Kyle pushed forward and knelt in the mud before the youth, looked him up and down. He almost said, sorry about the leg, but caught himself in time: Whiteblade had been there, after all. So he asked, ‘What happened to your leg?’

Dorrin looked confused for a moment, but recovered quickly. ‘Oh. I, ah, lost it. Sickness in the bone.’

‘I’m sorry, lad.’

The boy shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I can still get around.’

‘So you can. And well, too. I assume Lyan’s here?’

‘Oh, yes! She would so much want to see you!’

‘I’m glad. Should I wait with you?’

Dorrin peered up to one guard. ‘Can he stay with me, Turath?’

This fellow, an older Genabackan, probably a veteran from the look of him, possibly of the Pannion wars, scratched his greying beard while glaring his ill-disguised suspicions of Kyle. After a moment of consideration – Dorrin had just handed him a very troubling poser of a problem – he reached a decision: ‘The Shieldmaiden should be informed, little sir.’

‘Oh! Of course,’ Dorrin answered.

Turath jerked his chin to his fellow and the guard jogged off. Then the veteran settled his scarred hand on the grip of his shortsword and planted his feet wide right next to Dorrin. ‘We’ll wait just here,’ he said. A lazy smile of anticipation quirked his lips.

Kyle ignored him and studied the lad. He did appear to be in good health; he was smiling, his eyes were bright, and he looked well fed. ‘Are there any others here your age?’ he asked. ‘To talk to?’

Dorrin shook his head regretfully. ‘No. No one.’

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard to be all alone.’

He brightened again. ‘But we aren’t any more! You’re here!’

Kyle just chuckled and squeezed his shoulder, rising. He found himself looking into the veteran’s troubled gaze; the man was frowning while he scratched his beard once more, as if chasing after a thought.

Kyle looked away. After a time of silent waiting, he saw the guard scowl his displeasure and he glanced over to find the second man jogging up. Obviously, Turath was disappointed not to see him accompanied by ten more troopers.

He nodded to Turath. ‘She says he can wait in their quarters.’

Turath grunted a non-committal sound.

Dorrin raised his trimmed tree-branch crutch. ‘This way, ah, Kyle.’

Lyan had one of the remaining houses – only a small one-room cabin, but a structure all the same. The front of the cabin was a general meeting room/living quarters, while hung blankets separated sleeping quarters for her and for Dorrin. The guards waited outside at the door. Dorrin clumped to a chair and sat; Kyle spotted a tall earthenware jug of water and poured himself a drink. ‘Some water?’ he asked Dorrin, who shook his head.

‘She will be awfully pleased to see you,’ the boy said.