Whatever unexplained power had given Guile the strength to survive the storm and sit before the gathered villagers to deliver his tale was at last beginning to drain out of him, and he began to look drawn. As he had reached what appeared to be a natural break in his tale, Brannog stepped forward and leaned across the table.

'Perhaps you will give us what remains of your tale after you have rested,’ he suggested.

Guile sighed gustily and slumped back, though it was no theatrical gesture. ‘There is little more to tell. Quanar Remoon put us on a ship and we left the Chain the following day. His sailors had no liking for either of us—we might have had some grim plague for the way they treated us—so that when we came within first sight of your continent, they put us in the smaller craft and set us loose. The storm had already begun. I think they expected us to drown.’ He gave a prolonged yawn, rubbing at the salt that coated his face. ‘Aye. Sleep would be most welcome.’

'I will find you a bed.’

'No need. This is all I require. What a relief it is to have land beneath me again. I could sleep upon marble!’ Almost at once he had crossed to one of the bare benches before the fire, curling up on it, and like a cat had fallen asleep, though it was evident that his sleep was no cat-nap, but more like that of a man drugged. Within moments a murmur had broken out among Brannog's folk.

'He weaves a pretty tale,’ said Gronen, one of the elders, his face creased even more by consternation than by age. ‘But I for one am full of misgivings. You speak as the host, Brannog. What do you say to this strangest of tales?’

Brannog shrugged. ‘It is a half-finished tapestry. It presents us with more mysteries than it solves. The Emperor that he spoke of may well have been mad. If he believed himself to possess powers—magical powers—there would have been grounds to call him mad. But this man Korbillian also claims power. Are we agreed on what we saw outside?’

With the coming of dawn beyond the windows and the sudden bright sunlight on the sea, the storm had finally abated. Yet the echoes of its fury remained. ‘There was much talk,’ said another of them, Hengrom, a man of Brannog's age, ‘of dreams. Could it be that what we have seen was illusion?’

'I know what I saw,’ protested Yarnol with a sneer, and there was mutual agreement. It had been a shared experience.

Hengrom was determined, however, to put his point of view. ‘The man Guile spoke of visions sent to him by his Emperor. It was a trick of the tongue to baffle him, and a good one, but is it possible that a man can have the power to send dreams or illusions into the minds of others?’

Gronen snorted. ‘I know of countries where you would be executed for even speaking such a thing.’

'But I beg you to consider,’ went on Hengrom, with respect for the elder, ‘if no illusion, then how are we to account for the breaking of that wave? Sundhaven should have been swept away by it—every last stone.’

'I, too, would seek natural answers,’ said Brannog. ‘Otherwise we would see the fabric of our beliefs tearing before us. All I would say for now is, let us at least prepare ourselves for the possibility that this man Korbillian has tapped some source about which we know nothing. We must hear him speak before judging him.’

Gronen nodded. ‘I am not sure that we have the right to judge him. Perhaps we should allow him and his companion (I am not sure that Guile is not his servant, even his slave) to go from here unhindered. Be done with them both when they are recovered.’

Yarnol agreed noisily. ‘Aye. Guile claims the Emperor is mad. But perhaps Quanar Remoon was no more than furious that these men should claim power between them. Perhaps they fled the Chain of Goldenisle and the wrath of the Emperor. In which case, it would be foolish to harbour them.’

Hengrom was not so easily persuaded. ‘And yet, if they have saved our village from destruction, are we not in their debt?’

Brannog listened to the discussion mounting, and after a while put a stop to it. ‘The least we must do is hear them out. I feel they owe us the truth, no more. When we have that, we must consider what to do. Guile has said that he and his companion wish to explain themselves. For the moment, we must admit, they have thrown themselves on our mercy. Would it not be easy to kill them where they lie?’

'I agree,’ nodded Gronen with a dignified cough that was meant to imply that these had been his feelings from the beginning.

