During the wars, there had been few opportunities to look upon the Jheleck in their upright, sembled form. Even when a village was attacked, the fleeing non-combatants had quickly veered to aid their escape, and Rint recalled riding down many of them, pinning them to the earth with his lance and hearing their cries of pain amidst the snapping of their jaws. There had been much to admire and respect in the wolves they fought and killed. Individually, they were far more formidable than a Forulkan. Massed as armies, however, they had been next to useless. Jheleck were at their deadliest in small packs, such as the one that now drew to within a dozen paces of their camp.

Looking upon them now, however, Rint saw five savages, rank with filth and mostly naked under loose fur skins. The one bearing the antelope stepped closer and set the carcass down. Showing filthy teeth in a smile, he spoke in guttural Tiste. ‘Meat for your fire, Bordersword.’ Dark eyes shifted over to Ville. ‘We saw the flash of your blade and it amused us. But where is your memory? Our war is done, is it not?’ He waved a hand. ‘You cross Jheleck land and we permit it. We come to you as hosts, with food. But if you would rather fight, why, we will happily accept the challenge. Indeed, we even agree to stand against you on two legs, as you see us, to more even the odds.’

Rint said, ‘You offered us meat for our fire. Will you join us in the repast, Jhelarkan?’

The man laughed. ‘Just so. Peace and hostages, like jaws around the throat. We’ll not twitch, until it is time for the slave to turn on the master, and that time is not now.’ He looked back to his companions and they came forward. Eyes fixing on Rint once more, the savage said, ‘I am Rusk, blood kin to Sagral of the Derrog Clan.’

‘I am Rint, and with me are Feren, Ville and Galak.’

Rusk nodded at his sister. ‘We can use her tonight?’

‘No.’

‘Oh well,’ Rusk said, shrugging. ‘In truth, we did not expect you to share. Not the Tiste way. But if not her for the meat, then what gift will you offer us?’

‘Something in return, Rusk, at some other time. If that is not acceptable, then take back your gift and with it the word itself, for gift it is not.’

Rusk laughed. ‘Tell the Borderswords, then, of my generosity.’

‘I will. Galak, take care of the carcass. Rusk, Galak is skilled with the skinning knife. You will have a decent hide at least.’

‘And useful antlers and useful bones, yes. And full bellies. Good. Now, we sit.’

The other Jhelarkan lumbered up and sat in a rough half-circle facing the Borderswords. Except for Rusk, they were young, and seemed ignorant of the Tiste language. Their leader squatted, the grin never leaving his dirt-smeared face. With Feren forbidden him, he now ignored her, and Rint was glad.