‘Only two,’ Reuth breathed and Tulan shot him an angry glare. Reuth realized, belatedly, that everyone had seen this but that only he had been foolish enough to say it aloud. It was as Tulan said: too long in the dusty halls bent over manuscripts and not enough time spent among sailors. Well, after this voyage, he would have spent more than enough time at sea.

That is, should they ever get home.

The two managed to ready the oars and steady the nose of the launch to point it out to the bay. Reuth glanced away to scan the beaches of rolled gravel for signs of pursuit, but saw none. Where were the attackers? Surely these two couldn’t have outrun them. Yet no followers betrayed themselves amid the ash-hued naked rock.

Then movement on the nearest hilltop caught his attention. Figures came walking out into the open to stand atop the domed rock. Tall and slim, wearing tanned hide jerkins and trousers. They carried long spears, or javelins. Long brownish hair blew unbound in the winds.

Crewmen spotted them and shouted, pointing.

Tulan just grunted and muttered something about ‘damned natives’.

The launch reached them. Lines were thrown, attached to it. The two climbed up a rope ladder. It was Storval and Galip. Both carried flesh wounds, cuts and slashes.

‘The others?’ Tulan demanded.

Storval just shook his head, still winded, breathing heavily. He dropped two fat skins of water to the deck.

‘This wouldn’t have happened if you’d had Kyle with you,’ Reuth told Storval.

The first mate turned on him, his face flushed, enraged, his hand going to the dirk at his side. Tulan slapped the man’s hand aside, grasped Reuth’s arm and dragged him off. ‘You’re supposed to be a smart lad,’ he hissed. ‘So think before you open your damned hole.’

Reuth peered past his uncle to the first mate. ‘Well … it’s true.’ And he walked away.

He leaned on his elbows over the side while Tulan bellowed to get the crew moving for departure. Sailors readied the running rigging. Arms crossed on the railing, he eyed the figures on the shore, who still had not moved. Seeing us off. The Barren Shore, he knew, was one name for this stretch of the northern coast. Fitting. Another name was the Plain of Ghosts.

He decided he did not want to discover whether or not that appellation was accurate.

Some charts he’d studied had included an inlet in the northern coast that led to rivers and a settlement. A fortress named Taken. But on this coast, on these lands of Assail, Reuth decided not to lead the ship to a fortress with the name of Taken. No, not in these lands. He hoped instead that they would find water before then; some unnamed stream or trickle – anything.