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uneasy silence descended. This was untamed land for the greater part, and people mixed curiosity with caution. As Carel reached the horseman, figures appeared from behind the bend in the road. Six men were coming towards them, five of them the train’s guards, mounted on stock ponies like Carel’s own, and one man, a stranger, on foot. The five on horseback towered above the newcomer, but they looked curiously cowed in his presence.
    Carel stopped and dismounted once he was past the lead wagon. While he waited for the man to reach him he looked around, scanning the terrain. He didn’t see anyone else, but he kept his hand on his hilt as the man approached - he appeared calm, but a stranger alone and on foot was more than unusual out here.
    Isak found himself digging his nails into his palm in apprehension. The stranger was taller even than Isak, who himself looked down on the rest of the wagon-train occupants. He was clad in black from head to toe, and the hardened leather and heavy, scaled armour he wore showed that he was not a native of these warm parts, where the guards wore little or no protection. Despite his height, the man was clearly not Parian, nor from any other tribe Isak had seen on their travels.
    Worryingly, the man had his sword drawn, yet Carel paid it no attention. He left his own weapon sheathed as he moved in close to speak to the man.
    Isak realised suddenly that his attention had been caught by the blade itself, not the man who held it, which went against everything Carel had taught him. The sword tells you nothing about what your enemy is going to do; keep your eyes on it and you’ll watch it all the way i nto your belly. Even knowing this, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from weapon: its shape and colour were unlike any he had seen before.
    Faint bursts of light pricked the black surface so gently that he almost dismissed them as fancy. Just the sight of that blade made Isak shiver, as if some primal fear stirred inside.
    The stranger said something, too quietly for Isak to hear.
    ‘We’re just traders returning to Tirah. We don’t want trouble, but we are prepared for it.’ Carel replied in a loud voice, so that those wagoners with weapons would reach for them. Isak could see that Carel looked puzzled, and a little apprehensive: this situation didn’t make much sense - who travelled alone and on foot out here? Was this an ambush of some kind? He glanced back inside Carel’s caravan to make sure that the mercenary’s spear was within reach.
    The stranger was hairless, and terribly lean, but there was no sign of illness; rather, he had about him an unnatural vitality. Pale parchment skin looked stretched to fit the skull underneath, and his eyes were completely black. For the first time Isak saw why people feared the differences in his own face.
    ‘There is one here who is not like you, one who should come with me.’ The man spoke clearly this time.
    ‘We have a white-eye with us; what of him? He’s young. What use would you have of him?’ Carel sounded dismissive.
    ‘He should come with me to seek his future.’
    Carel stepped back, away from the stranger. ‘You think I’m just going to hand him over to you? You look like a sorcerer to me.’ He took hold of the charm around his neck, carved with the rune of Nyphal, protector of travellers, and muttered a short mantra under his breath.
    ‘Get back into the wagon, Isak. Keep out of sight,’ hissed Horman, a concerned look on his face. He had approached Carel’s caravan out of sight of the stranger; now he motioned his son off the driver’s seat. Isak climbed down quietly and slid back into the dark interior without a word while his father cocked his crossbow.
    ‘What does he want with me?’ he whispered.
    ‘I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’ll give you to him if you don’t shut up.’ Horman scowled at his son and turned his attention back to Carel.
    Isak did as he was told, fearing the stranger and his father’s anger