Jaldaric’s natural courtesy made him take the hand, though part of him remembered Aelang, and was alert for a sudden attack. ‘This is the Lord Arinndier, the Rede Berryn and his aide Tel-Mindor,’ he said, indicat-ing his three companions. ‘I’m Jaldaric, son of the Lord Eldric.’

This time it was Fyndal who started. ‘Jaldaric,’ he echoed, his eyes widening. Then, as if uncertain how to phrase the question, ‘Jaldaric who came with Dan-Tor and kidnapped Tirilen?’

Jaldaric’s face coloured at the reminder of his previ-ous visit to Orthlund. ‘Yes,’ he said awkwardly, looking down at his hands briefly. ‘To my shame.’

‘And was taken by Mandrocs?’ Fyndal continued. Jaldaric looked puzzled, but nodded.

Fyndal reined his horse to a halt, as if he needed a moment’s stillness to assimilate this information. His brother too seemed to be affected.

The three riders behind them also stopped.

Then Fyndal clicked his horse forward again. ‘Why have you returned?’ he asked, his manner still uncertain.

‘You not only follow, you interrogate,’ Jaldaric be-gan, but Arinndier leaned forward and interrupted him.

‘We’re representatives of the Geadrol,’ he said. ‘We’ve important news for all the Orthlundyn, and Isloman told us that we should seek out his brother Loman and the Memsa Gulda at Anderras Darion.’

Again Fyndal showed surprise. ‘You’ve spoken to Isloman?’ he said. ‘Where is he? Was Hawklan with him?’

He gestured to the following riders, who spurred forward to join the group. Jaldaric and the others exchanged glances. ‘Who taught you the High Guards’ hand language, Fyndal?’ Jaldaric asked.

‘Loman,’ Fyndal answered. ‘He taught it to all of us.’

‘Us?’ queried Arinndier.

‘The Helyadin,’ Fyndal replied.

All Fyndal’s answers were uttered straightforwardly and in the manner of someone stating the obvious. Arinndier opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but Fyndal repeated his inquiry.