Then Camlin saw Morcant. He burst from between two huts, saw the boats pushing into the river and snarled. Camlin nocked another arrow, drew and sighted, aiming for Morcant’s chest. A spear suddenly slammed into Brogan; the big man grunted and dropped the steering pole, the boat veering. Camlin’s arrow skittered wide as he tried to regain his balance. Swearing loudly, he drew another arrow from his quiver but the boat was starting to spin, caught in the sluggish current. Camlin clambered to his feet, the boat rocking; he grabbed the pole and started pushing. In seconds they were moving in the right direction, heading upstream into the marshes with half a dozen other river craft. Brogan groaned and pushed himself up.

‘Thought you were dead,’ Camlin said to the big warrior.

‘Spear hit the barrel of fish on my back.’ Brogan grinned and held up a herring from the shattered barrel. Baird laughed, the sound strange amidst the panic and fear of their flight.

‘Come on, fish-man, lend a hand,’ Baird said.

Morcant was leading riders along the bank, shadowing the boats.

‘Meg, do you know your way around these marshes?’

‘A bit,’ the girl confessed.

‘Appreciate it if you’d be our eyes, take us where they can’t follow.’

It did not take long before Meg was guiding them off of the main river down narrower tributaries, ever south and east, sometimes pushing their way through great banks of reeds, sometimes coasting like ghosts on the liquid dark, always heading deeper into the marshes. It was darker now, the moon and stars veiled by ragged cloud. Camlin watched with satisfaction as their pursuit slowed, the terrain becoming unnavigable for the horses in the dark.

Eventually Camlin heard a splash and a horse neigh wildly. Before they disappeared into the darkness Camlin saw a rider come close to the bank. For a moment the clouds cleared and moonlight shone bright upon them, silvering the dark river and the warrior upon his mount. It was Morcant, and he stared straight at him. Camlin returned the gaze with a mocking grin.

CHAPTER TWENTY

FIDELE

Fidele watched Maquin as he gutted and skinned a rabbit, his movements efficient and practised.