‘Well – not in so many words.’

‘I see. That was very brave of you, Ulesim. Surely you know how holy Arasham feels about those who act independently of his instructions? Many have lost their heads for taking too much upon themselves.’

Ulesim began to tremble violently.

‘I’m sure he’ll forgive you when I tell him of the incident, however. A lesser man would be sent to the block immediately, but after all, you’re his favourite disciple, aren’t you? Was there anything else, Ulesim?’

Mutely, his face pasty white, Ulesim shook his head.

‘My friends and I will be going, then. Coming, Mahkra?’ Sir Perraine led them from the tent.

As they rode through the city of tents that had grown up on the outskirts of Dabour, Perraine talked at length about how depressed the cattle market currently was. The tents they passed had apparently been pitched at random, and there was nothing resembling a street. Hordes of dirty children ran and played in the sand, and dispirited-looking dogs rose from the shady side of each tent they passed to bark indifferently a few times before returning to flop down out of the sun again.

Perraine’s house was a square, blocklike structure that stood in the centre of a patch of weedy ground just beyond the tents. ‘Come inside,’ the knight told them loudly as they reached the door. ‘I want to hear more about this cattle herd of yours.’

They went in, and he closed the door. It was dim and cool inside. The house had but a single room. There were rudimentary cooking facilities on one side and an unmade bed on the other. A number of large, porous jugs hung from the rafters, each seeping moisture which dripped into puddles on the floor. A table and two benches sat in the middle of the room. ‘It’s none too ornate,’ Perraine apologized.

Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the lone window at the back of the house, a window that seemed only loosely shuttered. ‘Is it safe to talk?’ he asked in a low voice.

Perraine laughed. ‘Oh, yes, Sparhawk,’ he replied. ‘In my spare time I’ve been nurturing a thorn bush outside that window. You’d be amazed at how much it’s grown and how long the thorns are. You’re looking well, my friend. I haven’t seen you since we were novices.’ Perraine spoke with the faintest trace of an accent. Unlike most Pandions, he was not an Elenian, but came instead from somewhere in the vast reaches of central Eosia. Sparhawk had always liked him.

‘You seem to have learned how to talk, Perraine,’ Sephrenia said. ‘You were always so silent before.’

He smiled. ‘It was my accent, little mother,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want people making fun of me.’ He took her wrists and kissed her palms in greeting and asked her blessing.

‘You remember Kurik?’ Sparhawk said.