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When Math glimpsed the west bank of the River Medie, his heart soared. He was almost home. Ahead, in the far distance, was the Barrier that enclosed Midgard, a black mass of cloud and mist that reached from the ground high into the sky, writhing and churning as if it was alive.

It had been created by the djinn after they defeated and destroyed the Human Empire in a great battle long ago. Now the last few thousand humans were trapped within it, permitted to live out their little lives as long as they did not attempt to cross.

Soon he would be back within that Barrier, safe from those who pursued him – or so he thought.

But now Math glanced back and, to his dismay, saw riders watching him from the top of the rise, dark silhouettes against the grey sky. They had caught him at last.

In truth, twenty-six, not thirteen, creatures were watching him. Advancing down the hill towards him were barska and orla – binary djinn, each a double entity. Each barsk rode an orl, a creature with a massive head covered in dark scales, its double row of teeth angled slightly backwards into a mouth dripping with silver saliva. It ran upon two sturdy legs, and its elongated hands had four fingers and an opposable thumb. Each digit terminated in a murderous sharp talon.

Their riders, the barska, were even more daunting. Although roughly human in shape, each had four arms. Two were used to grip black spurs of bone jutting from the armoured neck of the orl, while two gripped weapons: a spear and a blade.

The barska wore black armour and leather gloves. The head was covered with a conical helmet, a nasal strip protecting the nose. Only the face was vulnerable to the three weapons carried by Math – a short sword, a shield and a bow. The round shield was not merely for defence; its rim was razor-sharp and could inflict terrible damage on an adversary.

Math was on foot and would be hard-pressed to defeat just one such binary djinni. Against thirteen such entities he stood no chance at all. He was as good as dead.

For weeks he had been journeying back towards his homeland of Midgard. Under cover of darkness, he had made his way south, knowing that he would be followed by the barska and orla, the deadly servants of the powerful asscka djinn who dwelt north of the High Wall; knowing that he would be slain.

For he had done something that was forbidden to all humans – he had dared to cross the Barrier. The penalty for that was death.

In addition to fleeing for his life, he had performed one important task. He had drawn a map detailing the route he had taken. He would give it to his people, the Genthai. One day they hoped to ride across the Barrier, defeat the djinn and, by force of arms, take back for humans the whole world. His map would show them the way.

So now, at last, they had caught him. He was so close to home – but not close enough. He would die on the riverbank, within sight of the Barrier that enclosed his homeland.

But then Math was given a sliver of hope. The line of djinn halted and only a single barsk and orl charged down the slope towards him.

Did they have some sense of honour? Would they only fight him one at a time? he wondered.

Math placed his sword and shield at his feet, nocked an arrow to his bow, drew it back and tensed, holding his breath. He waited calmly for a target to present itself.

His arrow flew fast and true, and found the eye to the left of the helmet’s nose guard, burying itself right up to the flight feathers. It had gone deep into the brain, and the barsk fell backwards off its mount, all four arms convulsing and desperately reaching for the arrow.

Math dropped his bow, and just had time to take up his sword and shield before the orl reached him. He rolled aside, and its two massive feet thundered past before circling to come at him again. He noted that the barsk was still on the ground, writhing in what seemed to be its death throes.

But the orl was a formidable opponent, the massive dinosaur head swinging from side to side as it bore down on him, the thin arms and taloned hands reaching out, ready to rend and tear his flesh. He used the curved edge of his shield to slice away those arms just short of the elbow. They spurted black blood, and the orl let out a scream.

He spun away from it, but not before lunging for its face with his sword. The weapon went deep into the bridge of its nose, slicing across both eyes. The orl ran on unsteadily, the stumps of its arms still spraying blood. It blundered blindly on into the river and, within seconds, still shrieking, had been borne away by the fast current.

The sounds of distress grew fainter and fainter, until all was silent. Math stared up at his enemies. No doubt they hadn’t expected him to be victorious. But before he’d ever fought in Arena 13, Math had been a warrior, skilled in the use of sword and bow.

It was too much to hope for – to face another single barsk – and indeed the creatures moved down the slope in two columns to encircle him. Slowly that circle tightened as they advanced. Math spun on his heels, still holding up his shield and his sword, but it seemed likely that they would all attack at once. The best he could do was inflict some damage on one of his enemies.

