"Caddoran" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Chapter 10

In the Beginning was the Burning of the Great Light, though there are those who say that this was not the true beginning but a Shaping again of that which had gone before. Be that as it may, from this terrible incandescence four figures emerged, bright beyond imagining, and such was their joy at being that for time without measure they danced and sang and used the Power that was the essence of the Great Light to Shape the world and fill it with wondrous things beyond number. Then they rested and looked on the wonders they had created and it came upon them that others should share their joy of being. Thus it was that they sang and danced again and wove from the mysterious fabric of nothingness their greatest creation, forming it in their own image and calling it life. And great was the rejoicing of all things that lived.

Yet in what they had done, Those who Shaped came to see a mystery beyond their understanding, for they found that the depth of the nature of life was without end. And they asked themselves how this might have come to pass. But no answer came save a silence, deep and profound. And so they searched, even into the heart of their own natures. But there they found only a greater question: how had they themselves come to be?

Knowing then that they were ignorant, they resolved to Shape no more until they had answered this question. And seeing that all about them was good and that all things knew the joy of being, they moved into the place which lay beyond and between the essence of this world, where floated the shifting dreams of unknowing and where neither time nor place was. All save one, the greatest of them, who remained in this world, deep in contemplation, to seek another way.

And knowledge of them faded from the minds of many, though the wisest amongst all creatures remembered them and revered their memory, rejoicing always in the gift of life which had been bestowed by them.

But in the fading of the Burning of the Great Light, other, lesser figures had emerged also, red and awful, carrying with them only the will to corrupt and destroy. And one among them was powerful indeed, equalling in His vision and will, Those who Shaped. But He remained still and silent, brooding daily as Those who Shaped worked their mysteries and celebrated the Shaping of the world and all things in it; for He both feared them and their greatness, and despised their work, deeming it flawed and imperfect, especially that which was called life, though in that which was called man He saw the instrument of His own intent.

And thus it was until Those who Shaped, save the one, passed from this world.

Thence, free from all fear, He took on the form of man. And making Himself fair of face, and with great stealth and cunning, He moved amongst them, slowly corrupting with false words and filling them with His own malice until the joy of being slipped from them, like water through a grasping hand. And as they fell under His sway so He taught them envy and greed and, as He grew yet stronger, He taught them also war and its unending forms of treachery and cruelty.

For Those who Shaped, knowing not the unfathomable depths of the nature of life, and of man especially, had made it curious and eternally questioning. And men above all proved the most apt and thorough pupils, amazing even Him.

But some saw beyond His words and His fairness of face and knew Him for what He was. And they spoke out, denouncing Him and His way. But those whom He had corrupted knew no restraint and put in thrall and to the sword all those who so spoke, making even greater His sway. Yet though enslaved, those who saw the truth would not yield to Him but began also to study His teaching, seeing, to their dismay, that in it lay their only salvation. And there came about the Wars of the First Coming and the world was dark with the fires of degradation and destruction and the air was filled with cries of despair and lamentation.

And so great was the clamour that the greatest of Those who Shaped was awakened from his contemplation and, looking about him, he was filled with both horror and shame, despairing of what he saw and fearing that this had come about through the darkness of his own ignorance. Yet he saw too, that His hand was there, for he knew Him and the knowledge greatly troubled him. And taking the form of man himself he rallied the failing armies of those who still remembered him and after many and terrible battles, drove Him to an awful fastness in the north. And there, in the ninth hour of the Last Battle, faltering under the burden of His sins, He fell to the arrows and spears of men. Though with His final cast he slew the greatest of Those who Shaped.

Yet, some say that neither were truly slain, but were translated into another place and that He may come again should He be forgotten and the vigilance of good men fail.

Thus went the story of the Beginning and the Wars of the First Coming.

There are a myriad lesser tales of that time.

One such tells of a noble people, the Arvensfolk, who, cruelly dispossessed and dispersed for opposing His will, joined the many and fearful wanderings of peoples seeking respite from the Wars of the First Coming. Of the fate of the greater part of the Arvensfolk, nothing is known, but a weary remnant found refuge in the land that was to become Arvenstaat. Yet even here they were persecuted and enslaved by other peoples in that land who, though having been persecuted and driven from their homes themselves, were more numerous and greatly tainted by His teaching.

But the Arvensfolk would not yield and withstood the torments of their enemies, as they had stood against Him, until when it seemed all hope was gone, a great leader arose amongst them and, filling them with his strength, he led them against their oppressors, overthrowing them and sweeping them from the land.

