‘It is, it is,’ Yatsu and Jaldaric said, almost simultaneously and with heavy innocence.

‘They’re having a small joke at your expense,’ Andawyr intruded, adding tartly, ‘too long alone in the mountains, probably,’ before speaking again to Antyr. ‘That’s not the real entrance to the caves. We just let people – travellers, passing students – think it is.’ He wrinkled his nose unhappily. ‘We were founded in bad times and secrecy is still important to certain aspects of our work. Regretfully.’

As they drew nearer, Antyr’s attention moved from the imposing presence of the cave to the houses and cottages that were scattered seemingly almost at random over the tumbled and rocky terrain that marked the foot of the cliff. Steep pitched roofs, intricately patterned with green and blue slates, swept down almost to ground level.

As they rode along the winding main street, Andawyr acknowledged the occasional greeting, but although Tarrian and Grayle attracted some long glances, it seemed to Antyr that he and his companions were being wilfully ignored.

Eventually they arrived at a building set hard against the cliff face. A couple of villagers appeared from somewhere and dragged open two large wooden doors. Andawyr nodded his thanks and motioned the others to follow him as he dismounted and walked into the building.

It took Antyr’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the comparative darkness as the doors closed behind them, but the characteristic smell, both fresh and musty, told him that it was a barn. It was tall and airy with a depleted haystack occupying one side while down the other were stalls for horses, and a hanging clutter of rakes, pitchforks and other farming paraphernalia.

As the four men unsaddled and tended their horses, Tarrian and Grayle scurried about, examining the place minutely.

‘Well, well.’