"Run!" Grifford growled at his sister, and he heard her scamper away, twigs snapping in her wake.

The madriel swung its old head in her direction, his one good horn gouging up a trail in the rotting leaf mulch.

"No!" Grifford shouted. "Here!"

He had spent so many hours in the training-arena, shouting at his own witless steed, and was so used to being ignored, that it was something of a surprise when the beast brought its head round to face him. A beam of harsh sunlight fell across its eyes, and its pupils contracted into two vicious slits, the mottled grey surrounding them suddenly seeming huge.

"Oh, cock!"

The beast broke into a lumbering run, its motion unsteady, like a boulder starting to roll, but the movement was something inexorable.

Grifford turned and ran after his sister.

He saw her ahead of him, climbing a grass choked rise of gnarled roots. When she reached their height, she leapt and scrambled up the trunk of one of the great cherossa's offspring, clambering swiftly into its lower branches. Instead of climbing the slope, Grifford veered away, hearing the graceless crashing of the beast that pursued him, its laboured breath close at his heel.

"Climb, you idiot boy!" his sister shouted down as he passed beneath her perch.

He began to look for a handy trunk to shin up, but then an echoing crack resounded behind him, and his sister screamed. He skidded to a halt in a scatter of leaf rot and turned to see the old male at the base of his sister's hideaway, swinging its head about to give the narrow trunk a second resonating crack with its broken horn. Tahlia was already hanging by hands and calves from the branch that the beast's first blow had dislodged her from, and as the tree shook, the branch bowed up and down, as though the tree was trying to shake her loose.

Grifford looked around for a weapon. Rooting around in the tangled undergrowth, he came up with a half rotten lump of something. As the old madriel roared another challenge and prepared to strike the tree for a third time, he lifted the thing over his head with both hands and hefted it as hard as he could. It struck the beast on its shoulder and its head jerked in his direction, the diverted growl of challenge rising again in its throat.

Then it fell towards him in an ungainly fashion, its hind quarters moving stiffly. The beast was slowed by age and did not have the advantage of the open plain beneath its paws. Maybe he could keep ahead of it; lead it away from his sister at least.

He turned to run again, but his feet became entangled in something that lay invisible beneath the undergrowth, and with the sounds of brittle snapping, he stumbled to his knees. He tried to kick his legs free of whatever had tripped him, but one of them was held firm. He rolled over, dragged himself backwards and pulled his leg up, to see his ankle ensnared in a cage of bone. He realised he was lying in the half hidden ruins of a karabok carcass, picked clean so that only its gnawed bones were left. His foot was caught in a section of its broken ribcage. The thing was, unbelievably, still held together by bands of black cartilage so he kicked at it with his other foot, trying to break it loose, but the beast was drawing close. It was lumbering up the slope towards him, its stinking breath labouring with exertion, strands of saliva catching in the fur at its chest.

He could not run, so he would have to fight.

He cast around him for another weapon and came up with a haft of bone, scored by old teeth, and with strands of brown dried flesh still clinging to it. One end of it was heavy and lumpen, part of the karabok's powerful hip bone, and if he swung it hard enough, maybe he could do some damage.

He did not have time to stand, so he hefted the bone over his shoulder. He would only have one chance, and if he missed...

The madriel was a scant two metres away when it crouched back on its haunches. Its lips pulled back to reveal the remains of its yellow teeth, its growl of attack rumbled it its throat, and its eyes fixed on him with the light of his doom.

Grifford felt his muscles tighten, ready to make his swing.

"Back, Grelsch!" boomed a voice from behind him, and the beast's eyes flashed with new aggression.

A figure appeared beside Grifford, and he caught the garb of a Madriel-master as the man stepped past him, and he saw the heavy scarred stick he carried.

The old madriel gave another growl of deep displeasure and lifted its giant front paw, black broken claws unsheathed, ready to swipe the newcomer aside.

"Less of that, old brute," said the Madriel-master as he took another stride forward to stand within range of the beast's raised claws. "We are both too old for such games."

The beast gave another disgruntled growl, but lowered its paw, and its eyes rested on the figure in front of it. The Madriel-master pointed with his heavy stick, back to the gulley from which the beast had emerged.

"Back, Grelsch!" he said again. "Go back to your shadows and sleep away the day."

The beast's grey eyes turned back towards Grifford, who still had the karabok bone held over his shoulder.

"This boy is no threat to you, you cantankerous creature."

