Hawklan found himself holding the blade of his sword, its blackness glinting in the subdued torchlight that had illuminated the last part of his journey. He was flanked by Loman and Isloman, gazing uncertainly upwards into the darkness.
For some time no one spoke, as if fearful of disturbing even the memory of what had just passed. Then the mounting breeze that had presumably carried the Viladrien away, buffeted them, and Hawklan started out of his reverie.
‘Gavor,’ he cried out. ‘Where’s Gavor?’
His cry galvanized his friends and the three of them set up a great shouting.
Hawklan clenched his teeth in anxiety as he thrust his sword back into its scabbard. What had happened to his friend? Then, following in the wake of that question came the memory that the Drienwr had said he had come
