Benito was beginning to get a feel for the way the man thought now. This was more than just a declaration of Illyria's superiority and isolation. It was a subtly worded invitation. "And how does one join your tribe?"

The Lord of the Mountains tugged his moustache. "Three ways. By birth. By marriage. And by challenge."

"It's a little late in the day for the first two. So what is the challenge? The usual thing, eh?" Benito's smile was all teeth, and did not reach his eyes. "To drink a bottle of Slivovitz, kill a bear and make love to the most beautiful woman in the village. And later the challenger staggers into the village terribly scratched and says: 'Now where is this bear I have to kill?'"

The Lord of the Mountains laughed. "You'd do better to take your chances with the bear than trying your charms on our women. No, it is a simple challenge." He pointed out of the door into the darkness. "A test of stealth to start with. I will put my men on the hill. I will go to the summit. You must join me, without being caught."

Benito's heart fell. Even after the time he'd spent with the Corfiote irregulars, Erik Hakkonsen had rated him almost as silent a woodsman as a blind horse with bells on its harness. But what did he have to lose, beside face? "Surely. Send your men out."

"They'll try to cut you rather than kill you. I'd do the same if I were you. No point in being part of the tribe with a gyak on your head."

Benito looked at the men he would have to avoid. Looked at their knives. Wished it could have been the bear that he had to cuddle. The twenty or so of them slipping away into the forest had longer claws. Erik should be doing this, not him. This was not the thick Mediterranean scrub of Corfu or the lowlands of Illyria, but an actual forest in the steep limestone gully that led down to the river. Or bare, open rock and thin heath that wouldn't hide a field-mouse.