The Master's voice had softened, and the madriel's aggression died with it. Still growling in consternation, the beast turned away and limped back towards the gulley. The Madriel-master went with it, and when the beast reached the gulley's edge, he slapped it affectionately on its bony haunches before it dropped heavily from sight.

Grifford, his heart still hammering in his ears, dropped the haft of bone and kicked again at the cage that still gripped his foot. After a few swift blows, the thing came loose. He pulled himself to his feet and climbed the slope, towards the tree that his sister had hidden in. Tahlia had released her legs' grip on the branch that had saved her, and swung for a second by her hands, before letting go and falling to the ground. She fell over inelegantly on her backside and let out an oofing breath.

The Madriel-master turned at the sound, and Grifford heard his sister give an audible gasp of surprise. He understood the reason for it when he saw the man's face, because at first glance it seemed utterly inhuman. Its left side was disfigured by hideous scars, which ran from its scalp to its chin, half of his nose was not there, his jaw was impossibly lopsided and one eye was gone; nothing was left of it but a whorl of old scar tissue.

"Just what damned stupidity has brought you two wandering through here and disturbing the peace of my charges?"

The Master's voice had a strange slur to it. A result, Grifford assumed, of the man's wounds.

"Master Hepskil told us to meet him here," said Tahlia, as she regained her feet.

"I very much doubt that," said the Madriel-master, grinning with inhuman ill humour. "He would not have told you to come here on your own. He knows the dangers too well."

Grifford looked accusingly at his sister, who shrugged and smiled innocently. She seemed to have recovered her composure, as though she had not just nearly been half savaged by an ancient madriel.

"Well he did not say exactly to meet him here," she said, still smiling in that annoying fashion that she had.

The Master climbed back up the slope towards them, his injuries looking more grisly as the distance between them grew less.

"So you decided to come this way uninvited," he said. He lent forward to peer closely at Tahlia. "A very unwise decision, girl."

Now the man was closer, Grifford could see he was old. Maybe even older than Master Hepskil. Where the skin of his face was not scarred, it was heavily wrinkled, and his hair was an unruly grey.

"Has your Madriel-mistress not told you how dangerous the old madriel are?"

"I have not learned much from her yet," said Tahlia.

"That, my girl, is plainly clear."

He straightened himself slowly with a wince.

"You must watch out for the madriel here," he said. "They may be older than me and equally decrepit, but they are still unpredictable, and it is wise not to underestimate them. Good Master Sprak gave me my duties here so I would not forget the fact; a result of his twisted humour, I think." He fixed them with his one eyed glare. "It is not safe here," he reiterated.

"We will leave, then," said Grifford.

"But I want to see Master Hepskil!" protested Tahlia. "Can you take us to him?"

"And why should I do that?" growled the old Madriel-master. "You think I have nothing better to do than herd lost children about?"

"We are not lost!" said Grifford.

"Please!" said Tahlia, throwing him a sharp look.

The man shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me where I take you, as long as I don't leave you here."

He looked pointedly at Grifford.

"What's it to be? In or out?"

"In!" said Tahlia.

The old man continued to watch Grifford, who eventually shrugged.

"Fine," he said.

"This way then. The sooner I get you off my hands, the sooner I can get back to some proper work."

He turned sharply and led them back down the slope and around the gulley. Grifford looked down into it as he passed and saw the old madriel, Grelsch, sprawled under the scrubby bush, eyes closed, but with his ears twitching fitfully.

As the hideously scarred Madriel-master led them through the under tree, the ground began to rise and they soon found themselves at the edge of another wide gulley. It lay between two of the tree's spreading roots, where water trickled from a spring into a cool and inviting pool in the dell's centre. The tree's twisting trunk towered directly above, so wide it could not have been encircled by the joined arms of ten grown men

Master Hepskil sat near the pool on a large flat rock. He did not seem to notice them approach, as his attention was focused on the other occupant of the hollow. Lying next to Master Hepskil, and taking up half the space, was a huge old male madriel, resting on its side, hind legs outstretched, with its body curled about the water of the pool. Its head was stretched out and rested on its front paws, with its eyes closed and nostrils barely moving with each shallow breath. Its hide was so pale it seemed almost white against its dark whorled pattern, and it was worn thin in places to reveal pale cracked skin. The beast's horns, which had grown to be almost two metres in length, had lost their dark shine, and their surface looked grey and brittle.

Master Hepskil had a bucket of olap oil by his side, and a cloth in his hand, which he was using on those horns, working the oil into the dry cracks that crazed them.

