The sky was low and cloudy, and outside, the wind was blowing. The four of us were standing in the frame of the barn door, which creaked softly in the gusts of wind. We had been watching Solas the gander for at least an hour, waddling proudly back and forth in the yard. Robin, with his trumpet-shaped nose, looked grumpy, and stated the obvious:

"Well, he's still not dead."

I took a deep and audible breath, before grumbling:

"That's what I told you."

Ucar pressed Robin's arm. "Go ahead," he said, "give him another piece". I shook my head with frustration as Robin took off another piece of the loaf and threw it into the yard. Solas rushed to swallow it in a hurry. I looked bitterly at his long serpentine neck and the large lump that was slowly but surely descending towards the crop. Behind us, Brindy sputtered:

"He's not dead, but if you keep giving him bread, there will be nothing left for the rest of us."

Robin and Ucar had already fed the gander well, a whole fourth of the bread loaf. In my opinion, the great Solas had never had such a good day. Always doubtful, and quick to show bad faith, Ucar turned around to tell Brindy:

"Yeah, but maybe it's a slower poison, that he has to get a lot of it before he dies."

When I came home with my new knife, I had no choice but to confess. My companions had listened as their horrified disbelief inflated. Red up to my ears, I told them about the thefts, about my mishap in Solc street, and finally about the stolen horses and my association with Sesh. I tried, without real conviction, to portray him in a more nuanced light, giving them the example of the messenger of the legate, but nothing helped. They did not believe for a moment that Sesh could be generous to anyone, and immediately agreed that this was probably a trick to make me let my guard down.

A few days later, the weekend had arrived. I had honored the appointment that the soldier had set for me, driven more by the stubborn defiance that my friends inspired me than by a real desire to return to Castle Horn. Sesh had kept his word, and immediately gave me a nice wheat bread, soft to the touch and still warm.

Due to a lack of chairs, he then made me sit on his bed and, after pouring me a steaming herbal tea of wild mint, he told me the rest of the story of the stolen horses. Rigid and tense, I grabbed hold of the edge of his bunk, and it took me a long time to really listen to him.

I didn't know what to think of the series of attentions this man showed me, nor of the strange, sad gaze with which he sometimes stared at me, but I was less and less certain that first-blade Sesh's had earned his reputation. He was certainly strict and a little distant, and sometimes even downright bizarre, but at the same time -and this was not for lack of trying- I did not feel that he was a danger to me.

The day after my visit, Sesh had gone to interview the groom's helper, whom he thought he recognized from the description I had given him. Caught between four eyes, Wooly finally confessed everything, trembling, especially since Sesh did not arrive empty-handed. Through his informants, he had already learned that the individual in question had contracted large debts in a gambling house in Bell Street. The man was brought to justice before the lord Bard, who magnanimously took only a single phalanx from the entire hand that Wooly owed him. He then settled the young man's debts and did not dismiss him from his service, as recommended by several of his advisers.

Sesh reported the incident to me in detail. The primate Bard Govon said that, although Wooly was a mediocre gambler and a mediocre thinker, he was nonetheless good with horses. One of the assistants of the magistrate, a young man a little too certain of his own importance, had the nerve to insinuate that by doing so, the primate, with all due respect, was encouraging crime. As it so happened that no one had asked the assistant in question for his opinion, Bard gave him a very sharp admonition. "The role of a primate is to look after the welfare of his subjects. This man is my subject, and in so doing, I not only see to his welfare, but also to the well-being of his fellow-citizens. Brown Horn does not need another invalid who will fall into begging or banditry when he can no longer practice an honest trade for lack of hands."

I didn't understand everything, but I had noted Bard's magnanimity, and Sesh ended his report by looking up at the ceiling with bright eyes: "It is an honor to serve such a wise man." Bard was indeed a good primate, appreciated by his people, and while some upper-class creditors later got into the habit of telling their overdue debtors that they could always go and steal Bard's horse, a majority of the residents approved of the decision. The same day, after giving justice, Bard had left Brown Horn for a new meeting of primates with a substantial escort, and the kindly old Nep was one of them.

When I returned, Robin and Ucar had made up their minds that the loaf Sesh had given me was poisonous. Ucar in particular didn't want to let go of it. I couldn't bear to see all my bread disappear into the gander's greedy gullet, so I ended up tearing the loaf out of their hands and, before their horrified looks, I tore off a large corner of it and stuffed the whole thing in my mouth. Robin immediately became livid, and I thought Ucar was going to start crying. When Brindy imitated me, I was sure they would both choke. I thanked Brindy for her confidence, and the two of us ate almost everything, regardless of the worried complaints.