As he moved, Math was aware of the weakness in his left leg – the old injury he’d received in Arena 13. It reduced his mobility, and the long walk had put it under increasing strain.

It was then that the light suddenly faded. The sun was hidden by cloud, but it was close to noon and the sky had been bright. Why was it suddenly becoming so dark? he wondered.

Math didn’t dare take his eyes off his enemies, but he noticed that the barska and orla were no longer looking at him. They were staring up at the dark cloud, which was descending rapidly.

Math glanced upwards too, and felt a moment of fear. He knew what it was. That dense black cloud was swooping down like a flock of birds, though it was something far more deadly.

These winged creatures were the gungara, creatures of the djinn that were used to devour and absorb the mind and tissue of their enemies. The barska and orla had no doubt summoned them. Within seconds, he reflected, only his skeleton would remain.

Instinctively, but knowing that it was useless, Math held his shield above his head. All around him he heard the beating of wings. He thought they had come for him, but to his surprise they attacked the enemies that surrounded him. He glimpsed jaws and teeth dripping with blood, and heard the shrieks of the barska and orla as they were shredded and devoured. He knew that djinn often fought djinn – these gungara must be the enemies of those who had attacked him.

Math still feared that they would come for him next, and waited for those teeth to sink into his own flesh. He was afraid but resigned. He took a deep breath and waited for death.

He crouched there, still holding the shield above his head, as the darkness gradually gave way to light again. The gungara were taking flight, soaring upwards, leaving him untouched.

Math looked at the ground around him. It was soaked in black blood; despite their scaly armour, the flesh of the barska and orla had been stripped, leaving only bloody bones. And the eye-sockets of each entity had been split open, the eyes torn out and the brains devoured.

He stared up at the dark flock of gungara wheeling above. Suddenly they formed a distinct shape against the light grey of the clouds. That shape was unmistakable. It was the head of a wolf.

The gungara belonged to a lupina djinni – the Trader Math had been travelling with before being forced to flee.

Math was the great hero of Arena 13. He had defeated Hob fifteen times before being forced to retire because of his injury.

But that was in the past. Now he had a future: he was destined to marry a woman called Shola, whom he would love more than life itself. They would have a son called Leif. Math would enjoy twelve years of happiness before the evil djinn Hob slew his wife and brought about his own death.

THE DEATH GAMBIT

The Mihalick Manoeuvre is the riskiest tactic for any human combatant. It invariably results in death or maiming.

The Manual of Trigladius Combat

LEIF

Somewhere out of sight a bass drum began to beat like a throbbing heart. As the huge thirteen-branched candelabrum descended, illuminating Arena 13 with yellow light, Pyncheon, the Chief Marshal, appeared to announce the first of the evening’s contests. He wore a broad red sash over his black gown, and carried a long thin silver trumpet.

He remained the highest authority here in the Wheel, but things had changed. Although he still strutted across the arena and was a member of the expanded Wheel Directorate that now ruled Gindeen, he’d lost much of his power.

Pyncheon had always been arrogant. I smiled to myself as I thought of the distaste with which he would view this first contest on tonight’s List.

The tiers of plush red-leather seats were packed to capacity, with almost as many women as men among the spectators.

An anticipatory hush had fallen over the gallery. We could now hear the sound of boots approaching the minos door of the arena, through which the combatants fighting with one lac entered. My heart thudded in my chest as the first combatant entered ahead of the armoured lac. It was Kwin.

She walked forward confidently and stood facing the Chief Marshal before taking up her combat position behind her lac. Lacs wore full metal armour and were strong and fast, their manoeuvres guided by the patterns placed within their minds. The only way they could be downed was when a blade was inserted into their throat-socket, which was held in place by an iron collar. This called up a patterning wurde called endoff, which immediately brought the lac crashing to the arena floor.

The spectators were here to see history made, and my mouth was dry with excitement and fear.

I was not afraid for myself. I had fought and won my final contest the previous evening. I was just a spectator. I was afraid for Kwin – although I was excited for her too.

I knew how much this meant to her: she was about to fight in Arena 13, the first female ever to do so.

