The warrior spat in his face. Lykos smashed the pommel of his sword into his mouth. Blood and teeth spattered the ground. Lykos punched and punched the iron hilt into his enemy; the man slumped unconscious, face a bloody pulp. Lykos swung two-handed at his neck, half-severing the head.

He paused to catch his breath and wipe blood from his face, felt something warm trickle down his back and onto his hip, knew he’d opened his wound, but didn’t care.

‘Where. Is. Peritus?’

No answer, the one that had soiled himself now whimpering.

Lykos took a step towards him.

‘No, please, no,’ the young lad pleaded.

‘A warrior should not beg, it is unseemly,’ Lykos said. Laughter rippled through the Vin Thalun. He took another step closer, raised his sword.

‘Ripa,’ a voice said. Not the young warrior, but the grey-beard. ‘If he still lives, Peritus is in Ripa.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HAELAN

‘I’m hungry,’ Haelan said.

‘You’ll have to wait for the highsun bell, like everyone else,’ Tahir replied, not even bothering to look at Haelan.

They were in a huge paddock, Tahir inspecting the saddle-straps on a bay stallion. It dug at the ground with one hoof. ‘I’m surrounded by impatient souls,’ Tahir muttered.

Mam never made me wait, Haelan thought. He felt a pressure behind his eyes at the memory of her and blinked hard. ‘I hate waiting,’ he said.

‘Don’t we all,’ Tahir grunted as he adjusted the straps, then stood and patted the animal’s neck. ‘Shouldn’t you be at your chores?’

I hate chores. There were a good score of children living at Gramm’s hold who were too young to set foot in the Rowan Field, but of an age where they could be put to some practical use.

‘You could go and get me some food,’ Haelan said, ignoring Tahir’s mention of chores. He looked back at the feast-hall that sat at the crown of a hill, smoke from the kitchens wafting into a grey sky. His stomach growled.

‘No,’ Tahir said, pausing to look at Haelan, his gaze hard. Haelan knew that look, had seen it many times now, although he was still struggling with it.

No one ever used to say no to me, except Mam and Uncle Varick, and that was rare enough.

Tahir’s eyes softened, responding to something that swept Haelan’s face. ‘There’s no special treatment here, lad. You have to blend in. It’s too dangerous for you to stand out; you know this. We’ve spoken about it more than once, haven’t we?’ The young warrior looked sternly at Haelan, holding his eyes until the boy nodded.

‘Now I’m going to let this lad know what it feels like to have me on his back. You should be at your chores, anyway – blending in. You’re supposed to be in the timber yard, aren’t you?’

Haelan grunted a response.