They practised through the full day, taking breaks in which they discussed various techniques and moves. It was during one of these rests that a thought occurred to Orman while he sipped water from a ladle. He looked to the Reddin brothers. ‘You two marched north with Longarm’s Fifty,’ he said. ‘When you were here, in the Blood range, did you … you know …’ He motioned to Sayer Hall.

The brothers shook their heads. Keth studied the edge of one of his hatchets, sheathed it at his back. ‘The Bains,’ he answered, low.

‘The Bains,’ Orman repeated. ‘Did you face, you know, that one – Lotji?’

‘We didn’t,’ Kasson said. ‘But we saw him fight.’

‘And?’

The brothers exchanged a look, said nothing.

Old Bear loudly cleared his throat. ‘Lad,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing to learn how to fight. Any fool can do that. But it’s a damned ugly business, risking death and hurting people. Few really enjoy it. But that one does. To him, it’s a game. As in the old days, when the fighting was constant between the clans. Now there’s too few of them.’ The old fellow pulled his fingers through his scraggly beard. ‘He misses those days, I suppose,’ he mused. Rousing himself, he slapped his hands to his thighs and stood. ‘Now, more spear work, I think. Try to keep us at a distance, hey?’

Orman groaned inwardly, but he understood what they were doing. He was carrying Boarstooth: he would be the mark of anyone they met.

In the evening they ate a meal of freshly baked bread, a steaming soup of boiled vegetables and barley, baked pheasant, apples, and weak beer. Old Bear was in a great humour. He entertained them all with the story of Ruckar Myrni and the slaying of the ice-drake in the heights of the Salt range, and all the frozen maidens he found greatly in need of warming. ‘You can be sure,’ he finished, ‘that Ruckar thawed the heart of each of them!’

Noise at the entrance brought their attention round. Vala was there with Jass. She pushed him in and followed behind. The lad’s light brown hair was slicked back, and he wore a belted shirt of mail that was far too long for him and a large knife at his hip, its ivory handle wound with silver wire. They climbed the platform at the end of the hall, where Vala sat in the centre chair while he stepped forward to stand before her.

He shot one uncertain glance back to her, and she nodded for him to continue. He faced them once more. ‘Greetings,’ he began, and cleared his throat. His voice was still a touch high. ‘I am Jass Sayer. In the name of our clan I welcome you to our hearth and hall. I understand that there are those among you who would pledge your spear and arm to guard our Holding. Would these men stand forth?’