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had surely come for all to leave. He would talk to the heads of each tribeon the matter – beginning this very day with the one most likely to give him trouble: Tadgemole, leader of the cave-dwellers.
    He must impress upon all the growing danger from the Gorji, and the urgent need of a plan. A full season and more the secret of the Various had been known to the Gorji childer. There was no reason to trust it was a secret still. And if that secret was out, then what hope was there that they could continue to live here in peace, or defend themselves from attack? How soon before full-grown giants came – and in what manner would they come? Not in friendly curiosity, that was certain. No, they would come to destroy, as was ever their way, to hunt down all that was unlike themselves. Maglin saw them in his troubled dreams, crowds of roaring men, ascending the hill with hounds and shovels, beating down the barrier of brambles that had protected the little people for so long. Aye, there was much to think on.
    â€˜From seed we come, and to seed we go’ – Crozer was drawing towards the end of his speech – ‘. . . as we ever did, and ever shall. Let the birds now take of her, corben and magpie, as we take of them, corben and magpie. And so may she feed her people still, we who yet remain.’
    â€˜So.’ The low muttered response from the crowd. A few moments more of silence, and the tribespeople began to separate and move quietly away through the trees.
    Maglin walked over to where the half-dozen archers of the Guard stood, ranged in a semi-circle behind theQueen’s wicker chair. He spoke directly to Ictor, their captain – and sensed the animosity that lay between them. Ictor was brother to Scurl, the treacherous archer that Maglin had banished from the forest. Scurl was now presumed dead, along with his crew, and Maglin was well aware of Ictor’s resentment towards him – and towards the Gorji child who had played such a part in Scurl’s downfall.
    â€˜I hold ’ee under my command now,’ he said. ‘The Guard shall have first vigil, as is right and proper, and for as long as ’ee will. Shoot whatever might come for her, be it bird, or fitch, or rat. There be little enough in these woods that we can afford to cast aught aside. All to be shared at Basket-time, mind.’
    Ictor stared him in the eye, a long and deliberate pause. Eventually he said, ‘Just as ’ee command, Steward. I be in the right fettle for shooting a rat.’
    The insult was plainly intended, and Maglin decided that this time he would not let it pass. Ictor had made several such remarks of late – slyly threatening, insolent, challenging. It was almost as though he sought punishment. Very well, then. Perhaps it was time to bring this captain down a rank or two. Aye, a spell as a lowly tunnel guard might help curb his tongue . . .
    Royal Clearing lay silent and deserted below, as Little-Marten surveyed the scene from his high Perch in the Rowdy-Dow tree. The glade that had been chosen as the last resting place of Ba-betts was beyond his vision, hidden away in the bordering woodland, but he hadcaught some movement among the bare winter treetops and guessed that the tribute must now be over. Aye, and so it was, for there went one or two of the East Wood archers, Glim and Raim, returning to their work. Soon Maglin would come to give him orders, and then he hoped to say his piece.
    Little-Marten shivered beneath his bindle-wrap, frozen hands tucked into his armpits for comfort. The day was bright, but none the warmer for that, and he was looking forward to drumming out Queen’s Herald, if only to get his blood moving. The clavensticks would be cold as ice, but their sound would carry well on such a still day. Crisp and clear in the winter air, the hard rattle of the woodpecker.
Drrr-drrr . . . drrrrrr . . . drr
 . . .
    He closed his eyes for a