The audience erupted with excitement. There was wild cheering, and they began to stamp their boots on the floor. Kwin smiled up towards the gallery. She knew where I’d be sitting and her eyes sought mine. She waved at me and I waved back enthusiastically, pleased that her dream of fighting in Arena 13 was finally being realized.

Then, as the first roar from the spectators began to subside, there was a new sound that caused the smile to slip from Kwin’s face.

A group of middle-aged men seated in the front row began to boo. There were some in Gindeen who wished to keep to the old ways. The last thing they wanted was for women to be the equal of men. Some claimed their jobs were at risk; others that it was improper and against female nature to fight in Arena 13.

But the women of Gindeen were out in force tonight and they began to cheer Kwin enthusiastically, chanting her name and blocking out the boos. They were dressed in silken finery, and most had painted their lips the traditional black – though a significant number had adopted the style first used by Kwin. She painted only her top lip black; the lower lip was the rich red colour of arterial blood.

Her opponent, a man named Rubico, now entered the arena through the other, larger, door, the magus, with his three lacs. Both Kwin and Rubico wore the regulation leather shorts and jerkin, their flesh open to the blade, and you won a contest by cutting your opponent.

Although women had previously been forbidden to fight in Arena 13, the brave and spirited Kwin had fought one of the lacs, blade against blade, in her father’s cellar. She had won, but she had also been cut. Now, her hair was cut short on one side to reveal the scar because she looked upon it as a badge of honour. She was also proud of the 13 she’d had tattooed on her forehead. That fight had demonstrated her courage. Now the recent political turmoil and shifts of power had turned custom on its head. History was about to be made.

My friend Deinon, who was also a trainee, was seated on my left. He was staring down into the arena, his face full of concern. Kwin was his friend too and he really cared about her. But she was much more than that to me.

Pyncheon held up his hands and gazed at the gallery. ‘Let it begin!’ he called out, moving towards the mag door. There he paused and lifted the trumpet to his lips. There was a high, shrill note, and then the two doors rumbled shut.

For a moment my heart was in my mouth. As they came together, I suddenly became aware of a faint odour, almost hidden by the perfume worn by the women in the audience. It was the stench of blood.

The floorboards below us were stained with it – both old and new. Only this season, four combatants had been slain. Three had been accidental deaths; one the result of a grudge match – which were fought to the death. My blood had also stained that floor. I had fought the djinn, Hob, and defeated him. But he had cut off my right ear.

You got accustomed to that smell, but it reminded you that combatants sometimes died in Arena 13. Now Kwin was down there, and blades were seeking her flesh.

There was a clash of metal against armour, the glint of blades as lac fought lac, human combatants dancing behind them. Attack and retreat, attack and retreat – this was the pattern as Kwin launched her single lac against her opponent, with his three.

My fear faded and I smiled with satisfaction. She was slowly driving Rubico’s tri-glad backwards. This was no mean feat; although no older than thirty, he was a veteran of the arena and was ranked in the top third of magus combatants, those who fought with three lacs.

For five minutes they would fight behind their lacs. Then a gong would sound and, after a short pause, they would move in front. This was much more dangerous, and Kwin would then be vulnerable both to the blades of her opponent and to those of his three lacs.

I licked my lips nervously and looked at Tyron, who was sitting on my right. He was staring down into the arena, watching his daughter fight. He couldn’t keep still – fidgeting in his seat and rapping his fingers against his knees. He was the best artificer in Gindeen, and I was a trainee in his stable of fighters. Tyron had also replaced Pyncheon as Head of the Wheel Directorate. He was now one of the most important men in the city.

Just to his right sat Ada, who had patterned Kwin’s lac. She had once been the High Adept of the Imperial Academy and was twice-born: she had died hundreds of years ago and was reborn into the false flesh from which all djinn are formed, still retaining her brilliance as a patterner. She had been the first woman to pattern a lac to fight in Arena 13 – and her skills were such that she made it sentient. She’d named that lac Thrym, and we’d fought together to defeat one of Hob’s selves in the arena.

The lac that now defended Kwin was not sentient. Still, I hoped that Ada had made it good enough to ensure Kwin’s victory.

