‘Don’t think she’s lying,’ Camlin said. ‘But following someone for a while and then turning back doesn’t mean we’re going to find them. They may be moving around – sensible thing to do when you’re in a crew that’s hunted.’ He shrugged. ‘What are your plans, once we find them?’

‘If we find them,’ Baird corrected.

‘Aye, if.’

‘Cross that bridge when I reach it,’ Baird said. He shrugged. ‘I swore I’d see Edana safe. Not sure leaving her in a marsh with a bunch of hunted rebels is safe.’ He grinned, looking slightly insane. ‘Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do, and sticking around with Edana is likely to see me crossing blades with Rhin or her arselings eventually. I want revenge. Rath was a good man, and my friend. Most likely he’s dead now, on Rhin’s account.’

They turned a bend in the stream, its banks widening a little, passing through a copse of willow and dogwood. Camlin felt the hairs on his arm prickle.

Something’s wrong. Something was missing. He frowned. Noise. It is silent. Abruptly there was no birdsong, the constant drone and buzz of insects startlingly absent. The only sound was Brogan’s basal snoring and the lapping of paddles in water. Baird was staring ahead, a frown creasing his brow.

‘Be ready,’ the one-eyed giantkiller from Domhain whispered.

Camlin reached for his bow, making the boat rock. Brogan’s snoring spluttered and then evened out again. The last of the boats behind him came into view around the bend. Camlin slowed his movements and tried to string his bow calmly, eyes scanning the banks ahead.

Before he had a string out of its pouch the banks exploded into life. Thirty, forty men, all armed, most with spears aimed their way. Camlin put a restraining hand onto Baird’s arm as the warrior reached for his sword.

‘No point dying here,’ Camlin whispered. ‘They’ve got us cold.’

Is this them? The rebels we’ve been seeking?

Others in the boats behind Camlin were of a different mind, drawing weapons, yelling.

A warrior stepped forward on the riverbank, older, red hair streaked with silver spilling from beneath an iron helm. He wore a coat of mail and a leather vest, held a thick spear.

‘Put up your arms or you’ll be food for the fish. Bring your boats to the bank, nice and smooth, and get up here where I can see you.’

No one moved.

Edana’s voice rang out. ‘Do as he says. I’ll have none of you die here.’ She stood in the boat, the hood of her cloak drawn over her head. ‘And who are you, that waylay us?’ she asked.