So goes the most common of the legends of the founding of Arvenstaat, though other versions add that, in gaining victory, the Arvensfolk became so like their oppressors that the man – or some say, woman – who led them, walked into the mountains, grieving, and was never seen again.

Written testimony, such as it is, tells a more prosaic, less creditable tale, though in many ways similar in essence: a fugitive people given shelter who rose up under a brutal and shrewd leader to overwhelm and enslave their hosts and seize their lands and properties.

By tradition, no name is ever given to this leader, but from him – or her, for even in the written testimony this is still not known – came the rule of the Dictators. What had been the evil necessity of war became the commonplace of peace and the will of the Dictator came to be accepted as absolute. For while the first Dictator ruled with great brutality, he was nevertheless both respected and held in awe by his subjects, and his excesses were not seen as such. However, it is in the nature of power that it corrupts, and in the nature of leadership that it is a random not a hereditary quality, and while subsequent Dictators emulated the brutality of the first, they lacked his subtle understanding of the mood of his people who, in their turn, knew ever less of the benefits that he had brought to the Arvensfolk. Thus, to maintain the obedience of their subjects, the Dictators were obliged to resort increasingly to the use of armed force, gathering about them a body of guards who were given privileged positions in society and ever-increasing power and authority – the Tervaidin.

As is invariably the case with such guardians, the Tervaidin gathered so much power to themselves that in time they became the effective rulers of Arvenstaat, appointing and unseating Dictators as the whim took them. Ironically, because they too became corrupted and weakened by power, their final choice of Dictator, Koron Marab, was able to divide them amongst themselves and very effectively reduce their authority. Yet by a further irony, this triumph was short-lived, for it was this same division that enabled Akharim to enlist sufficient of the Tervaidin to act as passive witnesses to his own rise to power. Only when he had killed Marab did the Tervaidin fully realize that Akharim, in affecting to rule through the Moot, had judged the mood of the people very finely, and had left them no opportunity to deal with him as they had done with his predecessors. Following their honoured tradition of self-interested opportunism they therefore swore allegiance to him. Thence, over generations, they were gradually transformed into the force that became the Wardens.

Long before the time of Akharim, the Wars of the First Coming had faded into legend, and, no further cataclysms shaking the world, its many peoples went their own ways – some would say degenerating into surly mediocrity, others would say moving inexorably, if unsteadily forward to ever quieter, more peaceful times. Whatever the truth, it was indisputably the case that the Arvens knew little real tyranny and still less menace from beyond their borders for many generations and, in the course of reaching their present condition, they came to regard the times of both Marab and Akharim as colourful and romantic – a gloss made possible only by virtue of the distance of the brutal reality of those times. Thus in those discussions concerning the repairing of the perceived faults of governance which featured regularly in taverns and hostelries throughout the land, voices could often be heard declaiming the virtues of the ‘good old days of the Dictators’.

Caught also in the spurious glow from this distant time, the Tervaidin too were usually seen indistinctly, invariably being represented as a disinterested professional elite, full of soldierly virtues and working only for the good of the people. Many fine and stirring stories had been written about their valiant adventures. That they had never been this and had fallen progressively further from even their original state was well documented but ignored in popular culture. Almost certainly, this rainbow view started with Akharim’s manipulations to ensure that he retained both the protection of the Tervaidin and control over them, he knowing full well that myth can be far more potent than reality, not least for those being mythologized. Whatever the reason, the name rang well in the ears of the modern Arvens and thus Vashnar chose it for his own guards. It was more appropriate than he would have cared to admit for he intended them to fulfil the functions of the original Tervaidin and, like them, they were a mixture of thugs, opportunists and fanatics.

Vellain knew there would be no point in questioning her husband’s decision. His tone told her that it was final. Nevertheless she did allow her considerable surprise to show.

‘Earlier than you’d envisaged,’ she said.

Vashnar stood up and began methodically stretching himself again. He was unusually stiff. A frowning glance at a tall clock clucking darkly in the corner told him that he had been sitting in the chair for some hours – much longer than he had thought. It disturbed him a little. ‘You’ve delayed our meal,’ he said.

‘You needed time to think, without disturbance,’ Vellain replied, then she reached out and tugged on a bell-pull hanging by the fireplace. A distant tinkling was followed almost immediately by a marked change in the tenor of the household noises that discreetly pervaded the room.

