None outside the clan, and few within, understood the rage that was stoked every day as he lived with a woman who loved a memory. Anleah was a dutiful wife and allowed Bovai the pleasures of the marriage bed, but she evidenced no joy in being with him. She endured his touch, and each time desire drove him to take her, he left their bed feeling bitter pain instead of joy.

Many days he would see her gazing out of the window of their lodge, or working quietly in their garden, and he knew her mind was turned to the past, to a night with another whom she still loved, despite his profound betrayal of his race. Gone were the happy songs, the laughter, and the smile. Anleah, most beautiful of women among Clan Raven, was now a figure of melancholy. Her smiles for Bovai were always tinged with sadness, and she never laughed.

More than anything else, Golun understood these things, and why Bovai had become such a terrible figure on the battlefield. He understood that Bovai could never, truly, have the woman he loved, even though she shared his home and bed; and that scar on his heart, soul and honour haunted him.

Over the years Golun had heard rumours that Morvai's new elven name was Tinuva; that he had skirmished along the frontier with warriors from other clans. Three times Bovai had glimpsed his one-time brother, and yet had been unable to close with him. It was clear to him that Bovai knew that would be his last opportunity to find and destroy his brother.

Golun unclasped his cloak and threw it over Bovai's shoulders and Bovai nodded his thanks. He had forgotten just how long he had been standing there in the cold, alone, in just a tunic.

'At least Kavala is dead,' Bovai said, and Golun grunted in reply. 'Strange, across all the years I could not slay him. He desired Anleah as much as I, and if I had fallen in battle, I know he would have courted her. But his hatred for Tinuva matched my own – he blamed him for Clan Badger's destruction. He was ambitious and would have displaced me if he thought he could, yet I endured his envy and hatred; a day did not go by that he did not wish to drive a dagger into my heart.'

'His death frees you of the need to kill him, and it has also revealed the presence of your brother for certain. It is ironic that in removing an avowed enemy, Tinuva did you a service.'

'Yes,' Bovai replied, drawing the cloak tight around his shoulders to ward off the chill. 'At the fort we took, I sensed his presence, yet after all these years it was almost hard to believe that finally we were coming to the conclusion of all events."

'Slay him and your honour is fully restored,' said Golun. 'With your honour intact at the Great Council next summer no one will dare to speak against your name. Who could deny one who would slay his own brother in order to restore the family name?'

Bovai nodded. Golun was his friend, but Golun was also ambitious. He knew what it was that Bovai sought.

Bovai looked over at him.

'Delekhan,' Bovai whispered. 'He has always used my brother's betrayal against me in Council.'

'It would be far better that you, rather than he, should rule the entire clan if Murad should fall. The death of your father left the way open for your ambitious cousin to seize control, when it should have been you sitting at Murad's right hand.'

Bovai glanced over at Golun and wondered for a second if there was some veiled insult in his words. If the tragedy had not played out as it had, it would have been Morvai bringing together Raven and Badger, Morvai who would now be ruling both clans, their combined strength thus making him Murad's most trusted captain.

'Kill Tinuva: but you will still have to contend with the problems down there,' Golun said, nodding back to the stockade by the river.

'Now what?'

'Another fight between the humans and goblins. Two dead on both sides.'

'Damn.' Bovai sighed. Following Golun's lead, he started back down the hill.

Garrisoning all of them together to sit out the storms was proving to be a nightmare. Half a dozen heads were already staked above the gate, executions undertaken in order to maintain order.

It had been nearly a fortnight since they had lost the chase and their prey had escaped. He knew they would hole up in the valley. Several of the humans with the party had heard rumours of the place and one claimed to know a pass to the north of the mountains that would bring them into the valley from the other side. That pass was a march of at least thirty miles, once the Edder Forest was circled, and until the storms abated and the thaw that often came at midwinter melted off some of the snow and compacted the rest, the march would be impossible.

He knew he had to do three things now. The first was to keep his force together. He had promised to get them back safely to their homeland before winter. If it had not been for the diversion of the chase they would have gained the final pass before the storms.

Having failed in that he now had to succeed in the other two. To satisfy the men and goblins, Hartraft's Marauders had to be annihilated. The glory derived from such an act would assuage their anger and they would return home to boast of what they had achieved. And finally the death of Tinuva would settle a dispute that had lasted for centuries. It would afford him little pleasure, he knew, and Anleah would love him not one whit more when the traitor was dead, but it would remove a canker from his heart, and come summer it would place him in a position to challenge Delekhan himself for a prominent place in the clan Council. He might never have Morvai's love, but he would some day have glory his former brother had only dreamed of.

As the snow swirled he returned to the fortress and for several minutes loud arguments ensued. Some moments later there was the ringing of steel, and six more heads were placed upon the battlement wall.

Gregory refilled Tinuva's mug with tea and passed it over to him, pouring another cup for himself. Moving the small kettle off the flames, he tossed another log on the fire and settled back. The two of them were sitting inside the rotted-out remains of a massive tree stump. Tearing away the south side of the stump to gain entrance, they had settled in after a morning of hunting. The thin outer wall that engulfed them on three sides formed a natural shelter against the wind and snow: the two of them were able to stretch out comfortably on the sawdust-dry inner remains of the great tree.

'You never told me about her before,' Gregory said, his friend having fallen silent, after speaking, for the first time, of the story of his wife, Anleah.

Gregory kept his voice soft, trying not to show the slightest shock over the tale that his companion of so many years had just related. He knew Tinuva had been of the moredhel, but had never questioned him about that, or the reason for his 'Returning', to the eledhel. One did not question elves on such secretive matters and the mere fact that Tinuva had just discussed Anleah with him was startling, and a bit worrisome.

Tinuva nodded. 'No reason before. It was long ago.'

'Not so long ago that the memory doesn't hurt.'

Tinuva, gaze fixed on the fire, again fell silent. An acceptance of the elf's silences was one thing Gregory had learned early on in his friendship with Tinuva. Elves understood time differently. Perhaps it was because the span of humans was so short that they had to cram each moment with something. An elf could go for days, weeks even, without speaking and in fact be completely unaware of it. It was one of the reasons they seldom chose humans as friends, for humans clouded the air with too much talk and too frenzied a pace of living.

The small log he had tossed on the fire burned down and Gregory replaced it with another.

Finally Tinuva stirred. 'Yes, it hurts,' he whispered. 'It will always hurt. I love her still.' He sighed, and the anguish of the sound cut into Gregory's heart. 'And I loved my brother as well.'