Sighing, Rime Coldspray unfastened her armor and dropped it. Then she seated herself, resting against the warmed stone. Cabledarm and Halewhole Bluntfist followed her example: the other Swordmainnir did not. Apparently they intended to remain on guard. Scowling with disgust, Latebirth and Stonemage rubbed dirt from their legs. Cirrus Kindwind drew her sword and left the hollow to watch the length of the breach. Stormpast Galesend continued to hold Jeremiah as if she did not want to disturb him. But Grueburn stayed close to Linden. Perhaps the Swordmain intended to intervene if the Feroce returned.

Linden wanted to question Mahrtiir. He or no one would be able to explain the Ranyhyn. But before she could frame her first query, a distant whinny pierced the wind.

It sounded like Hynyn’s voice.

It sounded angry.

Another neigh carried into the breach, coming closer. Kindwind looked quickly in both directions; answered her companions by shaking her head. Nevertheless Mahrtiir left the warmth of the hollow to stand beside the maimed Giant.

Linden held her breath until she felt the faint thud of hooves through the hard ground. Then she relaxed slightly. One of the horses was coming closer. More than one had returned.

A moment later, the Manethrall faced the south. Kindwind nodded in that direction. To show her respect, she sheathed her blade. Through the wind, Linden heard hooves more clearly. At last, she saw Hynyn’s proud head past the rim of the shelter; saw the glare of ire in the stallion’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Mahrtiir prostrated himself. But Hynyn did not regard the Manethrall. The stallion was too angry—or, Linden thought suddenly, too ashamed. Instead Hynyn fixed his attention on Stave. Dim in the night, the star on his forehead nonetheless resembled a demand.

Stave appeared to understand. Perhaps he simply trusted Hynyn. Or perhaps he had formed a desire in his mind, confident that the stallion would heed him. He had done something similar when he, Linden, and their companions had ridden through a caesure to Revelstone. Saying nothing, he strode at once to Hynyn’s side; vaulted onto the horse’s back.

Still ignoring Mahrtiir, Hynyn wheeled in the breach and trotted away.

While Linden and the Giants watched, the Manethrall rose to his feet. His bandage did not conceal the fact that his own wrath was unappeased. Linden knew him well enough, however, to feel sure that he was not angry at Hynyn. Rather he seemed to share the stallion’s vexed pride.

“Manethrall of the Ramen,” Coldspray asked quietly, “do you comprehend what has transpired here?”

Mahrtiir’s hands curled and tightened as if they ached for his garrote. Through his teeth, he muttered, “Hynyn offers amends. By the deeds of the Ranyhyn were we brought into peril. But of those who suffered tangible harm, only Stave rides. Therefore only Stave is suited to receive their first contrition.” Bitterly the Manethrall shrugged. “More than that I have not been given to know.”