Kyle smiled his thanks, but already he was beginning to see the foolishness of coming here. There’d been survivors from the fight on the Dread Sea shore. And at any turn in the encampment he could stumble on another Stormguard, or a Korel veteran. It was plain now that they had to get out as soon as possible, preferably this night.

‘She said we were lucky,’ Dorrin said.

He blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘That day. When we parted. She said one of the ships was from the north, and they recognized her.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘But …’ and the lad lowered his voice, ‘you’re not very popular around here.’

He raised his brows. ‘I imagine not.’

He sat, and they waited. Dorrin was very quiet for a young lad, and still, and Kyle realized why: it was difficult for him to get around. He reflected on the few amputations he’d seen amid all the fighting he’d known – because the Crimson Guard and the Malazans had had enough trained cadre mages familiar with basic Denul magics. Not so in these wilds, obviously.

It was late and dark when he heard the guards shift to attention outside the door. Moments later, it opened and Lyan entered. She wore her mail armour and her sword at her hip, but now a thick cloak of black and grey wolf fur hung over one shoulder. She carried her helmet in one hand and set it on a table. Her auburn hair was neatly braided and she was far cleaner than the last time he’d seen her.

Her face, he noted, was carefully flat and composed. She nodded to him. ‘Kyle … good to see you again.’

‘Lyan.’

She turned to Dorrin. ‘It is late. You should lie down.’

‘But …’

‘Kyle and I have much to discuss.’

The youth picked at the bark of his tree-branch crutch. ‘But he just got here.’

‘Tomorrow, Dorrin.’

He heaved an aggrieved sigh, thumped the crutch to the dirt and eased himself from the chair. ‘Good night, then.’

‘Yes, Dorrin,’ Kyle said. ‘Good night.’

The lad’s straw cot was at the very back of the cabin. After the blankets fell between them, Lyan went to the door and opened it a hand’s breadth. ‘You’re dismissed,’ she said.

‘Not one guard?’ enquired Turath from beyond.

‘I don’t think there will be a sortie this night,’ she answered, quite dryly.

‘Very good, commander.’

She closed the door, bolted it, went to the table and poured two glasses of wine. She gave one to Kyle and motioned him to remain silent. The cabin possessed one window opening, next to the door, and she peeped out to make certain the guards had gone before closing the wooden shutters and pulling a muslin cloth across. She crossed to him and raised the glass.