‘Those’re just stories, Fish. Tales we bloods tell when the fires die down and the Greathall darkens. There ain’t none of them Forkrul left – if there ever was.’

Fisher yanked his arm free. ‘No.’ He glanced away to the plume of clouds the highest peaks flew like banners. ‘I have been there, Coots. I’ve seen the caves. We can’t risk it.’ An old line came to him and he recited:

Abiding they wait in caverns of stone

Ruthless in innocence,

Children of Earth,

Bearers of justice

Sharper than swords.

Coots shot a glance to his brother, who stood cradling his jaw. He pinched his gold earring, rubbed it thoughtfully. ‘Well,’ he grudgingly allowed, ‘they won’t get through our cousins, will they?’

‘There’s a damned lot of them.’ Fisher waved Coots onward.

That dusk they were ready to stop for the night when the glow of flames shone through the forest far higher up the slope, while white smoke climbed into the purpling sky.

Fisher looked to Badlands. ‘Same ones, you think?’

‘Or others. Makes no difference.’

‘We should take a look.’

Badlands shrugged. ‘They’re lowlanders.’

‘We’ll go,’ Coots said from where he’d been working on starting a fire. He straightened, brushed his hands, and headed off.

Jethiss came to stand close to Fisher. He murmured, low, ‘What if …’

Fisher nodded curtly. ‘Yes, I know. I know … But I must know.’

They followed the brothers into the deep shadows of the forest. Coots and Badlands were, of course, master woodsmen and moved in utter silence from cover to cover. Fisher had once possessed the talent, but too long from the wilds had dulled his skills. Jethiss, however, was in no way hampered by the dark and he showed Fisher the way.

They came to the scene of a siege. Flames pillared into the dark behind a tall palisade of logs topped by a barrier of hung antlers. Archers lined the walls. They fired down upon a gang of raiders who jeered and answered the fire from the dark.

The sight of the antlers jogged a memory within Fisher and he recalled the name of a small settlement far to the east: the Keep of the Antlers.

From within the palisade came the scream of a woman – a terrified hopeless shriek of someone burning alive. Fisher bolted upright. Gods, women and children burning?

Yells of surprise tore from the night, followed by the ringing of iron. A man howled, wounded. Cursing, Fisher lunged forward, Jethiss with him. He drew as he ran. Jethiss, far surer of his way, outstripped him, and he followed. A bolt or arrow cut the air near him; he could not tell from which direction it came.

Four shapes charged Jethiss from the dark. The Andii met them at a full run; he ducked, spun, kicked one man down, took the top of the last’s head off in a wide swing. Fisher arrived to find all four dead or crippled. He eyed the Andii, amazed. ‘That was—’