For Finnigal the new day was a continuing nightmare of frustration and near boiling anger. It had begun reasonably, with many of the refugees leaving their homes at dawn and harnessing their wagons. The first argument broke out within minutes, when Finnigal saw several people loading large chests onto the back of a wagon. He strode over and told them that only people and food would be leaving that day, since there were insufficient carriages. The man, an elderly Rigante merchant, berated him soundly, and refused to unload them. Finnigal tried to reason with him, but finally ordered two soldiers to remove the chests and carry them back into the house. The merchant, white-faced with fury, then refused to leave Three Streams, saying that if all his money was taken he'd be better off dead anyway.

And this was just the beginning. Rows broke out, and another refugee, a large Pannone woman, struck one of his soldiers. Finnigal did his best to calm matters, but – as he was all too aware – his nature was similar to that of his father, Fiallach, and anger was never far from the surface. Yet he struggled on, trying to do his duty, forcing himself to stay calm. After more than two hours, as the first of the wagons finally began the journey to the west, Finnigal's head was pounding. Then the rain came in a slashing torrent that turned the hillside to mud, and many of the heavier wagons became bogged down. People clambered from the wagons, slithering and sliding, slowly pushing them up the hill.

Finnigal, his mailshirt and clothing drenched, rain seeping under the iron neck guard and soaking his undershirt, trudged through the mud to the house of Meria. The Lady Gwen and her children had already left, and he found Meria sitting comfortably by a blazing fire, working on a piece of embroidery. 'Almost time to leave, my lady,' he said.

'Then leave. I shall not be travelling with you.'

Finnigal stood his ground. 'Your action is undermining my authority, lady. Hundreds of townsfolk are staying merely because you do. And if you stay then my soldiers and I must stay, which means there will be no-one to defend the refugees from outlaws.'

'Are you done, Finnigal?' she asked. 'For there is a mighty draught from that open door, and I have no wish to catch a chill.'

Furious, he turned and walked back into the rain.

By noon the storm had ceased, but the trail west had become a quagmire. Fewer than six hundred of the eleven hundred inhabitants of Three Streams had so far left the settlement and only twenty wagons remained. Many people were leaving on foot, carrying sacks of food and spare clothing. But more waited.