Quietly the men dispersed, knowing that Brannog would send word to them all when the strangers were refreshed and ready to deliver up more of their history. As Brannog bolted his door (though there was no longer a need to do so) and turned back to the silent hall, he saw Eorna watching him. She offered him food and he nodded, sitting near the sleepers.

'My thanks,’ he breathed, looking into the fire. For a moment Eorna lingered. He knew that she had listened to every word that had passed here, but did not begrudge her that. It was right that the women of the village should know. As the girl withdrew, he felt himself shiver. Dreams. All this talk of dreams, and of sendings. Sisipher's dreams worried at his mind anew. She had known Korbillian would come. Why had he, Brannog, not told his fellows this? Why had he not confessed? They would have believed him. But he knew why. Fear. Fear that they would recognise in Sisipher the gift of telling, the curse. They did not believe in such things, and so when they appeared, they were to be destroyed. Abruptly he turned—Eorna. But she had gone. What must she be thinking? Had she read anything into Sisipher's words? It angered him now that she had been there.

'Eorna,’ he said to a moving shadow, but as the light struck it, he saw the face of his daughter. He felt guilty at once.

She came to him and touched his shoulder, as if healing some wound. His arm encircled her. ‘Is she your lover?’ she asked him lightly.

He bristled and she regretted having said it. ‘She is not,’ he said, but then smiled. ‘You should have slept on.’

'I am awake now, father. I heard voices. Who are these men at the hearth?’ She studied the recumbent figures without alarm, but seemed puzzled. Travellers were rare in Sundhaven, especially in winter.

'Cast up by the storm and fortunate to be alive. We must leave them to rest.’ He stood up, preparing to shepherd her from the hall, but she had slipped past him. She looked briefly at Guile, seemingly unimpressed by him, but as her eyes fell upon the face of Korbillian she recoiled.

Brannog was beside her at once. ‘A face of rare anguish,’ he said, but he knew the truth.

'I have seen him, father! That terrible face. In my dreams—”

'Nonsense, girl. You imagine such things.’ He pulled her to him and could feel her trembling.

'No. I somehow knew he would come to us.’

Brannog lacked the strength to deny what was within her. If there was some kind of poison there, it must be drawn out. He stroked her hair gently. ‘Sisipher, what do you know of him?’ he said very softly. ‘Has he brought harm to us?’

Slowly, as if dazed, she shook her head. She was trying to see through a veil. ‘I somehow think not, father. But he will speak of evil, I am sure. I think he comes to warn us.’

He shuddered and she reacted at once. ‘What is it, father?’ Her hands dug into his arms, but again he soothed her.

'His companion claims that he is a man of power. You must know that such a thing cannot be.’

She nodded, though with uncertainty. ‘I don't understand such things. But I have a strong feeling that we must help him.’

'Of what can he wish to warn us? What evil?’

'It is for him alone to tell us. But father, I think it is not of our world. Oh, I know you still think of me as a child, with a child's wild fancies, but I sense things sometimes. This man is true.’ Her eyes searched his for anger, for disbelief, yet found an unexpected understanding. ‘Am I mad to suggest this?’

Grimly he smiled. ‘No. Not mad. There may be something in what you say.’

'But how can I know these things?’

This time he did not lead her away. ‘It is a mystery,’ he lied. ‘But it is our secret, too. Let the man speak for himself, when he is ready. The men will hear him out.’

'Of course, father. Where's Eorna? I'm famished.’

It was not until well into the afternoon that the two sleepers by the fire stirred. Brannog had decided to send to his fellows later, rather than subject the two men to questions at once. For some reason—possibly Sisipher's attitude—he was prepared to accept the men as not being hostile. Korbillian awoke first, and a moment later Guile sat up. Brannog was near at hand.

'More food?’ he asked.

'You are generous,’ said Korbillian. ‘Whatever you can spare will be appreciated.’ He reached into a pocket and placed coins upon the table.

