He folded long, bony arms. A singularly gentle man, Gil thought, to have been commander of the Church troops. A group of ragged warriors passed them, changing the camp guards, lank, dirty men and women with bows and axes. They saluted him as they walked by.

Maia sighed. 'So. People spoke of the Keep of Dare, the old hold up at Renweth.

In some places, enclaves of farmers have made little Keeps, fortified buildings along the river. Your brother is not the first to turn us away. But even those don't seem to be proof against the Dark. We've found their fortresses smashed like eggshells, the defenders dead or wandering mindlessly. We've been beset by wolf packs, or dog packs hundreds strong. There was even a rumour of White Raiders in the valley... At times on the march here I felt it was the end of the world.' White teeth gleamed briefly through the tangled beard. 'In some ways I think the end of the world would be a simpler matter to deal with. If what the Scriptures tell is true, at least that would be quick.'

'Oh, but it has been quick.' Aide looked around her at the desolate camp, her jewels glittering in her hair as she moved her head. 'This summer all of us were sitting on our terraces, watching the sun in the leaves and dreaming of sledding and parties at the Winter Feast. Now, before the night of the Winter Feast, we may all be dead. That's quick.'

Something in the black humour of this amused him, for he chuckled. 'Possibly. Possibly.' The grey sky darkened overhead; he drew the rags of his cloak a little tighter about him. 'But to have come here and to be told that there is neither food nor space by one with that monolith of the Keep at his back and his fat merchants in their ermine cloaks all around him... I do not know what I expected, my lady. But not that.'

Aide said nothing, but Gil saw the fire of shame burn her face.