Fifth day after Sun's Height, year 30016 DC

It wasn't a long way to Goldport, in a straight line, but the only road skirted the base of the hills, a good ten miles round, and Tynan and Emlyn wanted to reach the port in time to find a ship going to Graveisle tonight, so they began early, as the first flush of dawn began to lighten the sky to the east. Emlyn was used to rising before dawn for the farm work; but when he awakened in the cold, grey twilight he had been unsurprised to find Tynan up before him, fully dressed in armour and calmly laying out what little food the farm had left for their breakfast.

They'd eaten together with few words, and then Emlyn had gone to the old cupboard in the corner, that neither he nor his mother had touched since his father had died. He'd packed the few things he valued or thought he would find useful the night before – but some things were too important just to pack. Carefully, gently, he'd drawn out his father's armour and the greatsword Gavan Ulmer had carried when he came home from his own adventuring – twenty years in the past now, before he'd married Marisa and settled down to a farmer's life.

When he was small, Emlyn had never understood that part of the story, where his father put away his sword and armour in that cupboard and gave up the fighting and the adventure, but as he walked away from the farm he began to think he might know, one day. One day, he promised himself. When I'm old and tired of fighting, I'll come back. Then he thought of Goldisle, rotten Goldisle with its cruelty and its hardship, and qualified his statement. Maybe I'll come back.

As they walked away the blackbird began to sing behind them to welcome the dawn, and Emlyn caught his step. This may be the last time I ever hear that…

But he straightened his shoulders under the unfamiliar drag of the armour and strode forwards at his cousin's side. At their feet the rising sun painted their shadows ahead of them on the road with hard black brushstrokes. Emlyn could see his own figure, silhouette bulked out by the armour, the hilt of his sword rising proudly above his right shoulder, and knew that he looked every inch the warrior.

In his arms he cradled the cold pottery urn that contained the last remnants of his mother's body.

Emlyn could smell the sea as they descended and began to curve round the base of the hills. The slight breeze threw the salty tang into his nostrils, and reminded him again how small the island actually was. He could see bright water glinting barely a couple of miles away, and yet for his whole life it had been a special treat to visit the fishing village of Almuth for market…

Almuth was receding into the distance behind them now, but not fast enough for Emlyn's taste. He was painfully aware that his cousin had slackened his natural pace to match Emlyn's own speed. His armour wasn't too heavy, but it was impeding his movement and slowing his walking speed. Still, he thought, there's no hurry. Better slow now than dead later on.

Tynan walked with an easy, swinging motion, as though he was used to covering the miles, and he looked around as he did so, noting the lie of the land and the landmarks. Emlyn watched him enviously. One day I'll be able to do that…

He studied his cousin as he walked. Tynan was older than him – ten years, if Emlyn was remembering right – and those extra years had left their mark on him. Tynan wasn't a tall man, but he was well-muscled and the two swords hanging at his waist had seen a great deal of use. His dark hair was cropped close to his head and his skin was – like Emlyn's own – burnt brown by the summer sun. Emlyn could see that his cousin was wearing his armour like a second skin, and it was that which really brought home to him how used Tynan was to a life where combat and danger were always just around the corner.

Excitement shivered up his spine. Now that was going to be his life too…

'What day is it?' Tynan asked.

'Huh? Er… fifth after Sun's Height. I think. Thereabouts.'

'Hmm. Nowhere near a quarter day. So I'm thinking these toughs heading towards us probably aren't legitimate tax collectors…'

'What?' Emlyn's head snapped round to face the road in front of him again.

Tynan was right. The group just rounding a corner of the road and heading towards them had 'tax-gatherer' written all over them. There were three of them, all human. The two at the back were the toughs Tynan had mentioned, dirty chain mail and ragged appearance not camouflaging the fact that their hands remained near their sword hilts. They were a mismatched pair, one a short but broad-shouldered man with a scowl on his face and the other taller and fairer.

The man in front didn't look much like a fighter. He was slightly overweight, puffing and pink-faced as he walked down the road in the hot sun. His clothes were as greasy and grimy as the other two, but they looked as though they had once been fine fabrics. It was his face that got to Emlyn. He had piggy little eyes, and behind fleshy cheeks they were glinting with greed.

Emlyn shifted the urn into the crook of his left arm and put his right hand on the knife in his belt. 'People who call themselves tax collectors can turn up at any time now,' he told Tynan, quietly. 'No one is sure where the money and tithes go, but they keep demanding more.'

Tynan nodded acknowledgement as the two groups grew closer together, but contented himself with a practical comment. 'Don't draw unless I do first.'

The tax-gatherer and his guards were taking up the whole road as they approached. Tynan stepped aside onto the grassy verge, Emlyn following his lead, and attempted to walk past the men, but the fat, red-faced man stopped. 'Who goes there?' he asked.

Emlyn gritted his teeth. He could see the man's eyes flickering over him and Tynan, assessing the value of their armour and clothing and speculating on the probable contents of their packs.