Guile chortled. ‘Quanar's money is no use here! Even I can see that. Or am I mistaken, host?’

Brannog waved the money away. ‘We are fishermen. What we have, we trade for what we need. I could exchange your coins down along the coastal lowlands, perhaps. But there is no need to pay.’

'The winter has been hard,’ said Guile, apparently for the benefit of his companion. ‘You can have little to spare.’

'Is this true?’ Korbillian asked Brannog.

'Accept my food. There is enough.’ He looked at the face of this stranger, quietly shocked by it. It seemed to be the face of a man—a man who had been young until only recently—who had undergone some dire ordeal and failed. It seemed exhausted, drained, and yet still retained some spark, some dogged resistance to whatever knowledge it carried, almost like a man who is sure that today he will die, but even so will cling to the hope that he will not. ‘What is it that you want from Sundhaven?’ Brannog asked.

'Since you ask,’ said Korbillian, ‘maps.’

'Maps? Of what?’ The reply had taken Brannog by surprise. He noticed Eorna hovering in the background and felt a pang of anger. Curtly he snapped at her to fetch some food and water.

'My goal lies in the east, somewhere at the heart of this continent,’ said Korbillian. ‘I need maps to show me how to get there. Have you any?’

'We are fishermen,’ repeated Brannog. ‘We look to the west and the open sea. Our charts are in our heads. We have nothing written down. No books. I have seen such things at southern fairs, but we have none. As for the east—firstly there are the mountains and the glaciers. I know of no one from this village who has gone beyond them, or even climbed high into them I heard once that there are forests beyond, but to the south east nothing but desert.’

'I see,’ mused Korbillian. ‘Can anyone guide me up into the mountains? Is there a pass, nothing more?’

'I will ask. Some of the youths like to test themselves against the strength of the mountains. But you have chosen winter to travel in. I doubt that anyone of Sundhaven would wish to climb now, whatever you might offer him.’

'Not for gold,’ said Guile, with a broad grin. ‘But for a good sea harvest, perhaps?’

Korbillian turned a look upon him of such heat that he looked away at once, the smile melting. ‘Do not speak for me,’ Korbillian told him curtly.

'I will ask,’ Brannog said.

Korbillian drew back as Eorna brought food and the big man was careful to keep his gloved hands beneath the table, as though they offended him. Brannog saw this, but said nothing.

Guile seemed anxious to restore a better mood. ‘I have explained something of our past,’ he told Korbillian, and briefly sketched for him the tale he had given to the villagers.

Korbillian ate slowly and thoughtfully. He turned to Brannog. ‘Very well. Call your people. I must explain myself. I am anxious that they do not assume us to be enemies, or dangerous.’

Brannog spoke to Eorna, and silently she left to go and spread the word. Brannog unlocked his door. As he turned to speak, Sisipher entered. Her expression betrayed her anxiety. Before her was the face that had haunted her dreams. It seemed even more pained in reality. When Korbillian saw her, he ceased eating at once and rose, inclining his body politely. He was huge, dwarfing Guile, who also stared at the girl, though his expression was very different. Guile saw before him a beautiful creature that took his breath away; he had lost count of the dreamy, empty-headed thralls of the Emperor's palace that had swarmed about the imperial chambers. None of them, for all their cosmetic skill, could compare with this sweet innocence. Sisipher, however, had eyes only for Korbillian, though it was not with love or admiration that she looked upon him, but with trepidation.

'My daughter,’ said Brannog, tensing. Did Korbillian already know of her gift? Did he know of Frostwalk, or have kin there? Brannog found himself unable to resist the admission, ‘She is from Frostwalk.’

'Where is that?’ said Korbillian courteously, and Brannog felt sure it was no act. He knew nothing of it, and could not have been there. The fear that he had somehow come here to find Sisipher partially drained from Brannog.

'Father!’ protested the girl. ‘I've lived in Sundhaven most of my life.’ Why ever did he say that?

