Gramm drew his knife from his belt, turned it in his hand, the candle flame shimmering on the iron.

Haelan felt afraid.

I’m used to that, he told himself. He felt a small flicker of anger in his belly, at Jael, the author of his fear, the man that had hounded and hunted him. In his mind’s eye he saw Jael’s face, remembered him from court visits, always with a smirk twisting his lips.

‘We’re not dead yet,’ Haelan muttered. ‘And, as Tahir is fond of saying, every path has its puddle.’

Gramm stared at him, then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

I didn’t think it was that funny.

Gramm stood, towering over Haelan, wiping his eyes.

‘It’s as safe down here as anywhere. I’ll have the trapdoor covered with something heavy when I leave. Just stay quiet. There’s food, drink, more than enough to last you a moon. You never know . . .’

They might not find me. Can’t see that happening.

‘And if they do find you, take this.’ He gave Haelan his knife. It was heavy in his hand, the iron cold.

Is this to use on the enemy that come through that trapdoor, or on myself? He was not brave enough to ask.

Gramm ruffled his hair and walked up the stairs, the trapdoor thudding closed. Then there was the sound of grating above as something heavy was dragged, men grunting. Then fading footsteps.

Haelan lay down on the floor, shivering, curling around Pots, and closed his eyes.

He woke with a start, Pots licking his face. He’d been dreaming, about the hunt for the bear in Forn, the one that had killed the wolven. Tahir had still been here, then, and he had gone on the hunt with Gramm and Wulf and a few score others, leaving Haelan at the hold. They’d not found it, but Tahir told him they’d followed its tracks into Forn and then north to the river. Huge paw prints had led down to the dark waters, and all had concluded that the bear and its rider had swum back across to the river’s far side, to the Desolation. Haelan hoped so, though from that night on he’d had the same recurring dream of being lost in the forest, wandering alone and terrified, and then finally becoming aware that he was no longer alone. That he was being followed. Hunted.

I’ve been hunted for as long as I can remember.

And now they’ve found me.

He realized his candle had gone out but he could still see, faintly. Dawn has come, then.