Finnigal nodded and returned to the main street.

The evacuation was continuing at an even greater pace now and Finnigal smiled. Many of the people had dismissed the fears of a Vars force approaching, but they had no wish to remain in a settlement where a hundred outlaws had gathered.

Prasalis approached him. 'This may not be wise, sir,' he said. 'I know some of those men. The thin bowman by the wall there is Wik. He's a cold killer. He'd slit his grandfather's throat for a bent copper coin. Then there's the Norvii, Valian. The king has warrants out on him for rape and murder. There are at least a dozen others with no belly for a smash-skulls-or-die skirmish.'

'As matters stood this morning,' Finnigal told him, 'we had twenty men, and some fifty middle-aged volunteers facing a force above two hundred strong. Now we have one hundred and seventy men. Some of them may be cowards, but they are here, Sergeant.'

'And what if it is all a trick, sir, and they have come to rob and kill?'

'Then I will have made a dreadful mistake. I don't, however, think that will prove to be the truth. I looked into Bane's eyes. I do not think him treacherous.'

'Just because he looks like the king doesn't mean he will act like him,' Prasalis pointed out.

'By the gods, I actually feel like a soldier,' said Gryffe, holding out his arms and admiring the sleeveless mailshirt. He chuckled, then gazed up at the sword rack on the wall. He swung to Nanncumal. 'No battle axes?'

'No axes,' replied Nanncumal. Gryffe lifted down a longsword.

'This will do,' he said.

'It will not do,' said Nanncumal, striding forward and snatching it from Gryffe's hand. 'This is a rider's weapon. Do you know nothing? It is blade-heavy and meant to be swung downwards from the saddle.' Replacing the sword he pushed past several other outlaws and took down a longsword with a leather-covered grip and curving quillons. It was some eight inches shorter than the first blade. 'Here, numbskull!' he said. 'Feel the balance of this!'

Gryffe took it. 'I have to admit it feels better,' he said.

Nanncumal sighed. 'You expect these men to stand up to Sea Wolves?' he asked Bane. 'The Vars are born ready to fight. They are utterly ferocious. Gods, man, you know this. You've fought them yourself!'

'You are right, Grandfather,' said Bane. 'We'll send a messenger to the Vars asking them to wait for a week while we find better men to oppose them.' He smiled as he said it, and the old man suddenly chuckled. Then his expression hardened.

'I had believed . . . hoped that this story of the Vars was some nonsense dreamed up by Vorna. But it's not, is it?'