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“I’ll be travelling alone, brother In the ”

“Alone into Lonak lands? Brother, to say that is unwise is a gross understateainst iven every assistance”

“Well,” Vaelin moved back froood night’s sleep, provisions for the journey and you will have assisted o in there alone, you will die,” Brother Artin stated flatly

“Then let’s hope I complete my mission before I do”

The western foothills were rocky and barren, broken by a seeh which Vaelin was obliged to navigate his way north Winter was co on quickly and a hard, chill rain swept the hills with dreary regularity Spit wasevery tiular supply of sugar-lumps from the mission house stores He covered barely fifteenof rock, huddling in his cloak and resisting the urge to ignore Brother Artin’s stern warning against lighting a fire Sleep, when it came, was fitful and troubled by dreali washi

Nortah… The anger returned, fierce and implacable How could he do this? HOW COULD HE? It had been building ever since Dentos related the tale, ever since the sickening realisation that he would have to hunt down and kill his brother He found hiret over Battle Lord Al Hestian’s severed hand, it was hard to pity a rief on helpless captives But Nortah…He’ll fight, he kneith a dread certainty He’ll fight, and I’ll kill him

He ate a breakfast of dried beef and set off through a light round was too rocky for riding He had gone only a few miles when the Lonak attacked

The boy leapt from the rocks above in an i over innimbly on his feet in front of Vaelin, war-club in one hand and a long curved knife in the other He was bare-chested and lean as a greyhound, Vaelin guessing his age at somewhere between fourteen and sixteen His head was shaven with an ornate tattoo above his left ear His sular face tensed in anticipation of coue Vaelin had never heard

“I’e”

The Lonak boy evidently took this as either an insult or an acceptance of his challenge since he attacked without further delay, leaping in the air, war club above his head, his knife hand drawn back for a slash It was a practised ant precision Vaelin side-stepped the club as it caht the knife hand in mid-slash and knocked the boy unconscious with an open-handed blow to the temple

His hand went to his sword as he looked around for further ene the rocks above Where there’s one, there’s more, Brother Artin had warned hi, no sound or scent on the wind, nothing to disturb the faint patter of rain on rock Spit clearly sensed nothing either as he began to nibble at the unconscious boy’s leather-clad feet

Vaelin pulled hi a near-miss kick fro was regular and there was no blood co from his ears or nose Vaelin positioned hied Spit onwards

After another hour the gullies gave way to what Brother Artin had called the Anvil of Stone It was the strangest and most unfamiliar landscape he had seen, a broad expanse of mostly bare rock, pocked by s froreat deforn of nature had produced such a scene The Cuod hadof his eye, but seeing the weather fashioned channels in the tors rising above he knew this place had taken eness