‘And now I need to eat?’ Vashnar said.

Vellain smiled. ‘And now you need to eat,’ she confirmed, standing up and linking her arm in his. ‘And you need to answer my question.’

‘You haven’t asked one.’

She gave him a provocative glance. ‘My implicit question,’ she said, with heavy emphasis, leaning on him. ‘Earlier than you’d envisaged, I said – using the Tervaidin. Only a day or so ago, you said you were concerned they weren’t ready yet.’ She led him over to the window.

Vashnar yielded to her and gave a conceding nod. ‘I still am. But circumstances change and we must move with them. We’ve never had a precise schedule for the latter part of our plan. By definition, it was something we prepared for against the time when an appropriate moment would arise. As for deciding when it had come, that was always going to be a difficult judgement.’

‘And?’ Vellain prompted, catching the note in his voice.

‘And I think now that we might be much nearer than we realize. I think that perhaps we might even be able to engineer that moment.’

She squeezed his arm, pressing her question. ‘But the Tervaidin…’

‘Need to be tested. In the field. In action.’

‘But they’re all experienced Wardens. You picked them yourself, trained them.’

Vellain went to open the tall glass door that would lead them into the now darkened garden – they often walked there in the evening. But Vashnar stopped her. As she looked up she found herself the object of close scrutiny by her reflection in the night-backed window. The presence of this hollow image with the lamplit room in the background, like a mysterious identical world beyond, ever watching, unsettled her for some reason. She drew the curtains quickly.

Vashnar answered her question. ‘I’ve no serious doubts about them, but their role is crucial and it won’t be like anything they’ve done before. I need to test them in action. They need to test themselves in action.’ There was a hint almost of excitement in his voice. ‘And this is an ideal opportunity. We’ll find out how obedient they are, how effective working as a group, how reliable. And as well as testing them, mobilizing them now will serve other useful ends. We’ll see how they’re greeted on the streets, which is important – very important. And it’ll keep Bowlott quiet – stop him fretting about the Death Cry too much. He’ll probably be pleased actually – a new guard regiment for the Moot Palace, specially selected from our most experienced Wardens to protect the Senators should the rumours about Nesdiryn or the Morlider prove correct – or even from over-enthusiastic electors. It’ll pander to his inflated sense of his own importance.’

‘But Hyrald and the others are Wardens. Do you think your people will have any difficulty in…’ Vellain made a vague throat-cutting gesture. ‘… dealing with them?’

‘None at all,’ Vashnar said without hesitation. ‘That, I’ve no qualms about. They all know where we’re going and what it means to them, and they’ll not allow any misguided old loyalties to stand in the way.’

Vellain loved her husband.

There was a single sharp rap on the door and a servant entered to announce that their meal was ready.

‘I see no reason for delay,’ Vashnar went on as they walked down a long uncarpeted corridor, their footsteps softly martial. ‘The longer this business with Thyrn persists, the greater the risk. I’ll send for Aghrid first thing tomorrow. Twenty, mounted, should do. He can pick them. They should be on the road by late afternoon.’

‘Shouldn’t you speak to the others?’

‘I’ll tell them at the same time. I doubt they’ll disagree. The matter’s clear-cut. Thyrn’s got to be…’

‘You can’t tell them about Thyrn,’ Vellain said urgently.

Vashnar smiled slightly. ‘He was young, corruptible. Broke his Caddoran Oath. Discovered too much about our intentions. As you said yourself, he was probably spying for the Congress.’

Vellain reflected his smile back to him as he rehearsed his pending arguments.

They paused at the entrance to the dining room. ‘A long, strange and interesting day, wife,’ he said, routinely casting a critical eye over the formally laid table. ‘For the first time since this trouble with Thyrn began I feel as though I’m seeing the way ahead again, clear and decisive.’

Vellain laid a sustaining hand on his arm as she moved past him. Had she been looking at his face however, she would have seen a hint of fear in his eyes. For though he had told her the truth, he had not told her all of it. He had not told her that for all his regained clarity of vision, he could still sense some part of Thyrn in every dark part of his mind – persistent and clinging, like the dust-laden cobwebs in Bowlott’s office.

As Endryk guided Hyrald and the others along the shore through the latter part of the day, the clumps of vegetation in the hard sand became increasingly more dense until the shore ahead became a continuous sheet of dull green, streaked with patches of brown and grey, and the shining line of the sea became ragged and broken. The distant sound of birds had gradually grown much louder. It surrounded the riders, forming a relentless chorus to their journey across the long-shadowing landscape, at once desolate and reassuring.

