The construction of Kurik’s obstacles took several days, and there were several more Rendorish attacks in the interim. Then Preceptor Abriel’s catapults scattered the caltrops in profusion in front of the walls, and the hedgehogs rolled down long beams to lie in tangles and clusters some twenty yards or so out from the walls. After that, very few Rendors reached the walls, and the ones who did were not encumbered by scaling ladders. They would normally mill around shouting slogans and hacking at the walls with their swords until the bowmen on top of the walls had the leisure to kill them. After a few of those abortive attacks, Martel pulled back for a day or so to reconsider his strategy. It was still summer, however, and the hordes of dead Rendors lying outside the walls began to bloat in the sun. The smell of rotting flesh made the inner city distinctly unpleasant.

One evening, Sparhawk and his companions took advantage of the lull to return to the chapterhouse for much-needed baths and a hot meal. Before they did anything else, however, they stopped by to visit Sir Ulath. The big Genidian Knight lay in his bed. His eyes were still unfocused, and he had a confused look on his face. ‘I’m getting tired of just lying around, brothers,’ he said in a slurred voice, ‘and it’s hot in here. Why don’t we go out and hunt down a Troll? Slogging through the snow should cool off our blood a little.’

‘He thinks he’s in the Genidian Mother-house at Heid,’ Sephrenia told the knights quietly. ‘He keeps wanting to go Troll-hunting. He thinks I’m a serving wench, and he’s been making all sorts of improper suggestions to me.’

Bevier gasped.

‘And then sometimes he cries,’ she added.

‘Ulath?’ Tynian said in some amazement.

‘It may be a subterfuge, though. The first time he did it, I tried to comfort him, and it turned into a sort of wrestling match. He’s very strong, considering his condition.’

‘Will he be all right?’ Kalten asked. ‘I mean, will he regain his senses?’

‘It’s very hard to say, Kalten. That blow bruised his brain, I think, and you never know how something like that’s going to turn out. I think you’d better leave, dear ones. Don’t excite him.’

Ulath began to make a long, rambling speech in the language of the Trolls, and Sparhawk was surprised to discover that he still understood the language. The spell Aphrael had cast in Ghwerig’s cave seemed to still have some of its potency left.

After he had bathed and shaved, Sparhawk put on a monk’s robe and joined the others in the nearly-deserted refectory where their meal was laid on a long table.

‘What’s Martel going to do next?’ Preceptor Komier was asking Abriel.