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held him back, letting his shoulders accept the blows. Talus was glad his companion was built like a bear.
    Mishina stepped forward. For a moment, Talus thought the shaman would pull him away from the king. Instead, Mishina began to chant and bang his staff on the floor of the cairn. The combined sounds—the deep repetitive thudding of the staff, the thin rattle of the shells that hung from it, the guttural hum of Mishina's voice—echoed and re-echoed inside the enclosed space. Soon a pattern of sound had built up that turned Talus's insides to water.
    Fascinating. But Talus had other things to attend to.
    Using his forefinger, he pushed the bonespike deeper into the wound. It sank a long way into Hashath's stiff flesh. So did Talus's finger: all the way up to the second knuckle. Talus supposed the onlookers would consider the process gruesome.
    Tharn was bellowing like an ox, but Bran wasn't moving.
    And Talus had already learned what he needed to know.
    With a hideous sucking sound, he withdrew his finger. Then he used the leather thong to draw out the buried bonespike. Once this was done, he handed the bonespike back to Fethan.
    Cabarrath relaxed his grip enough for his brother to snatch it up.
    'Why do you do this?' said Tharn. His chest was heaving. His breath steamed in a cloud that wafted over Bran's head and towards Talus's face.
    Talus turned to Mishina. 'Forgive me,' he said, 'but that noise makes it very difficult to concentrate.'
    The shaman stopped in mid-chant. His painted face contracted into a cataclysmic frown.
    Talus wondered what he looked like without the thick daubs of mud.
    To Talus's surprise, Mishina laughed.
    'You are clever,' he said. 'A very clever man.'
    'No,' said Talus. 'Merely observant.'
    'I do not understand,' said Tharn.
    'Then let him explain,' said Bran. Protecting Talus appeared to have robbed him of his fear.
    'It is clear,' Talus said, 'that young Fethan here has a temper.'
    'You dare ...!' said Fethan.
    'It's nothing we don't already know,' said Cabarrath.
    'A man with both a temper and a bonespike might be the killer we are looking for,' Talus elaborated.
    'You believe Fethan killed the king?' said Tharn. 'It cannot be true.'
    'The truth is what we are here to find. That is why I did what I did.'
    'Explain yourself,' said Mishina.
    'Gladly. The shape of a wound carries the shape of the weapon that made it. Any hunter knows this. That is why I brought Fethan's bonespike to the wound that killed the king—to see if the shapes match. They do not. The king's wound is much deeper than Fethan's bonespike is long. This means the murder weapon—which is certainly a bonespike or something similar—was much longer than the one Fethan carries round his neck.'
    Silence fell as the six brothers digested this. At last, one of them spoke: Arak, the pale youth with the green eyes. From the size of him, Talus determined he was the runt of the litter.
    'Seems to me this wandering bard's just telling us what the women of Creyak have known for years,' he said. His voice was high but strong.
    'What is that?' said Tharn.
    Arak grinned. 'That what Fethan really needs is a bigger weapon.'
    Laughter exploded round the group. Tharn did his best to keep his face straight, but in the end even he couldn't suppress a smile. Mishina was smiling too. He nodded at Talus, just once. A salute or a warning? Even Talus couldn't tell.
    The uproar continued until Tharn waved his hands.
    'This is not the place for laughter,' he said. 'Your ways are strange, Talus-of-the-tale. Is your curiosity satisfied?'
    'On this particular subject, yes.'
    'Well,' Tharn went on, 'mine is not. It is still strange to me that you chose to come among us on such an ill-omened day. Yet, if you did kill my father, why do you not try to run from me? You will stay, therefore. My brother Gantor will prepare a house for you and your companion. You will not leave until I am satisfied of your good will. None of these things I have said are