CHAPTER 1

Connor had seen the messenger safely away, escorting him through the silent mass of the dark, deserted courtyard, the light of the lantern flickering over the cobbles. Reaching the stables, they had parted company, Connor waiting until he had heard the soft challenge and reply as the man rode out past the sentries. Then he turned to make his way indoors, walking with quiet steps along the stone-flagged passageway in order not to disturb the members of the household who should have been all abed at this late hour. Arrived at the chamber, which served equally as a study for the master of the household and as the headquarters for his company of men-at-arms, Connor entered without knocking, stopping short on the threshold for a few seconds, before stepping inside and carefully closing the door behind him. Francys was sitting at the table staring bleakly ahead and, by the light of the tabri-oil lamp nearby, Connor saw that his face was ashen.

As he approached, Francys picked up the papers lying on the table before him and handed them over without a word. Connor looked down at them curiously, then glanced up at Francys.

'Read them,' the latter said impatiently.

Taking them over to another chair, Connor sat down to read through the documents. A feeling of increasing puzzlement spread through him as he did so, for what he held was, as far as he could judge, nothing more than the usual monthly report from Artem containing news supplied by the various members of the intelligence network which he contrived to run on Francys' behalf, and there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary in it, certainly nothing that could possibly account for Francys' odd pallor and the tension which surrounded him. Connor's brows drew together in a perplexed frown. He glanced once more at Francys, and turned over the last page ... to find a note attached, written in the personal code reserved for private communications. Was it this that Francys wanted him to read? He presumed that it must be, and accordingly scanned it quickly. A deeper frown etched his brow and he re-read the words unbelievingly.

'Menellen,

I write with some, news of vital import to your personal safety. It -mas conveyed to me by Mikel who, you will surely agree, is a most reliable informant and unlikely to pass on false information. To ensure myself further as to its truth, I have had it cheeked out by others whom I knew to be in a position to do so, and have but this minute received full confirmation.

Mikel reports that there are a number of documents which have been concocted in Carakhas, purporting to be in your handwriting and containing matters of interest to people hostile to our land. I am told that they are the result of a collaboration between certain persons in Carakhas and Vast, with Krapan acting as go-between. In a week's time, these documents will travel to Vast, where they are to be used as the basis for a charge of treachery and secret dealings with the Lord of Shadowe to be brought against you. Tour brother, the Lord Hadran, is the main actor in this. Neither Mikel nor anyone else has been able to discover how they will be delivered to Väst, so it will not be possible for them to be intercepted.

Menellen, if you value "your life and liberty, I beg you earnestly to disappear before they come to take you. You will not be able to refute the charge - they have made certain of that. Be assured that whatever aid I can lend you is yours.

I beg to remain your faithful servant, Artem.'

Connor perused the letter a third time as if to assure himself that he had not imagined the contents. Then he slowly raised his head to look across the room at Francys. Shock robbed him at first of words to express his emotions, but as he sat there, Francys himself began to speak, haltingly:

'How could he do this to me! There must be some mistake. Hadran would never serve me such a wicked trick. Oh, I know he hates me ... but this! No, no, I can't believe it. Dear Sior, I am his brother, his blood brother!'

He buried his face in his hands, unable to look Connor in the eye as he wrestled with the bitter knowledge that his own family had plotted his ruin, and intended death. The older man shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hesitating to speak, yet wishing to convey his sympathy somehow but not knowing how.

Francys could not think clearly. There seemed to be a blanket of darkness over his mind. Thoughts circled and danced in a senseless jumble, unrelated to one another, but all the time coming back to the one question: how could Hadran do this to him? A feeling of desolation crept over him. If his own brother could betray him in such a fashion, whom could he trust? He felt suddenly utterly alone.

Connor became conscious of a terrible anger inside himself. He had served Francys from the day when the latter had become old enough to command, had taken care of his affairs during Francys' enforced absence as prisoner in the South and later in the Land of Shadowe, and had come to cherish a strong affection for his commander, and a correspondingly strong feeling of dislike for the elder Coras brother, whom he considered a bully and a brute. If Hadran had been at his mercy at that moment, he would have had no compunction in despatching him in the most painful fashion possible. But that was not the most important consideration at that present. His first duty was to Francys.

Rising to his feet, he approached the table and, with some slight hesitation, ventured to touch the fair man lightly on the shoulder.

'Menellen,' he said quietly.

Francys raised his head.

'Connor,' he said slowly. 'What am I to do?'

'You must get away to safety,' Connor replied firmly. 'You have a week's grace. Use it.'

Francys turned and looked at the older man.

'You would make of me an outlaw? A hunted creature, abandoned by all my friends and living only to evade the hunters?'

