The man allowed his daughter this last sarcastic barb, then he crouched down beside her and nodded. ‘Take care though,’ he said, softly but firmly. ‘There’s something odd about him, to say the least. Look at his clothes. And his hair, for pity’s sake – it’s black! And so’s his horse. Wherever he’s from, it’s beyond the Forest, for sure.’ Surreptitiously, and keeping his hand well out of the sight of his daughter, he drew a knife.

Edrien reached out and gently held her fingers against the throat of the motionless figure lying on the sunlit grass. ‘He’s not dead, anyway,’ she said after a moment.

‘That may not necessarily be good news.’ It was Marken, returned, leading the horse uncertainly.

Edrien looked up, her face angry, but catching her father’s eye she swallowed her intended reply. ‘I’m sorry I was… a little short… Marken,’ she said flatly, her jaw taut.

Marken gave a slight, sharp nod by way of acknowl-edgement, then turned to her father. ‘His horse is exhausted, Derwyn,’ he said. ‘He must have been riding like someone demented.’

Derwyn shook his head. ‘I’m surprised he got this far. There must be some reason for it.’ He turned to Marken. ‘Can you Hear anything?’ he asked.

Marken closed his eyes, and raised his hand slightly for silence. It was an unnecessary gesture. Both Derwyn and Edrien stood motionless, watching him intently. The gentle rustle of the surrounding trees filled the small clearing. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Less than usual, if anything. Whatever was causing the distur-bance has ended.’ There was doubt in his voice, however. ‘But there’s a… tension, here… an expec-tancy… even a bewilderment. It’s very strange. It’s as if they’re waiting for us to do something.’

‘What?’ Derwyn asked.

Marken shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied.