‘I understand. I will.’ And he felt for and found the tiny tin tube containing the missive Sukul had written for Hish Tulla, tucked into his belt pouch.

‘They made a mistake,’ Gripp continued, but now it seemed he was mostly talking to himself. ‘More than one, in fact. Me. You. I saw Silann, Esthala’s worthless husband. The fool never could command a unit in battle. But if he’s there then Esthala’s not far away, and she’s sharp enough. They’ll go back to the kill site, intent on tracking you from there and finishing things. But first they’ll look for my body and not find it and that will bother them more than you getting away.’ His head lifted and Orfantal sensed Gripp was looking at him once more. ‘We’re going to be quarry, you and me, as long as we’re in these hills.’

‘Hunted,’ said Orfantal.

‘Take your story to Lord Anomander, boy, no matter what.’

‘I will. Mother told me all about him.’

‘If they find our trail, I may have to lead them away from you. On my own, I mean.’

‘All right.’

He grunted. ‘You’re figuring it out. That’s fast, Orfantal. Good.’

‘Gripp, did you kill any of them?’

‘Two for sure and that pained me.’

‘Why?’

‘Wounded is better. I wounded two more and that was good. Haral tried for the same. Remember him, Orfantal. He saw you riding away. He knew he had to buy you time, and the more wounded the enemy had to deal with the better your chances. He took cuts to deliver cuts. Haral was a good man.’

Orfantal nodded. A good man. A hero. ‘Did you see him die, Gripp?’

‘No. I lost consciousness for a time – the crack I rolled into was deeper than I’d thought it would be. By the time I made my way back out the killers were gone.’

‘They set fire to the skins.’

‘Idiots, like I said. But I found Haral. They took it out on his body, if you catch my meaning.’

‘That’s a cowardly thing to do!’

‘No, just undisciplined. But I got their faces burned into my brain. I got them in here, Orfantal, and if I live, they’ll all regret what they did. Now, it’s time to sleep.’

Orfantal settled down, warm inside the blanket. But notions of sleep seemed far away now. Gripp’s story rocked and bounced through his thoughts. Warriors battling to the death, the air filled with desperation. And in the midst of it all, he saw this old man now sleeping beside him, and it seemed impossible to think of him as a warrior. He closed his eyes, and sudden as a flash, sleep took him.

* * *

Ribs was an old herding dog, at least twelve years old, with a grey muzzle, oversized ears that flicked and cocked with every quick turn of the narrow, fox-like head. The long fur was a dishevelled blend of grey and black, snarled with burrs and filthy. The beast’s eyes were vaguely crossed.