Korbillian seemed to interpret something in the exchange, but he did not comment.

'Have you eaten and rested sufficiently?’ Brannog said after a pause. Guile and Korbillian nodded. Brannog wanted to send Sisipher away, still unsure of her safety, but he did not seek a scene. He hoped that she said nothing of her dreams and of her gift. In fact, no one said more than a few words until the men of the village began to arrive. They eyed Korbillian with open uncertainty, standing shoulder to shoulder in the hall. Every man had come, even the very old. They each nodded to Brannog, who at last established that they were ready. He turned again to Korbillian and Guile.

'You must forgive us if we are blunt, but you have brought much confusion to Sundhaven.’

Korbillian nodded. ‘Guile has told you how we came here. It is for me to explain other things to you. Things that may anger you, though I will accept that risk.’ He took a great breath and stared at them. For a moment he looked like a man who has reached a critical point in his challenge upon life, and who has found that he has not got the strength to persevere and must admit defeat. But he stirred himself and began. ‘I must ask you to reverse your ideas, your concepts of your world, question your security, all this and more. I do, truly, bring confusion to you, but at least I can promise you nothing but truth and I ask you to remember these words. All that I am to tell you is truth. I am a man who must deliver the truth to you and your entire world, though I know that so few will believe it. Guile has come to believe me. So far, he is the only man of Omara who has. Yet I am sure of my purpose and will not waver from it.’ His strength seeped back into him as he spoke, and his eyes met theirs evenly. ‘There is an evil in your world, a terrible evil and I have come to destroy it. That is the prime truth. If you can believe that, then there is hope for its eventual destruction.’

Yarnol cleared his throat and spoke as firmly as the stranger had. ‘Who told you to bring us this truth?’ He looked directly at Brannog, remembering that it had been him who spoke of truth earlier.

'No one has instructed me,’ said Korbillian. ‘I have no master, and like the men of your world, I owe my allegiance to no gods.’

'Our world?’ said another of the elders. ‘You speak of this part of it, or of all Omara? From which part of Omara do you come? It has not been made clear.’

Korbillian looked directly at the old man. ‘I am not from Omara. There are other worlds. That is another truth you will have to accept.’

'And if we do not?’ said Gronen tersely.

'You must.’ It was Sisipher who had spoken, and at once the room fell absolutely silent. Brannog could feel a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He could neither move nor speak, though he wanted to cry out in protest. Never before had he been more acutely aware of his daughter's uniqueness, and of the villagers’ wariness of it.

Korbillian looked at the girl, then back to Gronen. ‘If you do not, then I must begin again, as I have done before.’

'Begin what?’ challenged Hengrom.

'Let him speak!’ snapped Brannog before his daughter could say anything more.

'You all live,’ went on Korbillian, ‘in a peaceful world, a world without gods or power. Such things do not exist here; or rather, they did not. Yet I am here, a man from another world, a world that you would find incomprehensible, for in it everyone has a degree of power. I speak, for convenience, of magic. Each man and woman of my world, Ternannoc, has power. Some have a little, some much, and a few have vast power.’ He paused to let them consider this. They did not react openly, but Brannog could feel their minds rejecting the idea. Even in his own mind there was a strong doubt. Sisipher knew Korbillian spoke honestly. He was no madman, not as Quanar Remoon was mad. And they had all seen a demonstration that he possessed power, even if it had been illusion, which he refused to believe.

As though Korbillian had heard Brannog's very thought at that moment, he held up both gloved arms. ‘I possess power, I will not deny it. I see you flinch before it. Part of you believes the truth. You have seen me use it. It is not something I would have chosen to do, because I know what fears it must hold for you. But it was necessary. The wave would have destroyed your village.

