‘And who did this to him?’

The lad’s jaws writhed with suppressed emotions. ‘I did,’ he finally ground out, his voice ragged.

‘And why?’ Fisher asked softly.

‘Because he asked that I do so – to seal the invocation.’

Fisher was nodding. ‘I see. That must have been a … difficult … thing to do.’

With his one good eye, Orman was studying Fisher. ‘You give the name Fisher – not the Fisher, the bard?’

‘Yes.’

The Sayer was obviously quite impressed: he took a deep breath. ‘My father spoke of you. We are honoured.’

Fisher inclined his head in recognition of the compliment. ‘Any others? The Heels? No Bains survived?’

Orman shook his head, saying in a bitter tone: ‘The Bains are gone.’

‘Then we must decide upon our course of action.’

The Sayer glanced back to exchange a look with his two fellows. ‘How so? It is over. We can reclaim our Holdings.’

‘The Holdings are beneath rods of ice. But more to the point, we are pursued.’

‘Pursued? The outlanders?

‘That would be a simple matter. No, I speak of another enemy.’

The lad started in recognition. He exhaled a steaming breath in wonder. ‘The old enemy?’

Fisher nodded. ‘Aye. Our Army of Dust and Bone – the T’lan Imass.’

‘I know them only as the Undying Army.’

‘Close enough.’

‘But,’ Orman gestured back to the corpse of Buri, ‘the invocation was completed – this was his purpose …’

Fisher advanced until he could press a hand to the lad’s shoulder. ‘I know. And it has been successful. But some it seems are resisting enough to advance. Or a Bonecaster, one of their shamans, has come. In any case, we must flee.’

The Sayer lad appeared almost shattered by the suspicion that he had done what he did for nothing. Kyle could not help but step up as well, saying, ‘It is working – few are coming. We will escape, I’m sure.’

‘Someone is coming now,’ Jethiss announced, staring south. Kyle spun, his hand going to the grip of the white blade tucked in his belt.

Two tall figures emerged from the blowing snow, a young man and woman. Everyone drew weapons. Kyle took a few hesitant steps; he knew the one with the great bunch of wild curly hair. He raised his hand. ‘It is the Heels.’ He ran down to meet them. ‘Baran, welcome!’ He took his hand. The lad smiled behind the rime hardened round his beard. ‘Cull or Yullveig?’

The smile faded and Baran shook his head. He turned, pointing, ‘We aren’t alone.’

Kyle squinted into the gusts. Thin figures approached. Their tattered leathers and cloaks snapped and lashed in the wind and he shivered – for a moment he thought them Imass. They closed, and to his astonishment he recognized them … Shimmer, Blues and K’azz of the Crimson Guard. And with them a fourth person, a young girl, of obvious Iceblood heritage.