She gave him a sour face. ‘Rest. I’m not done.’ She walked off.

He eased back, then frowned; he smelled something disagreeable. He realized it was him: he smelled to the heights of stale sweat and urine – and worse. He must have had a touch of fever. Of course: Lyan’s taking care of me and I stink like a pig.

Yet he was too weak to get up to wash himself. For now. He shut his eyes. Great Wind he was hungry.

At dawn the next morning he decided to try to get up. With Lyan’s help, he managed. She’d fashioned a kind of crutch from one of the poles of the travois and with this he hobbled off into the tallest grasses to squat for his toilet. This took a great deal of time, and by time he’d managed to straighten he was sheathed in sweat from the effort of bending down. But he was standing. He hobbled back to camp.

That day he limped about, regathering his strength. In the afternoon Dorrin came running up, pointing to the south. ‘Look! Look what’s coming!’

Kyle squinted, shading his gaze. Up a slight valley between two gentle rises came one of the Silent People leading three horses. Kyle stared, amazed. Gods. Horses! Rare as pearls on this continent. Where’d they come from? What were the Silent People doing with them?

The one leading the horses was the old man from the challenge. He nodded to Kyle. ‘You are recovered.’

‘Getting better.’

‘Good.’ He gestured proudly back to the horses. ‘You can ride, can you?’

‘Yes.’ He looked to Dorrin. The lad nodded vigorous assent. ‘Yes we can.’

‘Good. We Silent People do not. These are yours, then.’

‘Ah, may I ask … how did these come into your possession?’

The old man was untroubled by the question. ‘Foreigners bring them from their houses that float. They land them and try to ride through our lands – but they still do not escape our blades.’

Kyle blew out a breath. ‘I see. Well … we thank you for the gifts. They will aid us greatly.’

‘Very good. Fare well, then. Remember us to the ancients. Prove your worth and bring honour to us all.’

Kyle inclined his head. ‘I will try. Fare well.’

The old man walked away. Lyan already had a hand on the neck of the biggest of the three, a broad roan. ‘That one’s mine,’ Kyle called.

‘No she ain’t. I’m heavier than you in my armour, so she’s mine.’

Kyle just shook his head. He wasn’t about to argue with her over that subject.

* * *

Aiken was out hunting birds when he saw the smoky ochre cloud to the south. A storm, but one unlike any he’d seen before. He shouldered his bow and ran for the village.