‘What’s that?’ Adren pointed towards the horizon. As she did so, a dark cloud, thin as smoke, rose up in the far distance against the reddening sky. It shifted, folded, moved from side to side as no cloud could, then, as quickly as it had appeared, sank and vanished.

‘Birds,’ Endryk said. ‘Like I told you.’

Adren gaped. ‘Birds?’ she said uncertainly. Endryk nodded.

Adren’s eyes widened with wonder and for a while she stared fixedly at the now motionless horizon. ‘What a sight,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ve seen birds flocking in the city in the evening, but never anything like that. There must be so many. How can they move like that – so quickly?’ She shook her head slowly in disbelief then pointed again. ‘But that wasn’t what I was looking at. What are those?’

Endryk followed her hand then glanced quickly at Thyrn. ‘They’re the tops of the hills on the other side – north,’ he said, mouthing the last word silently. ‘You’ll see more as we move further inland, as the estuary narrows.’

Thyrn however, either did not hear or was too rapt in thought to note the first appearance of his long-sought goal. Adren acknowledged Endryk’s discretion and said nothing further.

They rode on in silence for a little while until Endryk announced, ‘We’ll have to move off the shore now, it’s nothing but marsh up ahead. Fine for the birds but hard going and very dangerous for us.’

‘Tide dangerous, is it?’ Rhavvan asked, anxious to use his slight knowledge of this alien place.

‘No, not here,’ Endryk replied. ‘Not usually, anyway. But there are areas of soft mud here that could swallow an entire regiment in minutes – horses and all – and leave no trace.’ Rhavvan reined his horse to a halt and stared at him as though he might be joking. ‘They shift and change with the tide,’ Endryk explained casually. ‘I can’t guide you through them. No one can.’

‘The sooner we get back to civilization, the better,’ Rhavvan sighed, looking down uncomfortably at the indentations his horse’s hooves were making in the sand as he realized that Endryk was simply telling him the truth. ‘This place has far too many bad surprises for my liking. What else are we going to find here?’

Endryk dismounted and began leading his horse towards the trees that fringed the shore. The others followed him. ‘A few insects, maybe, and some swift rivers,’ he replied. ‘Plenty of plants to sting and poison you if you’re foolish enough to sit on them or eat them. A few animals to steal your food in the night, if you don’t stow it properly. And, of course, starvation and exposure if you really don’t know what you’re doing. But plenty of food, water and shelter if you do.’ His lip curled. ‘And no thieves, murderers, drunkards, streets choked with horses, waggons and quarrelling people scrabbling to go nowhere special. No armies, no swords, no…’ He stopped and grimaced. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘The apologies are ours,’ Hyrald said, watching his guide’s face carefully. ‘We’ve brought the memories and the swords back into your life. And I suppose there’s a risk of more coming.’

‘Yes,’ Endryk said, his agitation gone as quickly as it had come. We’ll have to talk about that.’ Then he was fully himself again. ‘There’s a good place for a camp not far away. We’ve made as much of the day as we can, we should use the rest of the light to tend the horses and set up for the night.’

Within the hour it was dark and they were sitting around a small fire looking unusually contented. The Wardens who had attacked them on the shore had come well-equipped, leaving them not only with a welcome addition to their rations, but also two small tents to complement one they had stolen on their journey. Erecting them had proved a little problematical, but finally Rhavvan was able to declare, ‘Quite spacious,’ as he stood back and examined their joint handiwork. ‘A marked improvement on the past weeks.’

Endryk, by contrast, had swiftly and skilfully rigged himself a shelter with a piece of rope and a sheet.

‘Do you do any training in this kind of terrain?’ he asked tentatively.

The three Wardens stared at him blankly ‘What for?’ Hyrald asked.

Endryk shrugged. ‘I thought perhaps as part of your basic training – for emergency survival?’

‘No.’ Hyrald’s tone was disparaging. ‘Survival for us is a matter of stick, sword, good information and having the wit to know when to run.’

‘And your friends,’ Rhavvan added, to common agreement.

‘Why would we need to know how to live out here?’ Hyrald went on. ‘As you said yourself; there are no thieves and rogues about here, and if any of them want to run away from the city so much the better. Less trouble for us. Let them get poisoned and stung and die of exposure.’

Endryk nodded wistfully. ‘Yes, of course, foolish question.’