I began to feel nervous again, my concern for Kwin growing. The aim was not to kill one’s opponent, merely to draw blood, but accidents did happen. I gritted my teeth and thrust that thought from my mind.

There was a roar of approval from the gallery. Kwin and her lac had driven her opponents right back against the arena wall and they were struggling to escape. The women began to cheer and stamp their feet, and there were shrieks of delight. Kwin was very fast: she was using Ulum – signalling to her lac by drumming her boots on the arena floor – and positioning it perfectly so that it could use its blades effectively.

‘Good girl! Good girl!’ I heard Tyron exclaim as we heard that metallic sound, signifying that a blade had struck the iron collar of an opposing lac, almost entering the throat-slit. Any moment now Kwin must surely prevail. The five minutes were almost up. Soon the gong would sound for a pause in the fighting. Then the human combatants would reposition themselves, fighting head to head, with their lacs behind them. They would both be more vulnerable. Both could be cut badly.

Tyron was leaning forward, drumming his fingers on the rail now, his face anxious. ‘Now, Kwin! Finish it now, girl!’ he said.

At first he had been against his daughter fighting in the arena. It had taken Ada weeks to persuade him to allow it. No doubt he was now regretting that decision.

Suddenly there were jeers from the front row of the gallery. They came from that group of boorish men. Then there was a flash of red, and Kwin’s lac appeared to be covered in blood.

The audience was stunned into silence, but then there was a burst of raucous laughter. I glanced across and saw that one of the men was holding a metal container that dripped a red liquid.

It was paint, not blood, I realized. He had thrown it in protest against a female fighting in the arena. It had caused serious damage to Kwin’s lac, penetrating the horizontal slit in its helmet and blinding it.

It staggered backwards, almost colliding with her. The creature couldn’t see well enough to defend itself.

The contest should be halted, I thought. How could it be allowed to continue? I listened for the trumpet, but Pyncheon was unmoved – though he was watching and surely knew what had happened.

In a second a blade would call endoff on Kwin’s lac; she would lose and be forced to accept the ritual cut to signify her defeat.

It was so quick that I almost missed it. Kwin stepped in front of her lac and dived forward, still holding her blades. She did a forward roll between the legs of the opposing tri-glad.

My heart was in my mouth as blades stabbed down at her. I didn’t want to watch but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. What Kwin had done was incredibly brave, but she had taken a terrible risk.

Somehow she avoided those blades. Then she was past the opposing lacs, still rolling. With the blade in her left hand, she struck at Rubico’s legs and cut him below the knee.

A second later a blade found the throat-slit of her own lac to call endoff. But Kwin had already drawn blood. She had won her first contest – though at great risk to her life.

The applause was thunderous. I was on my feet, clapping and cheering at the top of my voice. Deinon and I slapped each other on the back in amazement and relief – but Tyron shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He had probably aged ten years in the last few minutes.

Assistant marshals were already striding down the far aisle to arrest the group of men who had thrown the paint. I hoped they would be fined and banned from the gallery for a very long time.

We went back to Tyron’s house for a small celebratory end-of-season party. Deinon and I were still living there while our training continued. We shared the accommodation with Tyron and his two daughters, Kwin and Teena, and Teena’s son, Robbie.

‘You are to be congratulated, daughter, on winning your first contest in Arena 13,’ Tyron said, raising his glass in a toast. ‘But don’t you ever dare do that again! I have enough grey hairs already!’

There was a chink of glasses and cries of approval and congratulation. But, despite his apparent joviality, I could see the tension in Tyron’s face. His hair was already grey, shaved to little more than stubble; the lines around his eyes were deepening and advancing towards his cheeks.

I knew how he’d felt. My heart had lurched when Kwin rolled through the legs of the lacs. I thought I was going to lose her.

She had performed what was known as the Mihalick Manoeuvre, commonly known as the Death Gambit. It was named after the man who’d first used the tactic. Mihalick was the only one who survived and won. Five other combatants had attempted the manoeuvre since. Four had died, cut to ribbons by the blades of their opponent’s lacs; the fifth had been badly maimed. He now hobbled along with a stick and had lost the use of his left arm.