'In Ternannoc such forces of nature could be tamed by certain men, but not by all. Most powerful of all the men of my world were the Hierarchs. Individually they were men who wielded power with great skill, and there were women also who possessed such skills.’ He glanced at Sisipher as he said this, and his look was not lost on Brannog. It was as though a clouded part of the big fisherman's mind was slowly clearing. Eorna was there, too, eager to hear this tale, but Brannog had not noticed her. ‘Individually, I repeat, the Hierarchs were very strong. They operated in different parts of our world, working mostly for the benefit of all. Ternannoc was no perfect world, for there was strife, even war in places, but it was a good world.’

'Strange,’ said Yarnol quietly, though everyone heard him, ‘that you have left it.’

Korbillian's face seemed even more anguished, almost as if he had been stabbed. ‘I had no choice,’ he breathed. ‘Ternannoc is dead. The Hierarchs destroyed it.’ It anything convinced the men that he was being honest, it was his face. No man could act out those lines of despair. ‘At a gathering of the Hierarchs, one of them spoke about other worlds that he was certain existed. He did not speak of the stars, though the skies of Ternannoc were no less spangled than the night skies of Omara, bright with worlds impossible to reach across the frozen immensities of space. He spoke of worlds around us, aligned in some way to our own. It would be possible, this Hierarch promised, to open gates to these worlds, and in time he persuaded the gathering that it must be so. I will not try to explain this. It is another truth you must accept.

'In order to open these gates, the Hierarchs were told, it would be necessary for them to combine their power in a working that would release more power than had ever been released before. There was a great deal of argument over that. Yet in the main, the Hierarchs were in favour of this working, for the possibilities were too intriguing to ignore, though some talked of the dangers of releasing such power. Surely, they argued, too little was known of what could happen. For days the debate raged, but the lure of other worlds was great. So, a decision was reached. The working was to be effected.’ Korbillian shook his head despondently. ‘They should have been content. Ternannoc was a fine world, with beauty enough.’

'This working,’ said Brannog, ‘it failed?’

Korbillian shook his head again. ‘It opened the gates to other worlds, but it was like an explosion that throws out gouts of molten fire, volcanic and destructive. Ternannoc died, slowly, like a mortally wounded beast. Such gates as were opened were like wounds in the worlds beyond them, wounds into which poison flowed. Power, but blackened power, like disease. Some worlds perished along with Ternannoc. Others were not harmed. The gates held, some for a long time, but in the end they all closed again, as flesh closes over a wound, so that the paths between the worlds were sealed once more.

'During the time that the gates were opened, some of us managed to flee our world. I cannot say how many of us survived. For many years our scattered people settled on other worlds, adopting them and starting new colonies. It is long in the past, this first migration from Ternannoc. Many generations have passed since it happened. But not all of those who first fled Ternannoc have died. It is a gift of our world that some of us, and I am one, live far longer than normal men. And it seems that the passing through the gates somehow prolongs or alters the power. When I left my world, knowing there was nothing more that could be done to save it, I travelled through several gates. I found worlds where the power of the working was eating into the heart of those worlds, destroying them as surely as a canker destroys its victim. My task was clear. I determined to use my power to try to destroy the power of the Hierarchs’ working. A mad dream, perhaps.’

He paused, and did not seem to be aware that he had an audience. Instead of the faces, he saw before him some ravaged landscape, or some violent destruction. He shook himself wearily. ‘On four worlds I attempted to reverse the effects of the power. Each time I failed. The grip was too strong for me alone. I moved on into another world, and behind me the gate decayed and died. I knew there would be no more gates, no more time.’

'Omara,’ said Sisipher.

'Omara,’ he nodded.

'The evil is here?’ gasped Gronen.

'At first I thought not. I was far to the west of here, and in southern lands I searched. But over the years I have spent in your world, I have felt it. I must find it. It grows stronger, but is not as strong as the power I have tried to overcome before. There is time for me to succeed here. But,’ he went on, ‘I must have help. I must win the belief of the people of Omara. People such as yourselves. I have tried. I thought that in the Chain of Goldenisle, a strong Empire, I would find help, but when I sought to impress its Emperor, I found a man without reason.’

