The rasp of Ibryen’s sword being drawn echoed the hiss of his sharply in-drawn breath as he leapt to his feet. Despite the violent shock of hearing a voice when he had believed himself to be quite alone, some discipline prevented Ibryen’s alarm from announcing itself any louder. The bright mountain daylight burst in upon him blindingly as he opened his eyes and, keeping his back against the rock, he held out his sword and swung it in a broad protective arc while they adjusted.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the voice incongruously, amid this frantic scramble.

As Ibryen’s vision cleared, he found himself looking at a small figure standing well beyond his sword’s reach and shifting its balance from one foot to the other as if preparing to flee.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ the stranger said. ‘I didn’t realize…’

‘Who are you?’ Ibryen demanded brutally.

The new arrival was a man. He was dressed in simple, practical clothes, though they were of a cut unfamiliar to Ibryen, and he had a pack on his back. He stood scarcely chest height to Ibryen and was very slightly built – frail almost. Further he seemed to be quite old. But all this signified nothing. Though he asked it, Ibryen knew that his question was of no import. Whatever answer was given, he already knew the truth. Appearances notwithstanding, the man was not one of his followers and could have only come here by stealth – considerable stealth at that, to have avoided the recently alerted guards. He must thus be a Gevethen spy or, worse, an assassin. Marris’s remarks of a few hours before came back to Ibryen, now full of ominous prescience.

He could have been silently murdered while he basked idly in the sun!

Yet he hadn’t been. This ‘assassin’ had announced himself. The thought made Ibryen feel a little foolish though, keeping the stranger in view, he looked from side to side to see if anyone else had also reached the ridge unseen and unheard.