A figure emerged, tall and lanky, and loped down from among the trunks. Orman had the impression of the relaxed bounding of a wolf. The fellow closed on them, his grin exposing prominent teeth in a long jaw. Kinked brown hair blew about his head. He wore leathers that had seen hard use, and tall moccasins climbed to his knees. A longsword and two fighting dirks hung at his waist.

He and Old Bear embraced. ‘What about that lesson then?’ Old Bear rumbled.

‘Your heart would burst, I fear.’

‘What brings you to Sayer lands?’

The fellow glanced to Orman, or, more precisely, to the weapon in his grip. ‘News.’

Old Bear followed the man’s glance, then gestured to where one of the Reddin brothers was closing. ‘Kasson,’ he said, then of the other: ‘Keth.’ So, it’s Keth in the sheepskin leggings, Orman told himself. Old Bear gestured to him: ‘Orman Bregin’s son. And the last one is named Gerrun.’

‘He must be the one trying to get behind me,’ the young man said, grinning all the more.

Old Bear let out a long-suffering sigh, waved to the trees. ‘Get in here, Gerrun!’

The newcomer glanced again to Boarstooth. ‘So it is true.’

‘Yes.’ Old Bear cleared his throat. ‘Fellows, this is Lotji Bain. He is nephew to Jorgan Bain.’

Orman started, and tensed his grip upon Boarstooth’s haft.

‘I knew your father,’ Lotji told him.

‘You did?’

‘Yes. He visited Bain Hold.’ He pointed to the spear. ‘I see that the whispers are true. Boarstooth – as you call it – has returned to the Holdings.’

‘You cannot challenge upon Sayer lands,’ Old Bear rumbled in warning.

Lotji gave an easy laugh. ‘No.’ He waved Orman to him. ‘However, if you wish to step on to Bain lands I would gladly meet you.’

‘That is not our mission,’ Old Bear quickly cut in.

Orman was relieved. For his part, he had no intention of accepting a challenge from anyone. Not to mention that he’d had no time to practise with the weapon.

Lotji laughed again. It was an easy laugh, but Orman detected a strong grating of iron beneath. ‘As you wish.’ He backed away. ‘We will see one another again, I am sure, Orman Bregin’s son.’ He raised a hand in farewell. ‘Until then.’

They watched him go. As he entered the denser growth another figure stood from cover to one side. Gerrun. Old Bear turned to Orman. He was pulling thoughtfully on his thick tangled beard. ‘Well, Orman,’ he said, low and rumbling. ‘What do you think of that?’

‘I think I need to practise.’

The old man threw his head back and roared with laughter. The echoes boomed out across the valley. He slapped Orman on the back and started off once more. ‘I think we can help you with that, my lad. I truly do.’