The drumbeat increased in tempo then died away as the red disk of the sun rose into the sky. In the royal village of Gorm, grey-clad soldiers raised their hands in salute as the Lord Sun began his daily passage across the heavens.

On the parapet, above a wooden gatehouse, a sergeant stood with one of his young soldiers. He leant over the guardrail and spat on the colourfully dressed tribesmen below.

'That's what I give for the superstitious heathen savages.' He coughed violently. 'God. I hate this sodding place. I don't know how the natives can stand it. I'm surprised the sods don't have webbed feet.' He spat again. 'Gorms, Catti, mountain men ... I hate the sodding lot.'

'The Catti got another of our tin shipments,' the young soldier said. 'Do you think it's got anything to do with that Sky Warrior?'

'Course it hasn't.' The sergeant looked disdainfully at the young man. 'The Catti was taking our tin long before that big bastard came along.'

'They say he comes from another realm.'

The sergeant gave a deep belly laugh.

'Morgon told that silly old fool, Pius, that Sky Warrior came from his village back home. He said he was a baker who'd been banished for putting chalk in his bread and the stupid old bugger believed him.'

'That still doesn't tell us where he comes from,' the young man said. 'From what I've heard, he doesn't look like us. He's pale and he's got blue eyes and brown hair. People say he looks like the natives.'

'But twice as big,' the sergeant laughed. 'Almost as big as Morgon.'

He was interrupted by shouts from below. The crowd surged forward and small children were hoisted onto shoulders.

'What's going on?' the young soldier asked.

'Today we're going to return King Balduur to his ancestors.'

'How are we going to do that?'

'We're not. That's something you leave to the Grand Master of the Duideth. He's the clever bugger who knows all about that.'

'How does the princess come into it?'

'You mean the little tart they call Adrina?'

'Yes. How does she come into it?'

'She doesn't ... not if we can help it.'

The sergeant leant over the guardrail and shouted orders to the soldiers below, telling them to move on some market women. He returned his attention to the young man.

'Morgon has given strict instructions that the little tart is to be kept down to size. She's trying to make a name for herself. Give her a chance and she'll be running things like her mother does over the border.'




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