Drifting back into consciousness, with half-opened eyes and a half-closed mind, she noted the shadow of a man’s profile on the wall. It was vaguely familiar, but she could not identify it, and it was already looping in and out of her incipient dreams.
When she opened her eyes again, it was gone.
Instead there was a darker, much more solid shadow there, not lightened by reflected moonlight but cutting it out. It was the figure of a man, standing in the room.
Suddenly she was awake, eyes wide, at first in bewil-derment and then in mounting terror as a powerful hand was clamped over her mouth, and a soft hissing voice exhorted silence.
Chapter 2
In contrast to his leisurely journey from Pedhavin, Hawklan strode away from the Gretmearc as vigorously as he dared without making his progress seem too conspicuous. His long legs carried him easily through the throngs crowding the roads near that bustling, hectic market, but he was troubled and, while he tried to use the steady rhythm of his walking to quieten his thoughts, it was of little avail.
He had journeyed to the Gretmearc seeking answers to a question he had scarcely formulated. Now he came away beset by countless questions that were all too clear. He was a healer, not a warrior and yet, almost effortlessly, he had overcome four of the men who had attacked Andawyr’s tent. Then he found himself angry because he had fled, despite his flight being at An-dawyr’s express command. Fleeing-leaving others to do his fighting. He felt degraded, dishonoured in some way that he could not understand.