Where had these strange fighting skills come from, and from where this feeling of disloyalty at his desertion of the field? And, perhaps even worse, from where the deeper voice within, coldly telling him that this desertion was necessary for a greater good?

Then there was Andawyr himself. The strange little man who had undoubtedly saved his life. Andawyr who had referred to him as Ethriss. ‘First among the Guardians,’ he had said. Some strange god-like creature from the mythical past. Hawklan wanted to dismiss the idea as a foolish old man’s rambling, but Andawyr had radiated a sincerity and demonstrated skills that precluded such an easy escape.

But it must surely be nonsense? For all his ignorance of his own past, Hawklan certainly did not feel he was anything other than a very frail mortal. Yet Andawyr had seen that too. ‘You may be our greatest hope,’ he had said. ‘But at the moment I’m your greatest hope, and you, along with everyone else, are in great danger.’ Then, ‘Great forces have already been set against you. You need protection until you can be taught to know yourself.’ And finally, ‘Watch the shadows, your days of peace are ended.’ The words were chilling. There was solace in none of them.

And, unbidden, a new awareness had grown in him, making him seek for enmity as well as friendship in strange faces, danger as well as quiet calm where trees threw the road into dappled shade, treachery as well as hospitality when they passed through some village.

But for all his sombre preoccupations, the journey down through Riddin was uneventful. There seemed to be no pursuit from the Gretmearc and neither he nor Gavor saw any of the sinister little brown birds follow-ing them. None the less, the further they moved from the Gretmearc the easier Hawklan began to feel.