‘We’ll do our best,’ Tukul said with his wide grin. ‘And see that you all return the favour.’ His eyes lingered over Gar. ‘We’ll be sitting in Gramm’s feast-hall warming our toes long before you get there,’ he said, then he was turning his mount and cantering along the riverbank, the host of Jehar flowing out behind him.

Coralen nodded to Corban and then she was gone, cantering to the head of the column, riding ahead to pick their route through the marshlands.

‘You going to miss her?’ Dath said.

Corban had opened his mouth to answer when he realized that Dath was talking to Farrell, not him.

‘I will,’ Farrell said.

Corban just watched them ride away. Finally in silence he strode back up the boarding-plank and onto his ship.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

FIDELE

Fidele walked up the wooden steps of Ripa’s outer wall, her doeskin boots hardly making a sound. When she reached the walkway that edged the high wall she stopped, making sure that she stayed out of reach of the torchlight that crackled in an iron sconce close by, spreading a circular glow across the wall. Further along she saw the dark shadow of two guards, but they were both facing outward and had not heard her.

Below her the town of Ripa was a dark shadow, here and there fires and torches marking the tiers of its flow down the hill that Ripa’s tower was built upon. Occasionally voices lifted in drunken song drifted up, borne on the sea breeze. Vin Thalun voices.

Further out, she gazed at the wide meadows that surrounded Ripa, a huge black shadow, like a sable cloak spread across the land. And beyond that, the forest Sarva, and somewhere within it, to the north, lay Balara, that ancient giant ruin.

And Maquin. Where is he?

It was the eleventh night since Maquin had left with Alben and six others, heading to Balara to investigate the reports of Vin Thalun activity there.

Eleven nights. They were supposed to be gone no more than four. Maybe five. A trickle of ice dripped into her heart, taking her breath away.

Is he dead?

Others were saying so, or thinking it at least.

No. He has survived too much. But she knew that was ridiculous, as if life held a weighing scale to balance fair with unfair, right with wrong. But he came back from the bridge of swords . . .

She gripped the timber wall, knuckles white.

Nought but a fever dream, though I believed him, at the time. Wanted to believe him. And it doesn’t matter if it was a dream or truth. It does not change how I feel.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her, the creak of timber, and she turned to see Peritus approaching. He came and stood beside her, looking out into the empty street beyond.

‘It is dangerous out here,’ he said quietly.