'Better an outlaw and alive, Menellen, than hanged for a traitor. At least you would have some hope of someday proving your innocence.'

'True ... but is it worth it? To live out my life alone, despised ...'

'Not alone,' Connor spoke resolutely. 'And not despised. Don't forget, there are those of us who know the truth - Artem, myself we'll not desert you.'

He marked the sudden flush, the biting of the lip as Francys struggled with his emotions, and tactfully withdrew.

When he returned, bearing a jug of warmed, spiced wine, the fair man was again master of himself, and had, it appeared, been doing some thinking.

'I must leave here tomorrow,' he announced abruptly, accepting a tankard of the steaming liquid. 'It must seem, though, to the household that I have gone merely on an ordinary journey, maybe even to Vast. Once away from here, I shall have to find some means of concealing my tracks ...'

'Our tracks, Menellen', Connor interrupted.

'My tracks,' Francys repeated. 'I cannot in all conscience allow you to share my exile, to give up your name, your honour ... There will be a price on my head once it is known that I have escaped ...'

'Then there will be one on mine also. Menellen, you cannot stop me. You may not ask me, but I shall come all the same, if I have to walk to the ends of the earth.'

'I ... What can I say to that?' Francys said with a shaky laugh. 'You have so phrased it that I cannot refuse, can I? And in truth, I would not wish to. If I must become an outlaw, as it would appear I must, I cannot think of anyone I should wish more to have by my side.'

He paused a while, then raised his head and smiled at Connor.

'So be it. Then let us drink to our new estate.'

He lifted his tankard in a toast.

'To the outlaws!'

He drank deeply, and Connor was pleased to see that he looked more alive than he had a few minutes before.

* * *

Hadran Coras brought his horse to a stop, motioning those behind him to do likewise. Before him lay the lands and buildings of his brother's domain and he wished to savour the moment. Then he spurred his horse down the muddy track towards the large, well-built fortified house which nestled strategically between two outlying spurs of the foothills of the Teleth Cranem. His approach had been noted, and he reached the gatehouse to find himself confronted by closed gates, and the shapes of armed men with bent bows at the arrow slits. It was no more than he would have expected. One could not fault Francys' military management, whatever else the man might be capable of.

Recognition opened the gates to him, and he rode into the courtyard, smiling.

'Tell my brother, I want to see him,' he announced generally.

The men looked at one another, wondering at the strength of the escort which attended him. No-one made a move. At last, one man went off to fetch the second in command, since Connor had given orders earlier that morning that he was not to be disturbed come what may. Hurrying forward, Joclyn bowed apologetically.

'Forgive me for having kept you waiting, Menellen. What may I do for you?'

'You may fetch my brother,' Hadran said curtly, beginning to feel annoyed. 'I wish to speak with him, immediately.'

Joclyn took a deep breath.

'I'm afraid that is impossible, Menellen.'

'Why?' demanded Hadran. 'Surely he cannot be drunk at this hour?'

The men of his escort sniggered; those of the resident company bridled angrily, but did not speak. Joclyn's face reddened with the effort of restraining the comment which rose to his lips. With a shrug, Hadran dismounted, gave the reins to one of his men and turned to Joclyn.

'Come now,' he snapped. 'Take me to my brother, if he won't come out here to me.'

Joclyn retreated a step.

'Menellen, I cannot,' he protested. 'The Lord Francys is not here. He has been gone these past ten days.'

Hadran's jaw dropped and a flush of rage mantled his cheeks. He recovered himself swiftly.

'I demand to see him,' he said angrily. 'I will not be put off in this fashion. Take me to him this instant, or it will be the worse for you!'

'I assure you, Menellen, he is not here!'

'Then where is he?'

'I know not, Menellen. He did not inform me. Perhaps Drachen Marach would know ...'

'And where is Drachen Marach?' Hadran enquired. 'Or has he also disappeared?'

'That I have not, Menellen,' a voice spoke from the far side of the courtyard.

Hadran jerked his head up, to see Connor Marach standing stiffly in the doorway to the main house. He strode over to him, and Connor watched him approach, willing himself not to betray anything of the fury and disgust which the elder Coras brother invoked in him. He had been expecting this and had prepared himself for the encounter.

'The Lord Francys is absent, otherwise I am sure he would be the first to welcome you,' he said without expression. 'In his absence, I am in charge, and on his behalf let me invite you to partake of refreshment..'

He bowed.

'I need no refreshment, I thank you,' Hadran said shortly. 'I want my brother, and I want him now.'

'I regret that it is impossible to grant your request, Menellen,' Connor observed mildly. 'He left here quite ten days ago, and we have not set eyes on him since. I myself have been absent on business and have not been back many days.'

