And then she was gone, floating free for an instant, old reflexes curling her into a tight ball, before she crashed on to the dusty road. Over and over she rolled, unaware of anything except her terrible momentum until at last it was spent and, unfolding limply, she lay still, face upward on the hard Fyordyn ground.

Gradually, the high scudding clouds came into fo-cus, and with them her awareness, though for some time she could not remember how she came to be here. Then a gust of wind blew her hair across her face and her hand came up to move it. She winced with pain, and her memory cleared.

‘You’re hurt?’ said a voice, deep but unsteady, and a large square head came briefly into her vision, concern and confusion in its brown eyes. It disappeared, and she felt strong hands gently testing her limbs.

‘I’m no healer, lady,’ came the voice again after a while, ‘but I don’t think you’ve broken anything. Sit up, slowly. Let me help you.’ And again she found herself looking into anxious brown eyes as a powerful arm scooped round her shoulders and eased her up into a sitting position.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice sounding odd in her own ears. She took hold of her helper and, leaning heavily on him, dragged herself slowly to her feet. It was a painful exercise, but some cautious probing of her own confirmed the man’s diagnosis. She was bruised amp;mdashbadly bruised from the feel of it amp;mdashbut seemingly not otherwise injured. She uttered a silent prayer to her oft-maligned instructors of the past. Closing her eyes she felt her stomach tentatively. Yes, all was well.

Turning, she looked at her helper. He was tall, and powerfully built amp;mdashrock-like almost amp;mdashperhaps the same age as Rgoric, though it was difficult to judge from his craggy, dust-covered face. And despite his gentle aid to her, he was fretful and restless.