The two hunters, father and son, now walked at Miro's side as he headed back to Sarostar. Prayan's ruddy features were wizened with age and he had a tattoo of a sparrow on his cheek. According to the Tartana, Prayan could hit a sparrow on the wing from three hundred paces as a young man. Now, the old hunter was the most skilled maker of bows and teacher of young hunters among their people.

Prayan was grooming his son to follow in his stead, and Aglaran's muscles bunched even on his small frame. Aglaran carried the largest bow Miro had yet seen, and Prayan said he would be useful at teaching the taller Alturans. Aglaran wore his hair in a topknot and wore the tooth of a wolf on a thong around his neck.

Prayan was the more talkative of the two, and Miro wasn't sure if the younger man was simply shy or was perhaps deferring to his father.

Miro suddenly grinned when he pictured High Lord Rorelan's face when Miro told him he'd exchanged two bladesingers for two Dunfolk hunters.

It was an argument Miro looked forward to having. He'd seen too many of his men die at the eastern border clashes, men who could have been saved with the decisive advantage bows could give them.

This wasn't a time to be immersed in the past. The Tingaran Empire was no more. The world had changed.

Miro planned to change with it.

12

12

BLADEMASTER Rogan Jarvish wandered the streets of occupied Ralanast. He supposed he couldn't call himself blademaster anymore. What was he? He supposed he was just Rogan.

He hobbled as he walked, and his throat felt tight and sore, but thoughts of complaint never crossed his mind; he knew he was lucky to be alive.

Rogan had always loved Ralanast, with its beautiful grand buildings and warm, generous people. The capital of Halaran was a place of culture, learning, and a renowned centre for trade, where the produce of Halaran's numerous farms, orchards and workshops was bought and sold. Drudges always crammed the city from one end to the other, pulling cart after cart of goods, and the hearty people celebrated life with festivals and dancing, their food and drink shared among neighbours and strangers alike.

As with the builders of Torakon, the Halrana's favourite deity was the Lord of the Earth, but to them this was no distant being; he was present in the fruits of the trees, beloved in the way the sun shines on a field of wheat. Before the war, the Halrana were a happy, prosperous people, proud of their culture and their great city, Ralanast, where the spires of the famous Terra Cathedral could be seen for miles around.

But the city Rogan walked now was a different place than the Ralanast he remembered from before the war.