"Apologies for disturbing you, Master Hepskil," said the Madriel-master when they were half way down the slope.

"Do not trouble yourself to apologise, Master Oz," replied Master Hepskil, his attention still wholly on his task. "We are never troubled by your visits, and I see that today we have some younger company."

"We have that. I found them wandering along the paths of the tree. They said they were looking for you."

Master Hepskil raised his head and looked rather sternly at Grifford and his sister, where they lingered at the edge of the hollow. Tahlia stood with her hands behind her back, looking guiltless. Grifford kept his face straight, in his usual look of defiance.

"That was a foolish thing to do, children. It is not safe to walk alone in the final-field, as I am sure Master Oz has explained."

"He has," said Tahlia. "Several times."

Master Oz grunted.

"The fact hardly needed explaining to them. They disturbed Grelsch from his slumber, and were close to getting their lives torn out of them."

"Oh dear," said Master Hepskil. "Grelsch is the worst one to disturb. You are lucky that Master Oz came along."

The Madriel-master grunted again.

"I will leave them in your care then, Master Hepskil. I have had enough of their cheek."

"More than your tolerance could bear, I imagine," said Master Hepskil as he wiped his hands on a second cloth that hung from his belt.

"That is indeed something you could say," replied Master Oz as he turned to leave. "Don't come here again. I may not be passing by next time."

He gave no further comment as he clambered back up the slope of the dell, and disappeared over its edge.

"You had better come and sit down now that you are here," said Master Hepskil. "And you can tell me what gave you cause to risk such a dangerous journey."

Grifford climbed down into the gulley and knelt down across the pool from the old madriel, lost in admiration at the sheer size of him, and at how tranquil such a creature could look while sleeping.

"His fighting days are long over," said Master Hepskil, noticing his attention. "But we do what we can to give his life comfort."

"So this is Radakel?" said Grifford. "Eldest beast of his pride."

"Indeed so, together we won many a joust, and he has carried me into battle from victory to victory, but as you can see, time has caught both of us."

Tahlia joined him beside the pool, though even she seemed daunted by the animal lying across from them, as its growling breath made its slab like side slowly rise and fall.

"Radakel," she whispered. "Father of the line of Hakansa."

As though hearing his name, Radakel opened one eye to reveal an orb of pale green, tarnished in the centre with a disk of cloudy white. Master Hepskil leant forward stiffly and laid his hand between Radakel's pointed ears, and the beast gave a low snort before lifting his head and heavy horns and opening his jaws in a yawn. Many of his teeth were gone, but those he had remaining looked huge and brutal.

"So what do you want that could not wait until our next lesson?" asked Master Hepskil as his old steed lay his heavy head back to the ground with a sighing grunt, and closed his eyes.

"We want to know about the attack on father," said Tahlia.

Master Hepskil nodded.

"Have you spoken to your father?"

"Yes, but he has told me nothing. I asked him who he thinks could want him dead and he told me it was not something to concern myself with."

"And I am not one to countermand that judgement."

"But he was attacked by a nadidge! Are the Predation going to return?"

Master Hepskil shook his head.

"If that is your concern, then I can reassure you. The Predation will not return; of that fact I am sure."

"How do you know?" Grifford asked.

Master Hepskil gave a mirthless chuckle.

"We have ridden the western lands, Radakel and I, and like all the Templars that went before, I found no sign of their presence. There is nothing there now but the chaos and ruins that the Predation left behind."

"But nadidge are their creatures!" said Tahlia.

Master Hepskil looked up into the thick boughs above them, watching the light filtering through the leafy canopy far above.

"Part of the chaos that remains," he said. "It was the Order's belief that the creatures had gone complete from this world, but for some time I have suspected our belief to be wrong. Now the attack on your father has provided proof of my suspicions."

"So if they were not sent by the Predation, who did..."

Master Hepskil held up his hand.

"I have told you that I will not discuss the matter further. It is something for your father and the other Commanders to deal with."

"But..."

"I said no, Tahlia."

Tahlia's shoulders slumped and she gave an exasperated sigh, but then she sat up straight again.

"What made you think they were still around?" she asked. "The nadidge, I mean."

Master Hepskil smiled.

"It seems you are intent on getting something out of me this morning."

Grifford scowled as his sister gave the old Council-master her best pleading look.

"Very well, I have some time to occupy. Make yourselves comfortable, children and I will tell you a story of the west."

