As the shadows began to lengthen and the sun dropped inexorably towards the horizon, he came to a decision. It would be logical for him to make a quick patrol of the area before dark. Such a move shouldn't rouse the Genovesan's suspicions, if he were still there.

Accordingly, Horace donned his mail shirt and helmet, buckled on his sword and picked up his shield and set out from the camp. He started towards a point on the ridge some two hundred metres to the left of the Genovesan's last position. From there, he would patrol in an arc along the ridge, checking the land to the south.

He felt a little more secure now that he had the shield on his left arm. It would stop a crossbow bolt easily and he had confidence in his own reactions. If the Genovesan were still in position, and if he rose to shoot, Horace would have ample time to take the bolt on his shield. And then, with the crossbow unloaded, he might just get within sword's length of the treacherous assassin. He'd quite enjoy that.

He trudged up to the ridge line, made a show of scanning the ground out to his left, then turned right and began to work his way along the ridge. He reached the spot where he had seen movement and looked carefully around. The grass had been depressed by the shape of something, or someone, lying there for an extended period. It was an ideal observation point. The ridge here was a little higher and gave a wider view of the land before it. He glanced back at the camp, seeing the smudge of smoke from the fire, blowing sideways and lying low to the ground in the freshening evening breeze, and the still form, wrapped in blankets, sleeping beside it.

On an impulse, he strode down the far side of the ridge and scanned left and right. It only took a few minutes to find what he had been looking for. There was a pile of fresh horse dung in the grass, and evidence of where a picket stake had been driven into the ground, then removed. The Genovesan had tethered his horse here – back from the ridge and hidden from the camp site, but close enough if he needed to make a hurried escape.

'He was here all right,' he said. 'And now he's gone. Question is, will he come back? And if so, when?'

He trudged back to the camp, turning the problem over in his mind. As darkness fell, he prepared a meal. He shook Halt gently and was surprised and relieved when the Ranger's eyes opened almost immediately.

'Dinner,' Horace told him.

Halt gave a small snort. 'About time. Service around here is very slow.'

But he accepted the plate of food eagerly and ate quickly. After he had satisfied his immediate hunger, he held up a piece of the damper that Horace had cooked in the coals.

'Did you make this?' he asked.

Horace, with some pleasure in his new skill, assured him that he had. It didn't take long for Halt to burst his bubble.

'What is it?' he asked.

Horace eyed him for a long second. 'I think I preferred you when you were sick.'

Later, when Halt was sleeping again, Horace banked the fire, then slowly withdrew from the uneven, flickering circle of light that it threw. There was a fallen tree some fifteen metres away and he sat with his back against it, a blanket wrapped round his shoulders and his drawn sword resting ready across his knees. He spent a sleepless night, watching for an enemy who never appeared.

In the morning the Genovesan was back. Thirty-four The two horsemen, leading a third, larger horse behind them, appeared over the horizon from the north.

Horace felt an overwhelming sense of relief as they drew closer and he could make them out more clearly. There was little likelihood that any other two horsemen might be approaching, of course, but the whole time he had been alone, he had worried over the possibility that Will had arrived at Healer's Clearing to find that Malcolm had been called away to another part of the fief, or was incapacitated in some way. Or had simply refused to come.

'I should have known better,' he told himself, as he began to walk out from the camp site to greet them. They saw him coming and lifted the horses from a slow trot to a canter. The horses, like their riders, looked travel-stained and weary. But Tug still had the energy to raise his head and send a nicker of greeting to Horace. It was as if he were reminding Kicker of his duties as the big battlehorse looked up at the sound, recognised his master and whinnied briefly.

They slowed as they came level with him and he held up his hand in greeting, engulfing the bird-like healer's thin hand in his own as he gripped it.

'It's good to see you,' he said. 'Thanks for coming, Malcolm.'

Malcolm reclaimed his hand, wincing slightly at the pressure of Horace's grip.

'How could I refuse? Do you always try to crush your friends' hands in that massive paw of yours?'

'Sorry. Just relief at seeing you, I suppose.' Horace grinned.

'How's Halt?' Will asked anxiously. It was the question that had been plaguing him the whole time he had been away. Horace's easy manner was reassuring. Will knew he wouldn't be so cheerful if Halt had deteriorated further. But he needed to hear it said.

'As a matter of fact, I think he's improving,' Horace told them. He saw Will's shoulders lift in relief. But he was puzzled by Malcolm's reaction. The healer frowned slightly.

'Improving?' he asked quickly. 'In what way?'

'Well, two days ago he was rambling and raving. Had no idea where he was, what was happening. He thought it was some time twenty years ago. And he thought I was someone else as well.'

Malcolm nodded. 'I see. And what makes you think he's getting better?'

Horace made a vague gesture with his hands. 'Well, yesterday, he came out of it. He woke up and was totally aware of where he was, what had happened and who I was.' He grinned at Will. 'He was annoyed at you for going to fetch a healer. Said you should have kept on after Tennyson and left him.'

Will snorted. 'I'm sure that's just what he'd do if I were poisoned.'

Horace grinned. 'I said much the same thing to him. He wiffled and waffled a bit but he admitted I was right. Then he complained about my cooking.'

'Sounds as if he is on the mend,' Will agreed. They had reached the camp site and Malcolm dismounted from Abelard. He wasn't a skilled rider and he accomplished the feat by swinging one foot over the pommel and sliding down on the wrong side. Horace caught him as he stumbled, his stiff legs giving way under him.

'Thanks,' said the healer. 'I'd better take a look at him straight away. Has he been asleep long?'

Horace thought before he answered. 'A couple of hours. He woke this morning. Then went back to sleep. Then he woke again around noon. He's sleeping much more peacefully,' he added. He wondered why there was a vague expression of concern on Malcolm's face. Maybe he was annoyed that he'd travelled so far and so fast only to find he wasn't needed after all, he thought. He dismissed the matter and turned to Will.

'Why don't you take a break?' he said. 'I'll look after the horses.'

But Will had been trained in a strict school. He always felt vaguely delinquent if he allowed someone else to look after his horse.

'I'll do Tug,' he said. 'You can do the others.'

They led the horses a little way from the fireplace and gave them water from the bucket Horace had refilled only a short while ago. Then they unsaddled the horses and began to rub them down. Kicker seemed inordinately pleased to see his master. In fact, he had had the easiest time of all three horses on the journey. Malcolm had looked at him in horror when he first saw him.

'You expect me to ride on that?' he had asked. 'He's the size of a house!'

Consequently, he had spent most of the journey on Abelard's back. The sturdy little horse barely noticed his weight. Malcolm was small and thin, to the point of being scrawny.