I knew that Kwin had been desperate to win her first contest, but she shouldn’t have taken such a risk. I was annoyed with her for putting her life on the line, but even more annoyed with Pyncheon, the Chief Marshal. He should have stopped the fight the moment the paint landed on the lac’s head. No doubt he wanted to see Kwin lose.

Tyron would be having a word with him. He’d also given his daughter a private telling-off. But Kwin was Kwin: she always did what she wanted. There was no way she would allow herself to be defeated in her first contest in Arena 13.

I looked around the room. There were about thirty people at the party: artificers like Tyron, including the bushy-browed Brid and the lanky, awkward Wode, who were close colleagues, each with his own stable of combatants. They had put their lives at risk in our failed attempt to destroy every one of Hob’s selves after I’d defeated him with Thrym.

That was a threat that Kwin, fortunately, hadn’t had to face tonight. Hob, the djinni who lived in a thirteen-spired citadel on the hill above the city, could visit at any time to challenge those who fought in Arena 13. Normally a lottery decided which human combatant would fight him. So Kwin might have been chosen.

But things had changed. Generally I did not summon Thrym to fight in the arena, but it had been agreed that, should Hob visit, I would be the one to face him. Thrym would wait below, ready for such an eventuality.

Following the removal of the Protector, who had been put in place by the djinn who dwelt beyond the Barrier to rule over Midgard, people had waited fearfully. Some believed that hordes of monstrous djinn would charge through the Barrier to slaughter us all. A city militia had been formed to complement the Genthai army, but nothing had happened.

People were also afraid of Hob. He had preyed upon the city for centuries – though since the fall of the Protector he’d killed nobody; nor had he visited the Wheel to issue a challenge. We’d thought that the djinn had appointed the Protector as sole ruler. But after his fall it had been revealed that a dual authority had governed Midgard; Hob had been the other ruler.

So why hadn’t he intervened in some way? I wondered. His silence and inaction were unnerving. People believed that he possessed terrible weapons of destruction; many feared that he might use them against Gindeen.

At first the fearful inhabitants had stayed indoors as much as possible, but the city needed food, and soon farmers started to deliver their produce and bring their cattle to the slaughterhouse again. Life had returned to an uneasy routine.

My eyes searched the room. A few combatants had come to the party; some of them I’d fought in the arena since defeating Hob. I’d ended the season in the top third – which wasn’t bad considering I’d had so few contests. Next year I hoped that Tyron would allow me to fight twice a week right through the season. Then I’d have a real chance of coming first in the rankings.

My father, Math, had been Arena 13’s best fighter. My aim was to match his achievement and, if I got the chance, to defeat Hob over and over again.

‘I’m off very early tomorrow, Leif,’ he said with a smile. ‘I won’t even have time for breakfast. I have to go and help on the farm.’

‘I’ve little choice, I’m afraid. My family need an extra pair of hands.’

The farm had been going through a bad patch. This season Deinon’s father had been unable to pay for his son’s training, but Tyron had generously waived the fee. He really believed in Deinon, who showed great promise as a patterner, using wurdes of Nym to shape and improve the lacs. I had speed, quick reflexes and strength – skills that were good for the arena; Deinon had brains, and would one day make a great artificer, with his own stable of combatants.

Last year I’d gone to visit the Genthai, but I had no plans to do so again. I was half Genthai, half city dweller, but increasingly I had felt the tug of my father’s people. They were warriors who dwelt in the forest and had no fear of Hob. One day they hoped to cross the Barrier, defeat the djinn and reclaim the whole world for humans. It seemed a hopeless task, but they truly believed that it could be done.

Since then some of the Genthai had left their forest. Their leader, Konnit, and many of his warriors were now based in the east wing of the Protector’s palace, where the Ruling Council met. Others patrolled close to the city. As time passed, it seemed less likely that the djinn would attack, but defensive strategies were being drawn up.

‘Tyron’s asked me to stay here and carry on with light training right through the autumn and winter. It sounds good to me. And it means that I’ll be close to Kwin,’ I said with a smile.