Tahlia smiled and tucked her feet underneath her to listen, and Grifford folded his arms and became similarly intent.

"You know something of the western lands, which were once part of the Provinces. You have heard about the once great cities that now lie half empty and falling into ruins, of the wild creatures that roam the lands between, and of the demons that once haunted their darkest places. There is more to those lands though. Despite their chaos, there are places there where the light of civilisation still burns, though it is a light cast by foul stinking flames.

"The worst of those places are the Sea-thief Kingdoms, which crawl across the western archipelagos and harbour so much wickedness that it cannot be revealed to those with such tender ears as yourselves."

"Who lives there?" asked Tahlia, apparently determined to pry the details of wickedness from Master Hepskil.

"Survivors from the captured Provinces, or their descendants at least. Mostly those who had fought for the Predation, in free will or not, but their numbers have grown over the centuries, reinforced by criminals and fugitives from the Orders' laws. The Sea-thief captains who rule over the Kingdoms today are an evil menace, and when they are not attacking merchant shipping in the south, they are fighting amongst themselves.

"I heard many of their savage stories while I was in the city of Fair Trading, once the largest and richest city of the western Provinces, and now the capital city of the largest of the Kingdoms. Its new inhabitants call it the Coves because it is built on a succession of rocky sea crags and inlets joined together by sea caves, and it was one dark chapter in the history of the Coves that shaped my belief in the continued existence of the nadidge.

"The city was once ruled by a Sea-thief captain, who in his time had been ruthless and cunning, and his realm had stretched across twenty of the islands in the archipelago, and covered a stretch of the mainland over a hundred kilometres long. Soon, of course, the Sea-thief captain grew old, and he knew his time was short and his days on the earth numbered, for he had fathered three children. He had two sons and a daughter, and none were known for their patience. All of them had their eyes on his throne and his lands and his ships.

"As the years passed, his fear grew and poisoned his mind. In order to preserve his wealth, he used a portion of it to build a tower in the centre of his palace, which was designed to be impregnable. Its sides were built like glass, with no crack or joint that could serve as a hand hold. A single door led inside, and it was guarded at all times by the finest of his soldiers, and the rooms at the top of the tower had the smallest of barred windows; enough to let in air and the barest amount of light. The Sea-thief captain locked himself away in that room with his wealth, knowing he was safe from the avarice of his children. Every day his trusted servant brought him food, and every day the servant was forced to eat half, to ensure that it was not poisoned.

"For nearly a half year the old captain survived in the safety of his tower, but one morning his servant received no answer from his knock on the door when he brought him his breakfast. The door to the captain's apartment was strong and could only be opened from inside, so when the guard captain gave the order for the door to be broken in, the task took half the day. When they finally knocked the door down, they found the Sea-thief captain face down in the doorway of his washroom, his throat cut clean through.

"The tower was searched, but no assassin could be found, and no one understood how such a thing could happen. The Sea-thief captain's eldest son soon arrived at the city, with his ships and his own Sea-thief guard, to take his father's throne. He did not sleep in the tower, but instead took his quarters in the palace, though he did take the precaution of placing his guards on every door and on every balcony and in every passageway. When he slept, he had his best and most faithful bodyguards by his bedside, and was sure to keep his sword beside him in the night.

"And for two of those nights he slept without incident, but on the third morning he was found with his blood soaking the sheets of his bed, and his bodyguards butchered on the floor beside him. Not a sound had been heard in the night by the two guards stationed outside his door, and nothing untoward had been seen by anyone.

"The palace was in sudden uproar, for everyone had assumed that it had been the oldest of the old captain's children behind his mysterious death. Still, two heirs to his realm remained, and a week after his brother's death the youngest son arrived, again with his ships and his own guard. He did not take up residence in the palace, but remained on his ship. He gave the order for all of his father's wealth to be taken from the tower and loaded on board, and there he stayed, moored far out in the harbour of the palace cove, surrounded by his fleet and his loyal crews.

"He was dead the next morning, his belly sliced open where he lay slumped over the bags of coins he had been counting. That left only the captain's daughter, whose name was Laquatta, and she arrived on a single ship the next day and took up residence in the palace. She had no guard and carried no sword, but everyone in the palace feared her, which was justifiable behaviour towards one who had commanded the killing of her father and her brothers, for who else was left that could have done such a thing?"

Master Hepskil stopped talking. Tahlia was staring at him, her mouth gaping and her eyes wide.

"She had her own father killed!"

"Yes."

Tahlia looked at Grifford.