Tynan didn't seem bothered by it. 'I'm Tynan and that's Emlyn,' he said, coolly. 'We're heading for the city.' He looked directly at the man with hard eyes, and added softly, 'Bothering us would cost much more than you're paid for.'

The dark, scowling warrior growled and Emlyn heard the scraping ring as he began to drag his sword from its sheathe. He tightened his hand around his knife, wishing he had both hands free to draw his sword. His blood was boiling as he anticipated the fight. Goldisle would be a better place without these parasites…

But, belying his slovenly appearance, the tax-collector made a quick restraining movement of his hand. 'No, we wouldn't want to bother these good people,' he said, giving Tynan a fake, toothy smile. 'Good day to you, sirs. We'll be on our way.'

The warrior growled again, slamming his weapon back into its scabbard. As he turned to follow his boss down the road, he spat on the ground, glowering at them. Emlyn leapt forwards, his dagger beginning to clear its sheath, when Tynan's hand clamped down firmly around his wrist.

The warrior turned a contemptuous shoulder and followed his allies, and Emlyn turned to his cousin, furious. 'What was that for?'

'Keep your voice down, you don't want them to hear that we're having a disagreement.' Tynan released Emlyn's wrist. 'I didn't want to fight them.'

'Why not? They're no loss to the world.'

Tynan shrugged. 'It's true. But what good would it do to kill them?'

'It'd make me feel better, for a start!'

'Emlyn, you can't kill people just because it would make you feel better!'

Emlyn sighed. 'All right. But it would make things a lot better for the starving people they're off to rob blind.'

'For the moment, yes. But there are hundreds of men just like those ones, and if we killed these, some more would be along in a few days.' Tynan shrugged again, and Emlyn caught the hint of hopelessness in his voice. 'The only way anyone's going to solve Goldisle's problems is from the top, and we aren't strong enough to take out the top.'

Emlyn clenched his fists for a second, then sheathed his dagger. 'All right. You win this time. Come on.'

He turned, and Tynan fell into step beside him as Emlyn plunged up the road.

By the time the younger man's furious pace had slackened somewhat, they had rounded the corner of the road and Goldport was in sight ahead of them. Emlyn stopped, shading his eyes against the dazzling glare of the sunlight reflected from the sea, and looked towards the city.

Goldport was a small city judged against the standards of Wayrin or Shara, but it was among the largest on the Islands, and had once been considered one of the most rich, kindly and beautiful. Now it was the blot among the famed ports… Emlyn could see the buildings, black and dirty, sprawling right down to the waterside.

Out in the ocean a ship was anchored, her bare masts startling in their blackness against the deep blue sky. Emlyn whistled appreciatively. He wasn't much of a seaman – but he was still an Islander born and bred. 'Look at her lines! That's a ship built at Haven, or I'm blind.'

'Is it?' Tynan looked at the schooner with interest. 'But under a bad master now, or she'd not be here…'

'I wonder if her captain's thinking of heading out?' Emlyn said, half under his breath. 'Now she'd be a lovely vessel to sail in down to Graveisle…'

'What was that?' asked Tynan, as he started walking again. 'Come on, let's try and make it as far as the city before it gets too hot. You think she'd be heading south?'

'It's too hot already,' Emlyn grumbled, shrugging sweaty shoulders under his armour. But he was used to ignoring the discomfort of working in the sun, and he answered Tynan's question. 'Yes, if she's a merchant. Now we're past Sun's Height the trade winds'll be setting in to blow from the north, and blow steady until near Winter's Peak. A merchant can coast down to Shara with goods from the Islands that're still fresh.'

'Isn't it a bit early for that? I don't know a lot about it, but I don't feel anything like a steady north wind.'

Emlyn shrugged. 'Maybe. I'm no sailor, I don't really know.'

Tynan nodded, and dropped the subject.

They entered Goldport as the sun began to rise towards its zenith. The streets were hot and dusty, and the stench of sewage and decay was so bad that it made Emlyn want to throw up.

'Stick close to me,' Tynan had said, and Emlyn did, remaining tight on his cousin's heels as Tynan led the way through a confusing mass of streets. He'd been to Goldport before, but only once or twice, and always with his father. Nothing seems threatening to a child who's with their father…

But Goldport seemed threatening enough to Emlyn now. People in the streets were hard-eyed, and many were cloaked despite the heat of the day. The buildings were dirty and in disrepair, with rotten and gaping shutters. Everywhere he could see graffiti – what he guessed were gang signs – and when he looked he could see that many people had the same signs brightly daubed on armour or shields. One icon caught his eye, as a gang of seven or eight toughs swaggered down the street, forcing other citizens onto the pavement – a bright red coloured sword. They were all human, a contrast to the varied sizes, shapes and colours otherwise filling the overshadowed streets. That gang was unusual, he found. Normally behaviour like that resulted in shouted curses and drawn weapons, but this group hustled people aside with impunity. Emlyn kept his head down and avoided eye contact, making a mental note. The gang with the symbol of the red sword were powerful… The whole atmosphere of the town was so hostile that he could hardly breathe.

