‘Where have you come from?’ he growled. ‘Out of the downs after a fire-fall?’

Galen leaned on his staff. ‘There are places to shelter if you know them. You obviously weren’t so lucky.’

‘We’d have been dead if it hadn’t stopped.’ The man was big, stolid, but shrewder than the other two, who seemed in too much pain to be curious. Carys knew his sort. He’d be suspicious.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘My name is Harn,’ Galen said recklessly. ‘These are my children, Raffael and Carys.’ He put his arm round her and squeezed. She smiled up happily at the Watchman and thought that Galen could tell lies as well as she could. He was far more cunning than she’d thought. She’d have to be more careful.

‘You come from the village there?’

‘We do,’ Galen said confidently.

‘Then take us there. My men are hurt.’

They should have been ready for it. It was a staggering blow, but Galen didn’t flinch. He nodded, falling into step beside the Watch-sergeant, talking about the seeds as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Grudgingly the Watchman listened as he walked. The two on horses trailed behind. Neither would be any problem, Raffi thought; he knew enough to terrify horses. But the third! They should jump him now. What was Galen doing!

Carys was beside him, her bow slung on her back. ‘He’s mad. What’s his plan?’

‘I don’t know.’ Raffi stared at his master’s back. ‘He gets like this sometimes. Does reckless things. You can’t talk to him. Sometimes I think he’s trying to get himself killed.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’

‘He looks for trouble. At least since the accident –’ He stopped, instantly.

‘What accident?’

He shrugged. ‘A relic exploded. He was hurt.’

‘His leg, you mean?’

Raffi nodded, shortly. He didn’t seem to want to say any more.

She looked away, at the seeds on the stubble-field. ‘Not much of a reason for getting killed.’

He didn’t answer. She knew there was something important here; something he wasn’t telling her, but before she could try again they were in the muddy lane between the first houses. A group of villagers was brushing fireseed into a heap. When they saw the travellers, they stood stock-still.

‘Too late anyway,’ Carys muttered. She unslung her bow, annoyed, glancing back at the stumbling horses. Galen Harn was hers. No one else was bringing him in, certainly no pot-bellied sergeant. ‘Get ready.’

Raffi shook his head. ‘You’re not in this.’

‘I am now.’

The Watchsergeant strode up to the villagers; most of them fell back, leaving a thin grey-haired man in a patched brown coat as the spokesman. He nodded grimly. ‘So you’re back.’

‘We said we would be,’ the sergeant snarled.

‘We were afraid the seeds might have killed you.’ The man’s voice was acid.