raised. 'A boat couldn't have brought you to this stretch of the river and you don't look much like a local waterman to me.'
‘Send the other ranger back to fetch your Lord,' the man continued.
'I would speak to him.' He didn't sound like he was a native of these parts. His accent was awkward, as if his own dialect were markedly
different.
'What's your business with my Lord?'
'Someone sent me to speak to him. Look, boy, I knew you were coming, 1 could have ambushed you all if 1 wanted him dead. Just send your friend to tell them I'm here and then we can relax with a pipe
until they arrive.'
Jeil eased the tension in the bow enough to free up his right hand. Without taking his eyes off the man, he raised his arm and motioned in the air. A whistle told him that Borl understood. Still keeping his eyes on the man, Jeil backed away and retrieved his blade; the arrow
stayed nocked.
'Don't get comfortable,' he warned as the man squatted down on the roots of an oak and pulled out his tobacco pouch. 'We'll go some of the way back, this way.' He pointed back to where he'd left his
horse.
The stranger sighed theatrically and pushed himself to his feet. A mocking smile remained on his lips as he passed the ranger. Jeil couldn't help but wonder just what he had found instead of an ambush.
'So who are you?' Isak's hand rested very obviously on Eolis's emerald' studded hilt. Standing face to face he dwarfed the man, but the stranger showed no sign of discomfort. Either he was mad, or there was a lot more to him than met the eye. The man seemed vaguely interested in Isak's gifts, but no more – the white-eye's hooded face drew more attention than either Siulents or Eolis.
'Greetings, brother,' the stranger said, with a laconic bow. Isak saw his own confusion echoed on the faces of his companions. 'My name is Morghien, but that will mean little enough to you, I'm sure.'
The Krann grinned under the blue silk as he caught Mihn's eye. The small man shifted in discomfort, but did not hesitate to speak. 'You are called the man of many spirits.'
Morghien arched his eyebrows in surprise, the smile fading momentarily, much to Isak's satisfaction, but he didn't falter for long-He shrugged his shoulders, causing the moth-eaten pelt to twitch as it in the final spasms of death, then said, 'Your man knows his stories. 1 did not realise my fame had extended to the northern clans.'
It was Mihn's turn to be surprised now, but Morghien simply
chuckled and continued, 'And now the introductions are out of the way, perhaps we can get to business.'
'What business do you have with us?' demanded Carel. 'How did you know we were coming this way, and why did you call him brother?'
'Explanations can come another time, but as for how I knew you were coming, let us say the girl of his dreams told me so.'
Carel laughed, but he saw Isak tense. There was a strange assurance about Morghien that worried the veteran. The man looked younger than Carel was himself, but he had an almost otherworldly air; he suited the strange title Mihn had used:
'Should we talk alone?' asked Morghien softly. Isak nodded and waved the others back, never taking his eyes off the man. Carel recognised Isak's mood and moved off without a word; Vesna and the soldiers followed his lead, but Mihn didn't move. He tightened his grip on the steel-shod staff in his hand.
Morghien turned a sympathetic eye on him. 'It's all right, lad. If you know about me, then you'll know I wouldn't stand a chance against
him.'
Mihn kept very still for a moment and then bowed his head in acknowledgement. He joined Carel, but kept his eyes on Morghien. When the older man reached out to touch his arm, Mihn jumped in surprise.
'What was that about?'
When he answered, Mihn's voice was distant. 'Have you heard of the Finntrail?'
'No, who are they? Another northern tribe?'
Mihn shook his head slowly. 'No. I will explain later. Though I don't think he poses a threat to Lord Isak, that man is dangerous.'
Now we're alone, tell me exactly what you mean.' Any mention of Isak's dreams put the white-eye on edge. How a stranger could know about the girl's voice in them was something Isak couldn't fathom.
' I'm not sure entirely,' Morghien began, but the words died in his throat as a silver gleam appeared at his throat.
‘No riddles, old man,' warned the Krann in a low tone.
Morghien swallowed and nodded as best he could. 'I am afraid I may not have as many answers as you would hope. Four times now I have had dreams that are more than dreams.'
‘You said the girl of my dreams,' Isak said impatiently. 'Explain that.'
'My dreams have been of a girl, talking to me. She told me about you and asked me to come here to meet you. I assumed you must have dreamed of her too, for her to know who you are and where to find
you.'
'Who is she? How does she know me?'
'Her name is Xeliath. She tells me she has been looking for you for over a year now, hardly knowing for whom she was searching, until you put on Siulents.' 'She can sense Siulents?'
Morghien ignored Isak's scepticism. 'She is, I think, scared to tell me how. She said that Siulents is like a giant beacon, shining out through the Land when she sleeps, but that your dreams are guarded too well to let her enter them. She hopes that by telling you this, you would perhaps open yourself up to her.'
Til need more reason than that. Continue.'
'She's Yeetatchen, I think, though I have never been there: her skin is as brown as a hazelnut. Xeliath is young, perhaps as little as fifteen
winters.'
'What does she want with me?'
'I believe she wants only to help you. She persuaded me that 1
should too.'
'How? What help do you think I need?' Finally Isak lowered his sword, satisfied that the man neither could nor would do anything to harm him. Isak looked a little deeper into Morghien, feeling an unusual mix of power within the man. His strength was curious, unlike anything Isak had seen before, but it was not great enough to concern
him.
'Preparation for troubles ahead, Xeliath said.' At Isak's expression Morghien raised a hand and continued hurriedly, 'She has not told me everything, and though 1 think I understand what she meant, telling you might make matters worse.'
'Worse? I've still half a mind to kill you so what will be worse than
that?'
'You having less than half a mind,' replied Morghien simply.
Isak opened his mouth to respond and then saw the stranger s ex- pression. He was being deadly serious,