"And her brothers!"

"I told you that the western lands were a wicked place. They do not have our laws, or our decency."

Grifford leant forward, frowning.

"But why did you think it was the nadidge that did the killing?"

"I have read much about the nadidge and their methods, and the descriptions of the deaths of the Sea-thief captain and his sons struck a chord of familiarity; they had all the markings of the nadidge's skill. The fact of the inaccessibility of the old king's tower caused me suspicion enough, but in particular, I was intrigued by the death of Captain Laquatta's eldest brother."

"Why?"

"Because no sounds were heard by the guards outside the room, and because he had four bodyguards beside his bed."

"I do not understand," said Grifford.

"I do," said Tahlia, looking thoughtful. "One person would not have been able to kill everyone in the room quickly enough without one of them making a noise."

"Very good," said Master Hepskil.

"But why does that mean it was the nadidge?" said Grifford.

"Father told me they never hunted alone."

"Correct," said Master Hepskil. "But that fact alone was not enough to confirm the involvement of the nadidge, although it was enough to cause me to investigate further, and my search led me to an old scholar who lived in the city and had been studying the history of Queen Laquatta's family. He had not been alive at the time of the killings, but he had collected, among many other things, the medical diary of the doctor who had served at her palace at the time of the deaths. He had examined each death and recorded that, as well as the fatal wounds, each victim had a pattern of four smaller wounds somewhere on their body."

"What does that mean?" asked Grifford.

"They were bite marks!" said Tahlia. "Father showed me pictures in the library and Nadidge have four fangs in their mouth."

"That is what I surmised," said Master Hepskil. "Nadidge use their poison to incapacitate their victims, who are rendered unconscious at a bite, then the foul creatures use their blades to finish them off. Laquatta's youngest brother had a bite on his ankle; presumably one of the creatures crawled under the table where he was counting his father's money. Her eldest brother was bitten on the neck, which was the most common form of attack, as the victim's throat is paralysed first, and they are unable to make a single sound before they are incapacitated. That must have been the case with his bodyguard, for as I said, no sound was heard from his chamber."

"What about the old captain?" asked Tahlia. "Where was he bitten?"

A look came over Master Hepskil's face then; a sort of half suppressed smile.

"The old Sea-thief captain was bitten, well, let us just say it was somewhere unfortunate."

Tahlia frowned, then her face lit up in a big grin.

"The creature climbed up through the waste hole in his washroom!"

"Yes."

"While he was..."

"Yes, and it really is no laughing matter."

"No it is not," said Grifford, his face as straight as a lance.

"I found something else of interest in the doctor's diary," said Master Hepskil. "He described each murder scene in some detail, and it appears the good doctor had something of a macabre personality and took quite a delight in describing them, in particular the quantities of blood involved. The bedclothes were soaked in it, and it pooled on the floor about each body, and though it could well have been a figment of the man's bloody fixation, it did make me think of the nadidge once more."

"Why?" asked Grifford.

"Because, as well as its fangs, the nadidge's blades also secrete a poison, one that stops any wound they inflict from healing. The blood of the victim will not thicken as it should, and the wound will not close, so that even if a cut so inflicted is not immediately fatal, the victim will still face death."

"They sound like nasty beasts," said Tahlia.

"They are indeed, and now it seems they are offering their killing services to anyone willing to employ them, though I cannot image what manner of coin they demand in payment."

Grifford sat in silence, frowning into the pool.

Tahlia was scratching at the unruliness of her hair.

"Anyway," said Master Hepskil, straightening up. "The morning has almost passed and the midday meal will be being served soon. I do not know about you, but I have worked up something of an appetite with my story telling."

Tahlia jumped to her feet.

"Would you like me to walk you back to the fortress, Master Hepskil?"

"That would be most gracious of you, child, but I believe it is I who should be taking you." He stood and stooped to pick up his stout staff, which was leaning against a tree root. "Have you so quickly forgotten the dangers of the final-field?"

"Of course not!" said Grifford.

"Good." Master Hepskil then turned back to Radakel, who still slumbered. "Farewell, old friend. Dream of battles and sleep in peace."

Radakel gave a loud snort, which raised ripples on the surface of the pool.

"Come children. All this talk of poison and blades in the dark has given me a desire to feel the sun on my face."

Tahlia took the bucket of olap and climbed up the side of the dell. Master Hepskil followed carefully behind, and Grifford followed after.

There was a brooding look on his face, and a deep disquiet in his heart.