‘Camlin,’ a voice called after him, Halion striding after him. ‘I’ll see you again,’ the warrior said. He held his arm out and Camlin took it in the warrior grip.

‘Aye, brother,’ Camlin said. ‘This side or the other.’

Again, the waiting.

Camlin checked his bow, his string, lifted his blade in its scabbard to check it wasn’t sticking, let it slide back with a click. Checked his arrows, the tips wrapped with foul-smelling linen. Flint and a pile of tinder and kindling set neatly to one side, not damp, not spoiled.

Good.

The reeds rustled and a head poked through them, scruffy red hair and a dirty face.

‘Hello, Meg,’ Camlin said. ‘You shouldn’t be wandering around at a time like this.’ There was no force in his reprimand, though – he’d learned by now that the girl would damn well do as she pleased, no matter what he said about it.

‘Don’t need to worry about me,’ she said.

He frowned. ‘You happy with what you’ve got to do?’

Camlin had adopted a new strategy with Meg. He’d learned that if he kept her out of things in an effort to keep her safe she’d just follow him and get involved anyway. So now he was finding tasks for her to do, even in the most dangerous of situations. That was what he had done with the hunt for Braith.

And thank the stars it turned out about as well as it could.

Every night he put his head on his pillow he felt a sense of relief that Braith was no longer out there, hunting him.

‘I am,’ she said. ‘I just came to see that you were all right.’ She looked at him intently, then smiled. ‘And you are.’ With that she spun around and disappeared into the reeds.

Strange child. P’raps that’s why she fits in so well around us. Around me.

Then he heard the creak of wooden boats, weight shifting within them, the sound of oars and paddles in water, quite but not silent.

Here we go, then.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

EVNIS

Evnis sat at the head of his boat and blinked as the lake opened up before him. Beside him Glyn swore.

Whoever would have thought that such a place existed?

The lake was vast, its waters dark and still, and at its centre stone walls and towers reared, as if the lake were a black field about a broken fortress. Except that green algae and creeping vines grew upon this fortress, silent, sinuous things swirling in the waters about the walls. Birds clustered upon crumbling towers, taking flight and squawking their protests at the arrival of Evnis and his warband.