Brindy had not said anything, neither about my confession nor about the robberies I had committed for her, but she was no longer speaking to me, and I feared that I had deeply hurt her. The fact remained that she had always been the most pragmatic of the four of us, and a loaf of bread was a loaf of bread, no matter where it came from. We had no peace the entire afternoon, and the only way we could get Robin and Ucar to close their mouths was to hand over to them our two bowls of soup in the evening. We all fell asleep that night, except for Ucar, who watched us both until the next morning, as one watches for the death rattle of a dying man.

As the weeks went by, the other two also accepted bread from Sesh, albeit reluctantly, and on every occasion, even with their mouths full, they did not deprive themselves to remind me how much they disapproved of our association. In spite of my doubts, so as not to lose face, I stood up to them.

During this time, the first-blade did not contact me in the course of his investigations, but every last day, as he handed me a golden loaf and a few coins, he listened with interest to the rumors and hearsay that I was bringing him back from the Basin and seemed to take a particular interest in the two disappearances, about which he questioned me at greater length.

I devoted most of my free time to meeting Dera again and a strong friendship was beginning to develop between us. My relationship with those on the farm had taken a turn that I did not like. There was the silence of Brindy, which terrified me, and sometimes I also felt embarrassed in the company of the two boys. Every gift that Sesh's money allowed me to bring them was greeted with suspicion. On several occasions, Ucar even asked me quite openly if I hadn't started stealing again. Moreover, their worried and incessant reproaches about Sesh got on my nerves. Also, at that time, our paths crossed more and more rarely.

Dera's family welcomed me with a surprising warmth, as if I had always been a part of their life, and I often had lunch with them. They were five living beneath their large yurt: two parents, two children and an old grandmother who hardly ever got up any more, which in the end made for an unusually small clanic home. Dera's father was called Rue, and he was a middle-aged man whose hard, stretched features contrasted singularly with his generous heart. He often treated me with hunting stories and even showed me an authentic segment of scal's chitin. The iridescent segment left me stunned, so much so that it suggested the real size of these monsters: four to five spans long, and of a width to make the most imposing logger in Brown Horn blush.

To the great displeasure of Vaug and Dera, Rue told me the true story about the eggs. They had stumbled upon the nest by chance. The scal was hibernating and had not even woken up when the hunting companions had killed it. So there had been no heroic battle, as Vaug had described it. However, the hunter later explained to me how these creatures were feared by the clans during the summer, when they were most active. They moved quickly, their shells were difficult to pierce, even with a metal spike, and their mandibles secreted a very effective paralyzing venom - a single bite could quickly incapacitate an adult male. In addition, these scolopenders were cunning and fearless. I made no comment on the eggs or on the merchant who took them, but Rue smiled and admitted that he didn't expect to get much out of them anyway, and that in the end the man had done him a favor. He did not think that the scals would be compatible with the Rajjan climate, but this way, if there was a market to be taken, he would be the first to know. If barter and exchange had always been the way of the clans, many in the Basin were now taking a malicious pleasure in learning the rules of foreign economies, and making them prevail, as if they were nothing more than an amusing game of bidding.

Dera's mother, whose name was Mesh, was a respected seamstress at the Basin, and I learned that the pants Frieze had been selling me were one of her many creations. She wore her hair short in a chaig style, and her eyes glowed with a natural mischievousness that often reminded me of her children's. I was very impressed with her work. Dera owed much of her sharp tongue to her, but it was her son who most resembled her. Vaug's stories had been noticed in the camp, more for their passion than for their truthfulness, and he would soon be old enough to leave the home of his parents for a tutor who would be able to pass on his knowledge to him. A chaig storyteller was already taking an interest in him, but there was also old Frieze, who maintained that with a few years of practice the young man would make an excellent merchant. Dera, as she had announced to me, would be a huntress.

The people of the clans treat the genders equally, so there are male and female warriors, hunters and huntresses among them. It is no disgrace for a man to stay in the yurt to look after children and household chores while his wife goes out hunting. In the Highlands, pragmatism is a way of life, and if a young girl shoots a bow better than her brother or carries a sword better, it is natural that she inherits the family weapons.

