The woman’s eyes closed for a moment and she nodded as if she’d already known. Her dark gaze shifted to Boarstooth. ‘You carry Svalthbrul,’ she murmured, her voice deep and rich. ‘As the Eithjar – our elder guardians – whispered.’

Orman simply nodded. ‘It comes to me from my father.’

She closed her eyes again. ‘I know.’ She raised an arm to the broad open doorway. ‘Enter, please. You are most welcome. Warm yourself at our poor hearth. Food and ale will be brought.’

Before they could enter, a great pack of shaggy tall hounds came bounding out to Old Bear. Standing on their hind legs they were nearly fully as tall as he. They barked happily and licked his face while he swatted them aside. They sniffed at Orman and the Reddin brothers and nuzzled their hands as if searching for treats.

Old Bear pushed on in. The interior proved to be one great long hall. The ceiling of log rafters stood some five man-heights above Orman’s head. Halfway up the hall’s length lay a broad circle of stones enclosing an immense hearth where a banked fire glowed. Smoke rose lazily to a hole in the roof far above. Beyond the hearth stood a long table flanked by wooden benches. Past the table, at the far end of the hall, rose a sort of platform, or dais, supporting three oversized chairs carved of wood: crude thrones of a sort, if that was the right word. Furs and hides lay draped everywhere, even underfoot. Tapestries featuring scenes of nature, trees, streams, the mountains themselves, hung on the walls.. Most were dark with soot and half-rotten. What looked like bedding, rolled blankets and more furs, lay bunched up next to the walls.

Old Bear eased himself down at the long table and began searching through the clutter of half-stripped bones and old bread, wooden bowls and drinking horns. He picked up a stoneware jug, peered inside, and grunted happily. He selected a drinking horn, dashed its contents to the floor, and filled it anew.

Orman and the rest watched from next to the hearth. Catching sight of them there, Old Bear impatiently waved them forward. ‘Come. Sit. Eat.’ He pointed to Gerrun and waved him from the hall. ‘Go see what needs doing, hey?’

Grinning, Shortshanks gave an elaborate courtly bow and wandered off. Old Bear chortled at the bow. Orman leaned Boars-tooth against a bench and sat. The Reddin brothers sat on opposite sides of the table, facing one another. ‘Where is everyone?’ Orman asked.

Old Bear was gnawing on a chicken leg. ‘Hm? Everyone? Well, now. That’s a good question. ‘Never were too many Sayers to begin with. Down to five now. You’ve seen two of them. Vala, and maybe you spotted her son, Jass. Buri is eldest, but we see him rarely. Always out patrolling the Holding, he is. That leaves Jaochim and Yrain. Master and mistress of the Hold.’ He swivelled his one eye about the hall. ‘Not in at present.’