'Where did he go?' And as Connor was slow to respond, 'Come on, come on, you must know. Where did he go?'

'I believe he intended to travel to Loden, Menellen.'

'I don't believe you,' Hadran snapped. 'What should take him there?

He turned to his men.

'Search this house!' he barked.

As the men of the escort dismounted, and split into groups of three or four, disappearing in various directions, it was obvious to the resident soldiers that this had been pre-arranged.

'Menellen!' Connor protested, in duty bound. 'This is outrageous! You have no right to order a search here! Have you a warrant for it?'

'No, I haven't, but I have every right to come looking for a traitor!'

At that word, a hush fell on the assembled company in the courtyard. Those of Francys' men who were within earshot stared unbelievingly at the tall, fair man who had dared to say it.

'A traitor!' gasped Connor in well simulated amazement. 'A traitor, here? Who? ...'

'Who do you think?' said Hadran impatiently. 'Do I have to spell it out? Your precious commander, my brother. Who else? Now, will you submit to a search, or do you also wish to be charged with treachery?'

'Menellen, you are welcome to search,' said Connor, affecting stupefaction and capitulating, 'but he's not here.'

The search was lengthy and thorough, and by the time Hadran was satisfied that Francys was nowhere to be found, there was not one thing left untouched. The house and barracks presented the appearance of having been hit by a sudden strong gale. Papers, books, bedding, clothes, food, all lay scattered, furniture had been overturned, presses emptied and even tapestries and draperies pulled from their moorings. Francys' men stood angrily surveying the ruins, shocked and confused, not daring to complain. Connor, it is true, had almost given way to his feelings at one point, during the ransacking of Francys' private quarters, starting towards Hadran with an expression so murderous that it was as well that the elder Coras brother was not at that moment looking in his direction. Fortunately, Joclyn, grasping him by the arm, had brought him to his senses before he could do anything irretrievable.

Finally accepting that Francys was indeed absent, Hadran collected up his escort, swung himself into the saddle and gave a curt order to depart, leaving the members of the household and garrison to clear up the mess. The journey back to Vast was one which none of his men wished to repeat. As a matter of form, Hadran sent a small party off to Loden, but he did not expect his brother to be found in that town. Somehow his devil brother had been forewarned, and if he ever found out who ...

A few days later, further unwelcome news was received in Körain. A messenger rode into the courtyard, bearing an order from the Prince of Varadil commanding the return of the garrison to the city of Väst, where they would be re-allocated to other companies, and informing of the imminent arrival of the estate's newly appointed steward. 'The property of a traitor being forfeit', muttered Connor to himself, carefully packing amongst his own belongings, with the connivance of the ever-helpful Blial, Francys' manservant, as much of Francys' personal possessions as he could possibly manage to carry away unnoticed. Temporarily without a post, there being no spare captaincy within the forces of Varadil, even had he felt able to take it, he would be travelling, with Blial, now also without employment, to his family home in the upper reaches of the Mon valley, there to face a period of depressing inaction. At least, he thought, he would not have to witness the reading of the Register in Vast, for which deliverance Sior be thanked.

The remainder of the garrison reached Vast on the very day of the reading of the Register of State Enemies, and with one accord they made their way hastily to the main square, the Palandera, from the west side of which rose the tall, many pinnacled walls of the castle. It was more usual for the Prince of Varadil to deputize his Chief Justiciar to read out the list of wrong-doers (elsewhere in towns and villages the information was displayed upon a placard and read by the elders or mayor, or anyone else with the ability to do so), but today a whisper had arisen that the Lord Telstan Coras meant to appear in person, and a considerable crowd had gathered to witness this divergence from the norm.

At length, the big solid doors at the head of the steps were opened wide. The Lord Telstan Coras stepped out into the watery sunlight, flanked by his elder son, the Lord Hadran, and his bodyguards. The face of the Prince was haggard, his age never more evident. By contrast, though suitably sober of mein, Hadran exuded an indefinable air of smug complacency.

Silence stole through the crowd as the Lord Telstan Coras slowly surveyed the upturned faces with a sombre gaze. He raised his hand, and spoke.

'My people. I have something of grave import to tell you this day ... To the great shame and dishonour of my family name, and of this Province of ours ...'

He paused, then said:

'No, no, I cannot. My son, you must speak for me.'

Hadran stepped forward eagerly.

'My father wishes you to know that my brother, the Lord Francys Coras, has been adjudged guilty of the crime of treason. He has evaded justice and gone into hiding, and the Dukrugvola has therefore declared him imrauten. Anyone who associates with him or lends him any aid whatsoever will by that act be deemed also guilty of treason and shall incur the strictest penalty. But if anyone amongst you knows of his whereabouts, there will be a reward of five thousand caldri for his capture!'