It occurred to him unnervingly that perhaps it was some devilment by the Gevethen. They certainly had talents which seemed to defy logic and reason. But again, the call – he grimaced at the word – did not have the sense of viciousness, of clinging evil, which pervaded their work. Rather, it was clear and simple; beautiful, almost, despite the urgency that underlay it. All that was at fault was his confusion, his inability to listen correctly – as though he were a noisy child, pestering about something that his parents were already trying to explain. Perhaps he should stay silent, he decided, with an uncertain smile. Routine concerns were already beginning to impinge on him following his brief exchange with Marris and all too soon they would become a clamour as the village awoke and set about its daily life.

Compromise came to him. He would do two things at the same time. He would walk the outer perimeter, to check the vigilance of the guards and to encourage them, then perhaps he might clamber up on to the southern ridge to judge for himself the state of the adjoining valleys. These were necessary tasks which he could pursue without any sense of guilt, while at the same time they would give him silence and calm in which to ponder what was happening.

Dawn was greying the sky as he began the ascent to the southern ridge. It had been a valuable exercise, walking the perimeter. He had been challenged at every guard post and was now flushed with the quiet congratulations he had been able to give. He paused and, unusually, allowed himself a little self-congratulation as well. It was no small credit to his leadership that his people were so attentive so long into the night. It helped, of course, that all here had suffered appallingly at the hands of the Gevethen and were more than well-acquainted with their cunning and treachery.