They were in a rock shelter, a shallow cave. Beneath Orfantal, as he was set down, was dry, powdery sand, and he settled into it. Gripp moved away and came back with a rough woollen blanket. It was not the one Orfantal’s grandmother had given him and it wasn’t Gripp’s own, which he remembered for its smell of the sage leaves which Gripp kept in a long cloth bag and folded into the bedroll when rolling it up every morning. This blanket stank of sweat and something else, pungent and musty. Once Gripp had wrapped Orfantal in its rough weave he began rubbing hard at the boy’s limbs, beginning with his feet and working his way up to his thighs; and then repeating the same rapid motions along Orfantal’s arms.

The effort brought warmth along with prickling irritation, and after a moment Orfantal pushed the hands away and curled up in the blanket.

‘Shivering again. That’s good, Orfantal. I was damned lucky to find you in time. I know you want to sleep but sleep’s not good right now. Wait a bit, wait till you feel good and warm.’

‘Where are the others? Did you fight them off?’

‘No, we didn’t fight them off. Though Haral gave a good account of himself. Migil and Thennis tried running off but got cut down from behind – fools. When you see it’s hopeless that’s when you stand. Breaking just sees you dead quicker and there’s nothing more shameful than a death-wound to the back.’ He paused and then grunted. ‘Unless you’re surrounded, of course. Then getting stabbed in the back is usually the way and there’s no shame in that.’

‘Heroes always get stabbed in the back,’ said Orfantal.

‘Not just heroes, Orfantal.’ Gripp had eased himself down into a sitting position, tenderly settling against the stone wall. ‘You know how to sew?’

The question confused him. After a moment he said, ‘I have seen the maids doing it.’

‘Good. Come light you’ve got some sewing to do.’

‘Are we going to make me some more clothes?’

‘No. Now listen, this is important. I need to sleep, too, and it might be that I don’t wake up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I don’t know how bad off I am. I think the flow’s eased but there’s no telling what that means. We’ll see. But if I don’t wake up, you’ve got to follow the road, east – the way we were going – but listen, stay off it, stay under cover. Just move alongside of the road, you understand? And if you hear riders, hide. Keep going until you’re out of the hills and then go to the nearest farm you see. Don’t try to explain anything or even tell them your bloodline – they won’t believe you. Just see if you can get a way into Kharkanas, even if it takes a week before a wagon of produce heads in. Once there, head straight for the Citadel.’