A soft step beside him roused Temar from his fruitless thoughts. It was Allin, her sombre brown dress stained with blood and water, a smear of unguent greasy on one sleeve. Her round face was sad, brown eyes vulnerable, and a quiver tugged at the corners of her downturned mouth.

“Am I needed?” asked Temar, bracing himself.

Allin shook her head, silent for a moment before answering. “No, Guinalle and Usara are sitting with Naldeth.” She managed a wry smile. “They’re debating theories of magic so I thought I’d get some fresh air.”

“Theories of magic?” Temar was confused.

The mage-girl nodded. “Usara recalls some ages-old treatise arguing elemental affinity is an extension of the five physical senses into the unseen realms of nature. They’re trying to decide if there are any correspondences between this theory and this doctrine of the five wits that Guinalle says underpins Artifice. He’s always had this notion that there must be fundamental balances underpinning everything.” She sounded sceptical.

“Guinalle needs to rest, not boil her brain with puzzles,” said Temar, exasperated.

Allin’s short laugh surprised him. “Actually, I think they both find a little intellectual debate welcome distraction from the bloody reality we’ve been dealing with.”

Then they were welcome to it, Temar thought. “How is Naldeth?”

Allin drew an abrupt breath and squared her shoulders. “Insensible but the bleeding has stopped.”

“He owes you his life.” Temar sought to comfort her.

“For the moment.” Allin’s mouth pressed into an unhappy line, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s all rags and gobbets of skin and flesh that will turn to green rot given half a chance and that’ll have him dead inside a couple of days. We have to take the rest of his leg off, mid thigh somewhere and find enough skin to cover the stump.” She was struggling not to weep. “But he’s lost so much blood already, I don’t know he’ll be able to stand it. But, if we delay, we risk the wound festering.”

Not knowing what to say for the best, Temar just gathered her to him, holding her close, silky hair smooth against his cheek.

“If only we could get him to Hadrumal,” Allin sobbed. “But Guinalle says the enchanters will be watching and we’d all be at risk, Naldeth most of all. What do I tell Planir if he dies?”

“Why should he blame you?” Temar fumbled awkwardly for his kerchief to wipe the tears from Allin’s face again. “I’m the one bears the guilt for defying Muredarch.”

Allin gazed up at him, reddened eyes wide. “You couldn’t give in to him!”

“Thank you for that.” Temar kissed her forehead absently. “I only hope a few others agree with you.” Allin’s arms tightened around his waist in mute support, warming him.

“I’m not playing this game again.” Halice’s arrival took them both by surprise. Allin would have moved away but Temar resisted and she stayed in his embrace.

“Muredarch may think he’s got all the runes in his hand but I aim to spoil his fun.” Halice was looking as dangerous as Temar had ever seen her. “He can’t torture us by killing prisoners if we take them off him.”

“You can’t attack while we’re still waiting for Ryshad and Livak to kill Ilkehan.” Temar just about managed to keep his words a statement rather than a question.

“I’m talking a raid, on that cursed stockade of theirs.” Halice’s face was hard and cunning. “We loose the prisoners and take them into the forest. That’ll give Muredarch and his cursed enchanters something new to worry about while we wait for ’Gren to have his fun.”

Temar realised he’d never quite appreciated just what qualities had raised Halice to such pre-eminence among the mercenaries of Lescar.

These people have some bizarre ideas about what’s edible,” I murmured to Sorgrad. The time of day suggested this was breakfast but we were served much the same food at every meal. “Didn’t we see a lot of this last night?” Olret might consider himself master of all he surveyed but my mother, mere housekeeper to a prosperous merchant, would have scorned serving up the previous night’s leavings.

“Pickled moss?” Sorgrad innocently offered me a bowl of soused green lumps.

“Thank you, no.” I reached for some tiny sweet berries, topping them with something halfway between thick cream and underpressed cheese that, remarkably enough, didn’t taste of goat. “Oh, you’re not going to eat that!”

’Gren was contemplating a plate of glaucous grey lumps that I’d thought looked unappetising even before I realised that’s where the smell halfway between rancid milk and a plague house privy pit was coming from.

He raised a golden eyebrow at me. “Why not?”

“Suit yourself.” I picked up my spoon. “I’m not sitting near you if you do.”

“All right.” He gave up his teasing and pulled a leg from a vaguely goose-shaped bird. I’d tried some of that the previous evening and would have sworn I’d been eating fish, if I hadn’t carved it for myself.

“Where’s Ryshad?” Shiv cut into a slab of meat too dark and substantial to be a goat so I guessed it must be some seabeast flesh. Perhaps meals would be easier if I just stopped trying to work out what was what.

“Just coming.” I nodded towards the door as I took some bread. There was plenty of that and if the grain and texture were unfamiliar, it did at least taste recognisable.

Ryshad brushed his hand across my shoulder as he passed behind me and pulled up a stool. “This is all very informal.”

“Compared to last night,” Sorgrad agreed, looking the length of the long table at people we’d yet to be introduced to, gathering in small groups, chatting as they helped themselves from the array of bowls and platters.

“What were all those stories about?” asked Ryshad. We’d sat through an interminable if well-presented banquet, all of us seated as Olret’s guests of honour, and the evening had rounded off with endless recitations resounding with the heavy rhythms of ancient Mountain sagas. With upwards of a hundred of Olret’s people packed into the hall and all rapt attention, Sorgrad hadn’t liked to translate.

“Wraiths and wyrms, the usual stuff,” ’Gren answered, mouth full.

“One warned of travellers who turned out to come from behind the sunset.” Sorgrad chewed and swallowed. “It reminded me of a Gidestan tale about the Eldritch Kin, though that’s not what they called them.”

“Pass the water, please.” Shiv looked thoughtful. “Geris reckoned myths of the Eldritch Kin were half-remembered tales of the Plains People.”

I took some of the wonderfully clean-tasting water for myself after pouring a horn cupful for Shiv. “What do we make of that?”

“Another curiosity for the scholars of Vanam?” Ryshad hazarded.

“There were a good few tales of life among the Elietimm here.” I looked to Sorgrad for confirmation.

“Which bear out what Olret was saying about no overlords,” he nodded. “And it seems the lowest born can end up ruling a clan hereabouts if he can convince enough people to back him.”

“If he’s got the stones for it.” ’Gren was unimpressed. “Half those tales were about someone with a bit of gumption coming to a bad end. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Bad and bold got exiled or worse while meek and mild got enough to eat and saw his grandchildren thrive,” I said to Ryshad.

He considered this. “So while anyone could rise to rule in theory, in practice, the strong hand their power to their sons?”

“Sort of.” I frowned. My knowledge of the Mountain tongue had been found wanting a good few times. “I wasn’t quite clear on the daughters, Sorgrad.” According to Mountain custom, the wealth of their mines and forests was always passed down the female line, which did make sense when you wanted to keep such resources within the family. There will always be women to vouch for a child being born to a particular mother but independent witnesses to a conception are never going to be easy to come by.