“But it wasn’t always thus, and the folk who live here weren’t always employed as tutors in warcraft. Many of us were outcasts, existing beyond the margins of ordinary society, without homes or families to go to, without a direction to follow save that of survival. And the Chief, the man who founded this place and who brought us all together into a community with a spirit and a purpose, was just another miscreant fleeing the authorities.” Gull thought about this a little, his dark gaze moving from Ardal to me as he folded his mangled hands on his knee. “That’s not quite accurate. A miscreant, yes, in some folk’s eyes at least. An outlaw, yes. A mercenary—that, too. But the Chief was never just anything. He was always more. Born to lead. Born to inspire. Born to make a difference. Some folk have that quality, no matter how great the disadvantages that are put in their way. He was one of those.

“Well, he picked up the rest of us one by one, got us out of our own hellholes, gave us hope, showed us how to be men again. We became known as the Painted Men: the Chief’s skin markings were part of his identity, and the rest of us got our own in turn, each choosing an animal to pattern himself on. My black skin hardly shows such marks. I got my name from the feathers I used to wear in my hair, back in the old days. I liked the idea of the seagull, there was a freedom in it that appealed to me. I came a long way to reach this island; I left a lot behind.”

Gull did not look sad. Perhaps those things, those people were too far gone now, in miles and in years, to bring tears to his eyes anymore. I knew, from Muirrin, that he had lost his entire family in a bloody massacre before he first met Bran. It had taken an immense effort on his Chief’s part to drag him out of despair. Over and over, Bran had done this kind of thing to assemble his original band of followers. And, of course, once they learned how to hope again, they learned how to help one another. It was a remarkable story.

Ardal was watching Gull closely, his eyes intent.

“Back then,” Gull went on, “we were a motley band of warriors. We had skills. We knew how to work together. But as men we still had much to learn. There were a lot of broken pieces of us to be mended. And he—the Chief—was more broken than many, for all his outer strength. He’d been hurt as a child, and he’d hidden that deep.