‘I gather you did train to live out here,’ Hyrald said, glancing at Endryk’s neat and simple shelter.

‘Different needs, different ways. Foolish question, as I said.’ Endryk was obviously anxious not to pursue the matter.

There was little further talk around the flickering fire, everyone seeming to take to heart Hyrald’s earlier advice that decisions about their future were perhaps best made after a night’s sleep. And too, the gentle crackling of the fire and the shadowy vigil of the trees about them was more conducive to silence than debate. Only one topic stirred them before they retired to their respective tents.

‘We must…’ Endryk paused as he sought other words. ‘I think it would be a good idea to post a guard.’

This provoked yet more blank looks, but this time Endryk did not retreat. He lowered his voice. ‘People – hunters – have already found you once. As you pointed out, you’re as far from Arvenshelm as you can get, here – off the map, I think you said. Yet out of this whole country they knew which way you’d gone and came straight to you. So if your own kind – city people – could follow you so easily, you’ve obviously left a trail like a runaway hay cart.’ The three Wardens looked at him darkly, unhappy at the reproach and uncertain where it was leading.

Hyrald made to interrupt but Endryk pressed on. ‘If you decide ultimately to go north perhaps it won’t matter, but if you go south, you’ll be heading for trouble and you’ll have to be much more careful about how you move and how you cover your tracks. Even now you’ve got two, maybe three, days in Arvenstaat before you decide which way to go and if you’re found again, you may not have the mist on your side, or only three to deal with.’

Hyrald exchanged looks with Rhavvan and Adren as if seeking inspiration that would enable him to denounce or laugh off the notion of further pursuit and conflict. But nothing came.

Endryk’s quiet logic was indisputable – and frightening.

‘You’re right,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s just not a way any of us think.’

‘You need to start. Right away.’

Again Hyrald felt a hint of resentment at Endryk’s command of events, but again it faded before his unaffected manner and the simple, if cruel, truth of what he was saying.

‘Yes, I can see that.’ He looked at Thyrn and Nordath. ‘I suppose we all need to start thinking differently if we’re going to survive this. Let go of our old lives if we’re to get them back, as it were. We got through the first rush as much by good luck as anything else, but we can’t rely on that holding for ever.’ His manner became grim as his own words opened up the implications of their position. ‘We’ve got a lot to learn. We’re only going to get one try and one mistake could be our last.’

The mood of the group darkened and only the faint hiss of the fire disturbed the night silence. Then it spluttered and shifted, sending up a small flurry of sparks and lighting the solemn faces. Hyrald clapped his hands.

‘We’ll stand guard in two-hour shifts,’ he said briskly. ‘Nordath, will you do the first? Then Adren and Rhavvan. I’ll do the last.’ No one argued.

‘What about me?’ Thyrn asked, unexpectedly indignant.

‘You’re too young,’ Hyrald replied, adding feebly, ‘you need your sleep.’

‘And me?’ Endryk asked before Thyrn could argue further.

Hyrald looked at him. ‘You’ve done more than enough for us. And this isn’t your fight. If anything happens – if we’re attacked, any time – run for it, save yourself, with our thanks.’

Endryk stood up and stretched. ‘I’ll stand my turn tomorrow night,’ he said categorically, walking over to his shelter. ‘Good night to you all. Sleep well.’

‘And so will I,’ Thyrn added, copying his tone. He nodded to the three Wardens. ‘Good night.’ Then, young again, to Nordath, ‘Good night, Uncle.’

Hyrald stared after them. ‘Well, I’m glad we got that settled,’ he said sourly under his breath.

Nordath was chuckling to himself at Hyrald’s caustic manner as he mounted guard. It felt strange. There had been precious little to make him laugh since Thyrn had tumbled, hysterical, into his house and plunged him into this waking nightmare. He was too old for all this hiding and fleeing. His quiet, humdrum life had been torn apart. Only affection for Thyrn had kept him going. Indeed, only affection for Thyrn had kept him sane. That and a burning anger which he never voiced but which co-existed with his almost constant fear. None of this should be. Vashnar, like all in his position before him, had been entrusted with the authority of the people to protect them from arbitrary justice, from mob rule. Now here he was, fomenting it. He must be crazed. But the implications of this didn’t bear thinking about.

He leaned back against a tree and gripped Rhavvan’s borrowed staff with all his strength – a futile measure of his impotence against Vashnar’s corruption. Then, suddenly, he was quite calm. He began passing the staff gently from hand to hand.

