'You shouldn't be out in the cold like this,' Dennis offered.

'Damn you, it's a life covered in offal when I have to start taking advice from a lad who I once pushed off my lap because his swaddling clothes were leaking on me'. Wolfgar laughed and shook his head. 'I asked if standing up there reminded you of something, you seemed lost in thought.'

'Just waiting for Gregory and Tinuva to return.'

'There are some things that never change with a man – the boy still locked inside. Even when you were seven you used to stand like that, shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of you, always watching. Reminded me of a snowy day, the two of us watching the first storm of the season, and I told you that Gwenynth liked you.'

'How your eyes sparkled even though you were a proud lad of seven and would not admit that girls were of any interest yet.'

Dennis looked away.

'I heard what happened to her, to your father and grandfather.'

Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off but couldn't.

'My heart was with you, lad. I wept for you. Your old grandfather always wanted to die in a damn good fight, and your father, well, he never had a chance to rule in his own right but I heard he died sword in hand. But for you, I wept.'

He fell silent, not mentioning her death. Dennis closed his eyes…

The begging, the pleading for her not to let go, his fumbling to stop the bleeding, to somehow force her soul back into her body and that smile that lit her features as she slipped away, as if she was trying to console a little boy who didn't understand, that it would work out in the end… but it never did.

'It was nine years ago,' Dennis whispered, using every ounce of effort to keep control of his voice.

'In some matters time is meaningless. For an elf like Tinuva, nine years is but a moment. Memory of loss can linger for an eternity. I know, I used to sing about it often enough.' Wolfgar hawked and spat noisily, removing his hand from Dennis's shoulder to wipe his mouth.

Dennis looked over at him. 'Let it drop,' he snapped. 'It was a long time ago. No song, not even yours can bring them back, except in memory, and I prefer those memories buried.'

Wolfgar nodded. 'My eyes are all but gone, young Hartraft. I didn't see Jurgen with you.'

Dennis sighed. 'Dead. Killed last week.'

'Ahh.' Wolfgar spat again. 'There was a man who could shake the dice.' There was a tremor to his voice. 'Is there anyone left from the old days?'

'The war took them all.' Dennis's tone indicated clearly enough that he didn't wish to say more.

There was a long silence of several moments. The two old friends watched as the heavy flakes gently swirled.

Dennis looked back at the long house where all the men were sleeping. Wolfgar's great hall was a heavy building of logs that stretched for over thirty paces. On the other side of the courtyard were stables, some workshops, and at the far end a detached kitchen, connected by a stone corridor to the long house so that if a fire started it would not destroy the entire dwelling. It was a fortress typical of the frontier, enough to keep a small band of marauders out, but against an army like Bovai's it would fall in a matter of hours.

It was, however, the difference between life and death for Dennis and the men with him.

After being allowed in, the men had built up roaring fires to warm the long house and all had collapsed into exhausted slumber. He had even managed a few hours' rest until he was awoken by Tinuva, who suggested that a scout should be sent back to the gorge, just to make sure that their pursuers had truly given up the chase for now and were not attempting to somehow get a party across so that the bridge could be rebuilt. So shortly after midnight Tinuva and Gregory had ridden back out. Unable to sleep, Dennis decided to keep watch until their return.

'They're all asleep in there, snoring and breaking wind,' Wolfgar announced. 'Gods' how they are stinking up the place! A hundred men in there, a tight fit, with a dozen more wounded packed into the blacksmith's shop. What in the name of Kahooli's Loins am I to do with them all?'

'Kicking us out now, I don't think my men would go along with it.'

'That Tsurani leader, Ass-you-gag.'

'Asayaga.'

'However you say the bastard's name. How by Astalon's Blood did you ever fall in with them?'

Dennis briefly recounted their tale and Wolfgar nodded appraisingly.

'Shrewd move. When do you plan to kill him?'

'Once this is over.'

'When is that?'

'I'm not sure now,' Dennis said. 'At first I figured it'd last a day at most. Now I just don't know.'

'Can you trust him not to stab you in the back?'

'Trust a Tsurani?' Dennis asked, incredulous.

The question had never been asked so directly since all this started. He realized he had been, in general, thinking minute by minute, always keeping a watchful eye for the first false move which had yet to come, but not seriously contemplating that this arrangement could go on for weeks, even months.

'In their own way they're honourable I guess,' Dennis finally ventured. 'They don't torture prisoners, they kill the wounded cleanly as we do.'

'That's a mark on their side,' Wolfgar said quietly.

'He needs me more than I need him now.'

'How's that?'

'I know the way back, he doesn't.'

'Do you? The bridge is down. Do you know the way back?'

Dennis looked at his old friend, and then at the surrounding peaks brushed with the first light of dawn. Even as he looked at them the light blurred and softened. The overarching clouds sweeping in from the west blanketed what little blue sky was left on the eastern horizon. The flurries began to thicken.

'Like I said yesterday, a big storm's coming,' Wolfgar announced. 'With luck it will close the last of the passes. Now answer my question, Hartraft. Do you know the way?'

Dennis shook his head. He had never ventured this far north before.

'Then you know nothing more than the Tsurani. But you still haven't answered the question, boy.'

'I was a boy twenty years ago, Wolfgar,' Dennis replied sharply.

Wolfgar threw back his head and cackled like a demented old bird.

'At my age, anyone who can still remember to button his trousers after making water is a boy. Now answer me: can you trust him not to stab you and your men in the back?'

'Yes, damn it,' Dennis snapped. 'They seem to have this thing, this code in how they fight duels. When the time comes he'll shout some sort of challenge first, the others will back up, and we will fight. Once that's settled I guess the general slaughter begins.'

'Can you take him?'

'In a fair fight?'

'Like the one you described. Not in the woods, not in the night, but deliberate, out in the open, one on one with only blades.'

Dennis hesitated.

'You're not sure, are you?'

Dennis shook his head. 'I've watched him,' He said. 'He's as swift as a cat – he cut two goblins in the flash of an eye, the head of the first had yet to even hit the ground and the guts of the second were already spilling. He's the fastest I've ever seen.' Dennis hesitated.

'Even Jurgen in his prime would have had a hard time taking him.'

'That's saying something,' Wolfgar replied. 'I bet on that old bastard more than once and won – bar-room brawl, duel of honour, nothing could touch him.'

'Something finally did,' Dennis said, his gaze distant.

'What will you do?' Wolfgar pressed.

'Fight him when the time comes.'

'That will be a show,' Wolfgar snorted. 'Tell me, do you want to beat him?'

'What the hell kind of question is that?'

'Some men, when they've lost too much become fey. They don't know it, but already the gods of the dead have touched them. Their memories dwell so much with those who have crossed over that in their inner heart they wish to cross as well and therefore place themselves upon the path unknowingly. Dennis, have you become fey?'