Everyone wore weapons. Even when they passed a group of ragged, barefoot children racing down the street, Emlyn could see that not a single one was without a dagger at their belt. And no one seemed afraid to draw a knife either. The hubbub of the city was punctuated by raised, snarling voices, and once, as the clattering racket of a cart rumbling by died away into silence, Emlyn could hear the sharp clashing of steel and harsh voices cheering on what was obviously a street fight.

'Nearly there.' Tynan's voice was neutral, but Emlyn had the feeling that his cousin hated these filthy, violent streets as much as he did.

Emlyn followed Tynan out of a shadowy street into an open square, blinking in the sudden light. Then he frowned. To his right, a broad street ran straight downwards towards the sea. Looking down it, Emlyn could see hustling, noisy crowds, street traders, and the glint of water in the harbour at the base.

But the square that he and Tynan were standing in was completely deserted.

A chill feeling fingering his spine, Emlyn turned his head to his left.

The building that had once stood at the head of the square was now nothing more than a heap of rubble.

The stones were tumbled across the square like the building blocks of a giant's child. They were blackened and scorched, and some had shattered under the force with which they had hit the ground, stone fragments sprayed across the paving stones like black sand. It crunched under Emlyn's boots as he cautiously approached.

The chill feeling got stronger as he came closer. The building had been destroyed so thoroughly that Emlyn could make no guess as to its previous function. He swallowed nervously. It took real hatred to raze a building that completely. That, or dark magic. Or both…

He'd heard Tynan's quiet footsteps on the huge, old paving stones that floored the square, and knew that his cousin had followed him over. 'All these stones…' Emlyn said. 'I've seen enough buildings here in need of repair. Why haven't they taken these stones long ago?'

'They are afraid,' said a quiet voice he didn't know.

Emlyn swore and jumped round, a hand flying to the hilt of his dagger. 'Who are you?'

The first thing he noticed about the person who'd startled him so much was a pale, impassive face, and bright, intelligent black eyes. He had to look down almost a foot to meet that sharp gaze, and that and the almond-shaped, slanted eyes told him he was looking at an elf before he noticed the delicate pointed ears.

Tynan was standing a little way off, looking sadly at the ruined building, but his head had also snapped round when Emlyn yelled. 'It's all right, Emlyn,' he called, raising his voice slightly, and he began walking over towards them. 'He's with us.'

'Right, fine,' muttered Emlyn, annoyed at being taken by surprise. 'I'm Emlyn Ulmer, Tynan's cousin. And you're…?'

'I'm called Shadow, Emlyn Ulmer.'

Emlyn was puzzled. He'd never imagined Tynan's friend and companion as someone who had a reason to keep their real name concealed. Then again, he'd never really imagined an elf like Shadow...

The elf's wavy, black hair was long, hanging past his shoulders, but drawn back away from his face. Emlyn could see a glint of green in his eyes now, but it was such a dark colour that he could understand how he'd first mistaken it for black. Quite tall by the standards of his race, Shadow wore a chainmail shirt so well made that it made no noise as he moved. The fine links had been blackened so that they had no hint of a gleam. It was the armour of someone who wanted to pass unnoticed, and the blade hanging at the elf's right side was a narrow, flexible rapier.

Tynan clasped the elf's hand briefly. 'Good to see you again, Shadow. Emlyn's going to be joining us for a while.'

'How long's a while?'

'I don't know. You were only going to stick around for a while – how long's it been?'

One corner of Shadow's mouth curled upwards. 'That kind of a while?' He looked over at Emlyn. 'I can see I'll have to get used to having you around.'

Emlyn hoped that was supposed to be a joke. He smiled faintly, and changed the subject. 'What were you saying about this place?' He gestured at the ruin. 'What is it?'

Tynan answered him. 'It was a temple.'

'Oh.' Emlyn looked round. 'I knew that the temples were knocked down, of course…' He shivered suddenly. 'I just never… I guess I didn't know what it would be like.'

'It was the temple of Arcaren and Amarill,' said Tynan. He was gazing at the wreckage sadly. 'I never saw it. I never came to the islands until ten years ago, and it was long gone by then. But it was supposed to be very beautiful.'

'The locals are scared of the place,' Shadow said. He shrugged. 'I've been asking around while you were gone, Tynan, and even the black-hearted are scared of the power that was here. They don't know what kind of retribution sacrilege like this might provoke.'

Emlyn looked back at the ruin, suddenly wanting to get away. He didn't blame those who kept well clear of the place. The eerie feeling in the air was getting stronger and the hair on his back was beginning to stand upright.

'Come on,' said Tynan. 'We need to find a boat.'