'I am Bradan the Wanderer, from Alba.' Bradan put Melcorka gently onto the ground. 'This is Melcorka of Alba.'
'I am Banduka,' the youth said. 'You are very pale-faced. Is it a disease?'
'In Alba, where we come from, everybody is this colour.'
The youth shook his head, evidently not believing Bradan's story.
'Where are you taking us?' Bradan asked.
'Not far now.' The youth stopped at the sound of a whistle.
'He is taking you nowhere.' A deep voice sounded from behind the trees as a man emerged. He held a bow, with the arrow pointed directly at Bradan's chest. Others followed, dark-skinned, broad-chested men with crude bows in their hands.
'I know you,' the deep-voiced man said. 'You were with the rakshasa called Dhraji.' He pulled back the string of his bow. 'You're going no further
