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surrounded by dank stands of spindly trees. The only structure of any size was the resthouse.

    The lights at its windows provided at least some promise of warmth and cheer. Its outbuildings - stable, smithy and wheelwright's shop - clung to its walls like children seeking protection at the skirt of a nursemaid. All was dominated by the great, harsh line of Sirian's Dyke itself. The massive dam of timber, stone and earth, standing higher than a man, stretched out from the edge of the village and vanished into the twilight. Here was the means by which Sirian had drowned Kan Avor. In all the years since its construction, most of the village's inhabitants had worked in the pay of successive Lannis Thanes to maintain this bulwark against the will of the river and keep Kan Avor bound in its watery chains.
    With their horses stabled for the night, Orisian, Rothe and Kylane entered the inn. The landlord appeared at their side before they had even found a table. He bowed to Orisian.
    'Welcome, welcome. It is an honour to have you as a guest, my lord.'
    The inn was half-full with a mixture of villagers and travellers. A hush fell across the room as Orisian and his shieldmen settled at a table, but it did not last: the Thane's kinsfolk were not such a rare sight in this place.
    Orisian slumped in his seat, savouring the warm air upon his skin and the rich smell, of food. He pulled his boots off and flexed his feet. He was trying unsuccessfully to remember what he had eaten the last time he stayed in this inn - it had been good, and he was hungry - when a serving girl came over and bobbed in front of him. She gave him a smile as warm as a thick bed. He smiled back and waited for her to ask him what he wanted. She said nothing, and for a couple of seconds the two of them regarded one another thus. Her smile grew only more expansive, her eyes more liquid as she stood there. Kylane laughed.
    'Ale and food,' said Rothe firmly, 'whatever you have that is good.'
    The girl looked at him as if puzzled by his words, and her smile slipped a fraction without quite losing its hold upon her mouth.
    'Yes, sire,' she said, and departed with another nod of her head to Orisian.
    'And wine and water, please,' he called after her, and was granted another glimpse of her radiant face over her shoulder.
    Kylane was still chuckling. 'Terrible effect you have on women,' the shieldman observed.
    Rothe glowered at his younger comrade in arms. His disapproval was wasted, since Kylane was already casting around the inn, seeking a game or perhaps a companionable-looking woman of his own.
    Orisian kicked amiably at Kylane's shin. 'It's not me,' he said, 'it's whose nephew I am.'
    'You give yourself too little of your due,' said Kylane distractedly. 'No tavern girl would think you ugly, even if you'd a goatherd for an uncle.'
    Orisian smiled, as much at the furrowing of Rothe's brow as anything. The older man often gave the impression that he despaired of Kylane's levity, but Orisian knew the two of them shared a deep-rooted mutual respect. Rothe had been his shieldman since his tenth birthday. Kylane had only taken up the task this last summer - an ominous sign, Orisian suspected, that the ageing Rothe was grooming a successor - but even so it earned him the right to a familiarity few others would dare. Being shieldman to a nephew of the Thane did not bring with it the responsibilities of guarding Croesan himself, but still it was no mere ceremonial role. Kylane had made a promise, just like Rothe before him, that set Orisian's life at a higher value than his own.
    They drank and ate well, the landlord accepting payment from Rothe only after a show of reluctance.
    They were given the best rooms in the house. Former residents, Orisian guiltily suspected, had been evicted at short notice. As his thoughts flirted with slumber Orisian found them, to his vague surprise, drifting toward Kolglas. In his mind's eye he gazed upon the castle in the sea and realised that he