I was lucky – very lucky – to have Kwin. I was looking forward to spending time with her during the long winter. I was looking forward to the training too. I wanted to perfect my performance so as to be ready if Hob came to fight again. The djinni possessed one mind but many selves. Defeating and killing one of them in Arena 13 would not only diminish the threat he presented, it would give me great satisfaction. It was Hob who had brought about the deaths of my parents. I wanted to hurt him as much as I could.

We both glanced across at Kwin. She was talking to Ada, who was now an artificer in her own right, although she shared Tyron’s training facilities and lived here. So far she only had a stable of one – Kwin – but she was also helping with Deinon’s training as a patterner.

As I watched, Teena, Tyron’s elder daughter, joined them. They chatted briefly and then went off to talk to the other guests. I felt a twinge of disappointment. I wouldn’t get a chance to be alone with Kwin until the next day.

However, I consoled myself with the thought that we would be together for the whole autumn and winter.

A DANGEROUS INVITATION

I began to feel as if I was the expression of a higher power, an aspect of Nym, the goddess of all pattern, movement and dance.

The Testimony of Math

LEIF

Early the following morning, soon after I’d waved Deinon off, a visitor called at the house.

It was a warrior with a summons from the leader of the Genthai. Konnit wanted to see me right away. Breakfast would have to wait.

I walked across the city to the east wing of the palace. I found Konnit alone, sitting at a long table. I sat down opposite him.

While Tyron had aged during the last year, Konnit looked younger. His moustache was a rich brown – the same colour as his long hair – his face was decorated with the full Genthai tattoos, and he radiated strength and purpose.

He welcomed me with a smile. ‘First, Leif, I must congratulate you on the part you played in bringing the negotiations between the Genthai and the City Directorate to a successful conclusion so that we now have a joint Ruling Council.’

‘I would like to invite you to join a small expedition we are planning. Note that I “invite”; I do not command you. It will be very dangerous and you and the other Genthai warriors will be away for at least three months – maybe longer. The purpose is to carry out some reconnaissance beyond the Barrier.’

I looked at Konnit in amazement. Everyone considered the Barrier to be an insuperable obstacle. Even to approach it drove some men insane. That high, swirling wall of mist and fear kept us confined. Only the Trader crossed it with impunity – and he did so by ship. Moreover he was not a prisoner of the Barrier; his home lay somewhere beyond it.

‘I am!’ I replied. ‘I thought it was impossible for anyone to leave Midgard.’

‘There is a way, but it is dangerous, and not everyone survives. Even when you’re across, you run the risk of encountering djinn; no one has ever ventured that far. But this time it will be different. This expedition will probe further.’

‘In terms of landforms, flora and fauna, everything is very much the same as here. But who knows what may await us further afield? Up until now our warriors have not encountered any djinn. This time things may be different – though we hope to learn more about the djinn without being detected – and to find the route that best suits our army when the time comes to attack them.’

‘Will there not be djinn guarding against humans who try to escape Midgard?’ I asked.

‘Indeed there might be, Leif. There are none close to the Barrier, but further out – who knows? However, any knowledge we gain about the djinn will help us to defeat them. Even Ada knows nothing of them as they are now; she fears that they may have advanced both in number and in the technology at their disposal: we must find out if this is so. And think of this, Leif: any such knowledge might well help us to defeat Hob.’

My mind was in a whirl. I’d been looking forward to spending the winter with Kwin, and to developing my combat skills. Yet this was too good an opportunity to miss. I’d always wondered what lay beyond the Barrier – as did anyone who was confined within it. Now I had the chance to find out. It was an adventure that called out to me – and might also bring me closer to destroying Hob and avenging the deaths of my parents.

‘Then be ready at dawn tomorrow. You will travel north, and receive weapons training on the way.’

That was a shock! I’d agreed to go, but little did I imagine that it would be straight away. I was dismayed. I’d hoped for more time with Kwin while preparations were made for the crossing.

However, I had said yes now and must stand by my decision. After all, a desire for revenge had brought me to Gindeen in the first place. Hob must be destroyed, and that had to take precedence over everything else.

‘The crossing carries the risk of madness or death. However, we have guides – Genthai mystics, known as Medes, who inhabit the lands close to the Barrier and are sensitive to its fluctuations. They take their name from the River Medie. The best entry and exit point lies on its bank.

