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cutting timber.’
    The boy looked at him. ‘You’re not from the City, are you?’ he asked. ‘Originally, I mean.’
    Loredan shook his head. ‘You haven’t heard of where I’m from,’ he said, without expression. ‘It really snows there. This is what spring’s like where I was brought up.’
    The boy shivered. ‘Sounds horrid,’ he said. ‘This is bad enough. I suppose I’ll get used to it,’ he added forlornly. Loredan smiled.
    ‘Amazing what you can get used to if you have to,’ he said. ‘Try putting on more clothes, for a start. You shouldn’t have to be told that, at your age.’
    The boy stared into the fire, as if trying to see what Loredan was looking at. ‘Is this what you used to do,’ he said, ‘before you came to the City?’
    ‘Not really, no. We were farmers, just like everybody else. But that meant you had to know all sorts of things. We never bought anything we could possibly make ourselves. I learnt this trade along with a couple of dozen others, and thought no more of it. I mean,’ he added with a grin, ‘it’s not exactly difficult, is it?’
    The boy pulled a face. ‘ I think it’s difficult,’ he said.
    ‘You would,’ Loredan replied pleasantly. ‘I don’t suppose you can shoe horses, either. Or build a house, or make nails, or cast pots, or weave rope. I can. Not well, mind you,’ he added, ‘but well enough. But I’ll admit, I was always better at this line of work than most people. And it’s light work and by no means disagreeable. Not a bad living, either, in these parts. This is a remarkably cack-handed race we’ve found ourselves among.’
    ‘Farmers,’ said the boy. ‘Oh, sorry, no offence.’
    Loredan shook his head. ‘Not farmers,’ he said, ‘peasants. There’s a difference. I didn’t use to think so, but it’s true. Still, that’s none of our business. Thank the gods for the military, that’s what I say. All the work we can handle and they pay on delivery.’
    The boy sucked his teeth. ‘I thought they specified yew or osage,’ he said. ‘Why’re we cutting ash?’
    Loredan chuckled. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘that lot couldn’t tell the difference between a yew tree and a stick of celery. They just said yew or osage because that’s what they read in some book. Ash’ll do just fine, so long as we back it with rawhide.’
    He threw another lump of dead wood on the fire and lay back, his hands behind his head. Far away, down in the valley, a wolf howled. The boy sat up with a start.
    ‘Calm down,’ Loredan said, with a grin.
    The boy looked at him nervously. ‘That was a wolf,’ he said.
    ‘Sure. Now go to sleep.’
    ‘But surely . . .’ The boy looked round, as if expecting to see the glint of eyes at the edge of the firelight. ‘Shouldn’t we climb a tree or something?’
    Loredan yawned. ‘ You’re welcome to climb a tree if you really want to,’ he said. ‘Assuming you can find one, of course. I think we just cut down the last one. On the whole, though, I think you’d be better off getting some sleep. We’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning.’
    The boy was clearly not convinced. ‘Well, at least one of us should keep watch,’ he said. ‘Just in case, you know.’
    ‘Please yourself.’ Loredan sat up, reached out for his toolbag, pulled it under his head and lay back again, closing his eyes. ‘Good night.’
    Almost at once, he was asleep. He knew he was asleep, because he was standing on the ramparts of the great gatehouse of Perimadeia (which wasn’t there any more) and he was looking past the tents of the plainsmen towards the east, where the river seemed to flow upwards into the sky. Beside him on the walkway was his brother Gorgas; and in this dream they were on speaking terms, almost friendly, because Gorgas was telling him about the war in Scona, and he wasn’t really listening. Other people’s war stories are usually very boring.
    ‘You should come out to Scona,’ Gorgas was saying. ‘This