‘Don’t sit down,’ Endryk had discreetly whispered to him. ‘You’ll fall asleep very quickly. You need to feel the night. Keep something moving – just slow and easy and quiet. Keep looking at different things.’ It seemed like good advice, Nordath reflected, as a pervasive yawn swept through him. He was just levering himself away from the tree when something nudged his leg making him suddenly very awake and on the verge of crying out. Nals’ eyes glinted up at him, green in the starlit darkness. Nordath cleared his throat softly. ‘Good dog,’ he said, unconvincingly.

No incident disturbed the sleepers that night, other than the grumbles of those being awakened for guard duty, though each of them in turn had to cope with the stealthy footsteps, the rustling undergrowth, the strange grunts and squeals – some near, some far – that told of the lives of the countryside’s night creatures. These, and the regular inspections by Nals, were the subject of some amusement the following morning as they breakfasted on their former colleagues’ supplies.

Endryk’s quiet education of the group began with the breaking of their camp. The fire was well doused, the ashes scattered, and the turf which he had removed before he lit it was replaced. Such damage as the tents and the horses had made was also covered or repaired and, to the untutored eyes of his pupils, the small clearing seemed to have been quite untouched by their stay.

Endryk was less sanguine. ‘It’ll have to do,’ he said, though not unkindly.

‘No Warden’s going to notice, that’s for sure,’ Rhavvan told him confidently, proud of his new-learned skills.

Shortly after they left the camp, it began to rain – a steady vertical drizzle.

‘This is set in for the day,’ Endryk said, hitching on a long cape and pulling the hood forward. ‘Not much fun.’ He looked at the others and smiled. ‘Well, I see the Wardens have good waterproof capes,’ he said.

‘Oh yes,’ Rhavvan said. ‘Standing for hours in the rain is something we do know about. And I doubt it’s any wetter here than in the city.’

For the rest of the day, a hunched procession moved steadily westwards, following the line of the shore. The terrain varied a great deal – sometimes flat and open, sometimes hilly and confused – a mixture of woodland and grassland with ragged stretches deep in ferns and shrubs, and an increasing number of rocky outcrops. But it presented them with no serious problems and they walked and rode equally, accepting the rhythm set by Endryk.

For the most part they travelled in silence, though on two occasions Endryk stopped so that he could show them some edible berries and roots. His dripping audience’s attention was polite but unenthusiastic. He patted the saddlebags. ‘Wait till you’re hungry,’ he said. ‘This lot won’t last for long. And we’ll have to catch some livestock soon.’ Thyrn gave his uncle a plaintive look as they moved off again.

Whenever they were in the open, Thyrn’s gaze would be drawn inexorably northwards, but all he could make out through the rain was the dull green of the marshes fading into greyness.

Towards evening, the rain stopped and they finished the final part of their day’s journey in the light of a low, warm and yellow sun which cut long shadows through the steam rising from them. They camped amongst trees again, though this time in the shelter of an overhanging rock face. After tending the horses and lighting a fire to dry themselves, they dined on a mixture of their own supplies and some of the roots and berries that Endryk had picked.

‘A good day,’ Endryk said, nudging the fire with his boot. ‘We’ve done well.’

‘That’s a relief,’ Hyrald said. ‘I wouldn’t have liked it to be a poor one. At least I can be exhausted with a clear conscience now. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I sat down.’

Endryk looked a little guilty. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I forgot you’re not used to travelling like this. I should’ve been more careful with you.’

‘We’ll live,’ Rhavvan said, without conviction, his head slumping forward.

Endryk looked even guiltier. ‘Before you get too settled, I need to show you how to lay some traps.’

The idea was greeted by a subdued chorus. ‘What?’

‘Traps – if you want to eat.’

It was dark when they returned from this reluctant exercise, but Nordath and Thyrn had kept the fire high and cheerful and this, added to their exhaustion, precluded any reproach to their guide.

‘I’ll do the first guard shift,’ Thyrn said, by way of greeting.

‘And I the second,’ Endryk added quickly, while judiciously quietening the blazing fire.

Hyrald raised his hands in surrender.

There was little conversation after this and, as on the previous night, the topic of their ultimate destination was avoided.

Thyrn found his duty shift alarming, but gave a manful acknowledgement to Endryk when he was relieved. Wriggling gratefully into his tent he fell asleep immediately. Then, after what felt like only moments, he was awake again. Someone had a hand over his mouth.