This was apparently the case with Dera. I learned succinctly from her how to track a trail, and also how to set snares with steel ivy, a poisonous climbing plant that is as flexible and strong as a cord. She showed me how the end of the stem had to be put into the ground so that it could be watered: this way, the ivy would lose its stringlike properties less quickly. We rarely caught anything, but when we did, she willingly shared it with me. In return I sometimes took her to Brown Horn where we would stroll through the streets of the lower town, playing hide-and-seek or peeping at the stalls, while exchanging derogatory comments about the traders when they chased us away.

We were always together.

I soon noticed that, despite the number of children living in the Basin, Dera had no real friends among them. I appreciated her outspoken ways, just as she appreciated mine. She knew that I had stolen and didn't give a damn. On the contrary, she thought I had guts, which was a relief for me, so much so that I had become accustomed to the moralizations of my friends on the farm. We admired each other, I for her reckless pugnacity and she for my sharp mind. I was rather of a silent nature, Dera was horribly talkative and spoke enough for two. From the beginning, I had decided to make her aware of my relationship with Sesh, and although she felt that Brown Horn's affairs were none of her business, it was out of affection for me that she informed me of the latest rumors, so that the soldier would have something to talk about during our weekly appointments. Secretly, I suspected that she liked these reports because they gave her an excuse to listen to me talk for hours.

At the beginning of the off-season, we had become as inseparable as we were complementary. However, when a third young Fyss did not return from her morning trip to the Brown wharf, Dera's parents put an end to our solitary escapades and, like many other children of the clans, my friend found herself condemned to never again leave the Basin without the supervision of an adult. In spite of the guards and curfews, I still tried to visit her as regularly as possible.

The year progressed slowly, the trees were bare on the other side of the river, there were no more apples, which had been picked a long time ago, and autumn was coming for good. The weather was cool and rainy. The fishermen's boats were staying more and more often at the wharf, as the river Brown was swelling from the torrential downpours in the mountains. If it remained navigable beyond Whitewood, things were getting riskier at home, and the river was hardly more practicable than by the most daring captains. The primate Bard eventually returned on a windy day, and the next day, on the calender day that announced the beginning of each lunation, the town criers announced in all the squares that the Treaty of Pulo had just been revoked. It was official, Brown Horn was no longer part of any kingdom, and returned under the sole authority of his primate.

In a very concrete way, this did not change much in the daily life of the inhabitants of the primacies. However, the Treaty of Pulo also acted as a non-aggression pact between primates, and the fear of a return to the old wars was on everyone's lips. The possibility of a conflict in the south was publicly evoked. I heard an iron merchant from Grey-March say that his commissions had doubled, and other stories of the same kind were flourishing. Certainly, it was said, after half a century of peace between Brownians, troubled times were once again going to fall on the primacies, and everyone watched with unhealthy interest for the slightest piece of news that abounded in this direction.

Brown Horn had never really been involved in the old conflicts, already because it was the youngest of the primacies. It had no real territories to conquer, no cantons, only vast uninhabitable forests populated by savages, and a harsh climate. Moreover, the southern primates had - rightly - always considered Castle Horn as a buffer between their estates and the Highlands. If inheriting Brown Horn meant spending one's own money to repel the hordes, it seemed like a bad deal, especially since another primate was already taking care of it. This vision had hardly changed over the years despite the appeasement of the clans and the growing wealth of the city - which probably protected us from the temptations of our neighbors. However, that could change.

The atmosphere in Brown Horn exceeded all previous records of morosity. People were worried, and worry is a communicative thing. The guard was overwhelmed by small matters of temper, drunken brawls, or marital disputes. For their part, the people of the Basin were irritable and distrustful, and the disappearance of three of their own encouraged the families to return to their winter quarters as quickly as possible.

As it was a matter of Fysses, and that legally the guard remained impotent in this case, many were those of the clans to take this indifference for a will of malevolence. Some of the most fervent young warriors did not hesitate to openly accuse the Brown Hornians of kidnapping their children. Things got even worse when a drunken hunter was severely beaten up in a tavern in the basement. The guard had intervened, albeit belatedly, and the man escaped alive, but his trapping season in the Highlands was over.

When his family went to the castle to demand reparation, the ensuing procedure split the town in two. It seemed to me that the entire area was under the dangerous yoke of bad temper.

It was in this unattractive context that Sesh summoned me again.