Can’t blame a man for staying alive, he thought. Can blame him for running, though, I suppose.

He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, just looked at the cup in his hands.

‘I will want a detailed account of this place, the lake, Dun Crin, a map of the waterways in and out. Everything you remember. And numbers – people. Edana of course. Who else?’

‘Roisin and Lorcan. They were in the boat with Edana.’

Rhin pulled a face at that.

‘Halion.’

‘He made it here, then.’

‘Aye. Vonn.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Evnis’ son.’

Rhin and the giant exchanged a glance. ‘Go on,’ Rhin said.

‘Pendathran. Camlin, I guess, though I don’t recall seeing him at the battle. But he’s a sneaky bastard, probably hiding somewhere and shooting his arrows.’

Just then the sounds of a commotion drifted in through the tent entrance. It was pulled back, warriors entering, standing either side and another figure came in, another warrior, but this one battered and bloody, iron helm dented, a bloodstained bandage around one of his arms.

Morcant.

He saw Rhin and almost ran to her, dropped to one knee before her and kissed her hand. She seemed to like it, by the look on her face.

Should I have done that?

‘My Queen,’ Morcant breathed, ‘I am overjoyed to see you.’

‘Well, I’m quite pleased to see you,’ Rhin said, the smile still flickering upon her lips. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Though you could smell better.’

‘The marsh,’ he said, gesturing, looking offended.

‘Of course. Your smell I can cope with, for the moment. We were just talking to the first survivor of this disaster to return to us.’ Rhin waved at Rafe. ‘You can go now, by the way,’ she said to him. ‘I would talk with Morcant a while. She stroked Morcant’s cheek, running a finger along one of the scars he’d earned in the court of swords.

Rafe was more than happy to leave. He stood up and bowed clumsily, then left the tent.

He collected a skin of watered wine from the kitchens, a shoulder of cold lamb, and walked away from the crowds. Scratcher and Sniffer soon found him and he wandered, somewhat aimlessly, thinking back on Rhin’s questioning and the battle. He reached the river where all of the boats had been moored, where they had set off nearly a moon ago, full of confidence, maybe arrogance. He walked on, following the riverbank, knew where he was going now.

He turned away from the riverbank and walked a way into the marshes, stopping eventually at the husk of a dead tree. He walked round behind it to where its roots had cracked the ground, got down on his hands and knees and reached into a dark hole beneath a root. His hand scrambled around and then he felt it, pulled out his kit bag.