‘When did you see Hawklan and Isloman?’ he said, concern beginning to show through his affability. ‘Where are they? Are they safe?’

Arinndier shook his head. ‘We don’t know where they are,’ he said, then pausing thoughtfully he added, ‘They left Fyorlund some time ago with two of our men to return to Anderras Darion. I’d hoped they’d be in Orthlund by now.’

Fyndal frowned unhappily and made to speak again, but this time Arinndier took the initiative.

‘What we do know about Isloman and Hawklan we’ll tell to Loman and Memsa Gulda when we meet, Fyndal,’ he said. ‘That and a great many other things. Then it’s up to them what they choose to tell you. You under-stand, I’m sure. In the meantime, perhaps you could tell us who you are. And what the Helyadin are, and why you follow and question visitors to Orthlund. And why this man Loman should see fit to teach you our High Guards’ hand language.’

‘We’re just… soldiers,’ Fyndal answered, with a slight hesitation. ‘We’re on border patrol, making sure that nothing… unpleasant… comes into our land unchallenged again. Loman taught us the hand language because he said it was a good one’-he gave a subdued laugh-‘and it was the only one he knew. He’s taught us a lot of other things as well.’

‘Soldiers, eh? So the Orthlundyn have been prepar-ing for war.’ It was Rede Berryn and his tone was ironic. ‘How typical of Dan-Tor to tell the truth and make it sound like a lie.’ Then he looked at the young Orthlundyn again. ‘Who are you preparing for war against, Helyadin?’ he asked.

Fyndal looked at the old man. ‘Sumeral, Rede,’ he said simply. ‘Sumeral. And all who stand by His side.’

The Rede met his gaze and idly rubbed a scar on his forehead. Since Hawklan and Isloman had left his village with their Mathidrin escort he had heard only rumours and gossip about what was happening in Vakloss and the rest of the country.