'So Guile has told us,’ said Hengrom.

'Did he tell you also that without his own quick wit, I would be a prisoner of Quanar Remoon yet?’

'If you have power,’ said Yarnol, ‘why did you not use it to win free of him?’

Korbillian smiled, but it seemed to take an effort. The question was predictable, but reasonable. ‘Even without power, I could have killed him. He was like a child. I could have slipped a knife into him, for we were often alone and there were weapons about his palace within reach. But if I had slain him, I would have had to do the same to half of his palace. I had no wish to indulge in such slaughter. It seemed to be exactly the reverse of what I came to Omara to achieve. Also I was sinking into a despairing mood, fearing that it was pointless to attempt my grand dream. It was only when Guile arrived that I decided to steel myself. His tongue proved stronger than a knife.’

Guile bowed, and for him the smile was effortless. ‘And so to sea. By now the Emperor will not even recall us.’

'Our captors listened to what I have told you of Ternannoc,’ Korbillian said to the fishers. ‘I tried to enlist their help, but they held only derision for me. I think they would have killed both of us had they not been a little wary. Some dozen leagues from your shores, they cast us adrift.’

'We should have perished,’ said Guile. ‘Just as the Emperor's ship must have.’

'They drowned?’ said Brannog.

'Perhaps,’ admitted Korbillian, and for a moment there was silence, for the fear of drowning hung over all the fishers.

'But you survived,’ said Brannog. ‘How?’

'By my arts,’ said Korbillian, as it describing the simplest of acts. ‘I deflected the storm, though the power behind it was awesome. I have wondered about that. Is your coast familiar with such blasts?’

Brannog scanned the faces of his people. None of them would have denied that the storm had been out of proportion to the worst of that winter's excesses.

'And the wave,’ said Korbillian, ‘the wave that came not from the east as the storm did, but from the sea. What of that?’

'There has never been such a wave before,’ said a youth who had pushed himself to the fore of the watchers. His eyes were alive with excitement. The men would have cuffed him for daring to speak out of turn, but his words were perfectly accurate. No one denied them. The wave had been beyond anything seen before.

'I thought not,’ said Korbillian. ‘It required much power to divert.’ He considered this in silence.

'This evil of which you speak,’ said Gronen. ‘I have been alive more years than most of Sundhaven's children, but have heard almost nothing of the inner lands. No word has ever reached us here of an evil beyond the mountains. What is the nature of this evil?’

'Just as a disease runs in the blood of a man, just as a poison courses his veins, so does this black power run beneath the earth. Omara is like a man with an evil growth in him. It is mindless power, with no purpose, but it spreads. Only when it has consumed Omara will it cease, for it, too, will perish with its host.’

'How are you to destroy it?’

'I must find as many people as I can who have either power, or remnants of power, or who will lend me the strength of their arm or heart. Power comes from the earth. There must be power in Omara.’

Brannog again felt himself going cold. ‘You say there are people with power? Who are they? Men of Omara?’

'There must have been many people of my world who fled its destruction and came here before the gate closed. I suspect that their descendants now abjure power and will have nothing more to do with it, word of its potential having been passed down through time. Now they would welcome the Omaran belief that there is no power.’

Yes, thought Brannog, now I see the picture clearly. He speaks of people like the reclusive villagers of Frostwalk, descendants of these runaways. Like my own wife, and our child, Sisipher. Is it from this that I have sheltered her? Is this to be her destiny?

'So long ago,’ said Korbillian. ‘The legends of these people will be faint. They may not even be aware of the power within them. Even so, I have to search for them, to persuade them.’

'How will you know them?’ said Gronen.

Korbillian looked impassively at the elder. ‘I will know them,’ he said, and to Brannog it was as if he had already pointed a finger directly at his daughter.