He wanted to say something, so that she would look at him, meet his eyes, but it was clear, after a moment, that she had no desire to acknowledge him. I wasn’t very good. I did it all wrong. She is disappointed. Embarrassed by me. He carried his plate off a little distance to break his fast.

Raskan strode over, leading Besra. ‘This one today, Arathan.’

‘I understand.’

The sergeant frowned. And then shook his head. ‘I don’t think you do. Hellar is returned to your care. You have found your warhorse, a true destrier. But she needs to walk some on her own, to work out the violence that your touch might well incite all over again. She is to wonder – by your inattention – if she has failed you. Later this day you will go to her and take the saddle, and she will be relieved.

‘Speak to her then, Arathan, words of comfort and satisfaction. She will know their meaning by the breaths upon which those words reach her. To communicate with a horse, think of truth as a river – never fight the current. Ride it into the beast’s heart.’

Uncertain as to the sergeant’s meaning, Arathan nevertheless nodded.

Raskan handed him the reins. ‘Now, give me that empty plate – it is good to see that you are with appetite – and go to your father. He wishes to speak with you.’

He had known that this moment was coming. As he set out, pulling Besra after him, Raskan said, ‘Hold, Arathan …’ and he took the blanket from the boy’s shoulders. ‘I will tie this up.’ He half smiled. ‘You had the look of a peasant.’

A peasant. Yes. About to stand shamefaced before his lord.

‘Mount up,’ said his father when he reached him. ‘To begin this day, you ride at my side, Arathan.’

‘Yes sir.’

He felt weak pulling himself into the saddle, and as he settled his feet into the stirrups a clammy sweat broke out, and he realized that he was not wearing his armour or his helmet. ‘Sir, I am unarmoured—’

‘For now, yes. Rint has your gear. We shall take the lead on the trail. Come.’

The sensation was strange – to be riding at his father’s side – and he felt hopelessly awkward, displaying none of the ease that seemed so much a part of Draconus.

‘Sagander owes you his life,’ his father said.

‘Sir?’

‘Twice, in fact. Though stunned by his blow, you still had the wits to pull Hellar away. Your horse would have crushed the fool’s skull with a single stamp, shattering it like an urthen egg. That was well done. But it is the second time you saved his life of which I will speak.’

‘Sir, I misspoke—’

‘You wondered if you were my weakness, Arathan. There is no dishonour in that question. How could there be? The matter concerns your life, after all. Is it not your right to wonder at your place in the world? Furthermore, it was perceptive – and this encourages me.’