They advanced warily. Lyan hovered close to Dorrin, sword out. Kyle scanned the hillsides. In time, he spotted the source: a long patch of flattened and disturbed grass stretching between hills. They passed outliers of the attack: a burst wooden chest, spilled trampled clothes. A child’s rag doll. The smouldering remains of a two-wheeled ox cart. Staked out amid the wreckage lay bodies, and seeing this, Lyan steered Dorrin aside. Kyle approached.

They had been left alive but had had their skin flayed from their bodies. Eyes gouged out, hands hacked off. Incredibly, two still breathed. Kyle crouched next to one: a thing that might have once been an old man. ‘Can you hear me, oldster?’

The head moved as if its owner were searching for the source of the voice. Kyle allowed a few drops of water to fall on to the man’s split and mangled lips. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Alana?’ the oldster whispered hoarsely. ‘Little Gerrol? Reena?’

Kyle had seen no remains of women or children. He did not wonder as to their fate: the clans here were similar enough to his own. Children adopted into the clan; women of childbearing years taken to replenish their numbers.

‘Taken,’ he said.

The man’s head fell back. He moaned long and low – a sort of keening.

‘Old man …’ The fellow did not answer. He now seemed oblivious, lost in his pain. Kyle glanced to the surrounding hillsides: had the clans left scouts? Had they eyes on the remains?

‘Old man!’ The head shifted once more, blindly searching. ‘Why are you here? Why are you trespassing?’

‘For the gold. We came north. Trains of travellers. Heading north … for the gold …’

Kyle straightened. The fools. As if the various clans of the Silent People would allow them to cross their lands. He jogged to where Lyan waited, her hands on Dorrin’s shoulders.

‘Trains of wagons travelling north,’ he explained. ‘It’s a rush to collect this gold of yours.’

She squinted to the south, appalled. ‘The clans are slaughtering them all.’

‘Yes.’ He examined Dorrin, who peered up at him, quite direct in his gaze. ‘You have a weapon?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know how to use it?’

‘The Shieldmaiden is training me.’

He raised his gaze. Well, it seems he was not the only one with secrets. One of the legendary shieldmaidens of north Genabackis. Her lips remained tight and her eyes wary as her thick auburn hair blew about her. ‘Well, lad, here’s another one.’ He handed over one of his extra hatchets. To Lyan he said: ‘We’d best get going.’

She gave a curt nod of agreement.

Two days later the wind again brought hints of smoke. Lyan had the lad kneel in the grass and keep watch as she and Kyle advanced up a hillside. From this rise they could see another hilltop, this one fortified and occupied. Kyle counted more than thirty swords.

‘We should go round,’ he said.