‘The strength of the Barrier varies depending on the cycles of the moon. By taking advantage of its phases, the Medes cross in relative safety – though they do not always guide other people through successfully. There will be ten of you on this expedition. We do not expect all ten to pass through the Barrier safely.’

‘Why shouldn’t it be you, Leif? This is an important assignment, and you’ve shown yourself worthy to be a part of it. You defeated a werewight and bested Hob in combat. Besides, your presence was requested by the leader of the expedition – Garrett.’

I knew Garrett. The big warrior had supervised my work when I’d visited the Genthai lands the previous winter. He’d had me felling trees until my hands were blistered. At first he’d bullied me both verbally and physically. But later he’d told me that this harsh treatment had been a test, part of the initiation of a Genthai returning to the tribe after exile.

When we’d broken out of a prison in the Protector’s palace, I’d also fought alongside him and opened a gate to let the Genthai army in. I was pleased that Garrett had chosen me. It was an honour.

I went to see Tyron first – though I had to wait as he was in his office in the admin building.

Now, well after dark, we were in his study at the top of his house. On the desk before him stood a glass of red wine.

‘It’ll be dangerous, boy,’ he said, scratching the stubble on top of his head. ‘You’re risking your life. If the djinn get the faintest whiff of the expedition, you’re all as good as dead. We might never see you again.’

‘It’s a risk I’m prepared to take,’ I told him. ‘All my life I’ve wanted to see what’s beyond the Barrier. My father sailed there with the Trader. I’ve no knowledge of what he saw or experienced. Now I’d like to see it too.’

‘I thought you wanted to destroy Hob. I thought you sought revenge for the deaths of your parents. Isn’t that more important?’ Tyron asked, leaning towards me.

‘I still want that – I’m ready to face Hob in Arena 13 again. But there’ll be no more combat until next season. I’ll be back for that. Konnit believes that we’ll gain valuable information about the djinn – things that even Ada doesn’t know. That knowledge might also be used to understand how to deal with Hob.’

‘Well, it’s a very risky journey, and I fear for your safety – though, having said that, at least you’ll be out of Hob’s reach. He’s been quiet recently, but he might well take revenge for our attempt on his life. You’re the one who defeated him in the arena, Leif. You’re high on his list of targets. At least beyond the Barrier you’ll be safe from him.’

She was sitting in a low chair in front of a mirror, combing her hair. She always wore it the same way – long on one side but short on the other, to reveal the scar she’d earned fighting one of her father’s lacs.

I knelt beside her and stared at my own reflection. The left side of my face bore the moko, the Genthai tattoo – deeply etched lines and whorls following its contours. That showed my heritage through the bloodline of my father, Math. The right side was unadorned because my mother, Shola, had not been Genthai. I was a half-blood, sitting between the two races, but this very fact had meant that I could act as Mediator and steer the negotiations between the city dwellers and the Genthai to a successful conclusion.

On the right, my hair was shaved to a dark stubble – to draw attention to my missing ear; Hob had cut it off during our fight. That had been Kwin’s idea. Like her scar, she considered it to be a badge of courage – something to show off. I looked at her beautiful face in the mirror, with the number 13 tattooed on her forehead. Our eyes met and she smiled at me.

I tried to smile back, but I saw her eyes fill with alarm. It was hard to hide anything from Kwin.

‘Tomorrow? So soon? No! No, Leif, no!’ she cried. ‘I might never see you again.’

I was taken aback by her reaction. Kwin had always been so strong and independent; she wasn’t given to displays of emotion like this. But then she turned away from me and was silent for a while, considering the matter. Eventually she looked at me again, and I saw that her face was filled with strength and purpose.

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I’m jealous. I wish I was going. I’d love to explore the lands beyond the Barrier!’

‘I wish you could come with us, but even if the Genthai agreed, your father would forbid it. But don’t you worry – I’ll be back for the start of next season. You won’t get rid of me that easily!’

As I began to pack my things for the journey, I picked up my father’s book and read the spine: The Testimony of Math.

Also by Joseph Delaney

PROLOGUE

MATH

THE DEATH GAMBIT

LEIF

A DANGEROUS INVITATION

LEIF