During the next hour, under the blackened stairs of the Woody's inn, I told Ulrick everything from the beginning. Brindy's hair, my first thefts, how Sesh had taken me into his service. The dead man I had found, and the smugglers of Gavan Estu. Robin, in his Rajjan galley. My anger against Randu Lemis and the old families, who had precipitated my first stay in jail. The fake trial. The conspiracy of the upper class with the merchants of the League of Franlake. Then the death of Nad and Rus'Narsi and finally the fake murder of Holen, perpetrated by the assassin. However, I spoke neither of the Seïd I had seen, nor of the dreams I had. The Val listened patiently to me, raising a puzzled eyebrow from time to time, while I jumped skillfully from one subject to another, and he remained silent, except to remind me to lower my voice.

When I finished, Ulrick remained just as unfathomable, and I was afraid he would get up and leave me. "Well, that will teach me a lesson," he finally said in a deep voice. "I thought I would save you from a stupid death at the hands of fools. If I didn't owe you my life, Sletling, I wouldn't have rescued you, and if I didn't owe you a leg, I'd probably leave you here without even looking back. It seems to me that you attract trouble just as shit attracts flies." The tears that I had managed to keep under control during my story, with the memories coming back, came suddenly to my eyes.

I bit my lip so as not to cry in front of the Val. Ulrick saw it anyway, his mouth wrinkled into a thin, hard line, and he gave me a blow on my ear. "A few drops of water and salt never changed anything in the world, Sletling, and my debt remains. I promised to make you a warrior, and I will keep that promise. I'll keep it even when you beg me not to, which will happen much faster than you think." He got up slowly. "We've talked enough. We need to get out of here as soon as possible." I unfolded my legs and the metal rings clicked. The haubergeon weighed on my shoulders again, as if to drive me underground.

"Innkeeper!" roared the Val, and the red-headed man came, a forced smile on his lips, which faded as the warrior spoke. "We'll be back within the hour. I want food for a moon. Bread. Tubers. Beans or peas. Barley, a cheese to dry if you manage to find some, and I'll pay well. Let my beasts be loaded and saddled! If anything is missing from my things, I'll come back to get my hands on them," he concluded ferociously. The man turned pale, but still smiled in a helpful manner and disappeared, calling for help. Ulrick grabbed me by the arm and pushed me out. "I can see why he's been sulking since we got here. He's afraid we're going to bring trouble," he grunted. "I hope the guard doesn't get involved."

The other customers were watching us as we left the tavern, most of them without hiding. The peregrine with the green eyes and the root mask winked at me one last time. I don't know why, but I didn't see any malice in it.

We went first to the well that stood in the courtyard at the back of the inn. There, Ulrick filled his gourd, as well as a large wineskin taken from the package. The pimply-faced boy ran here and there, his arms laden with provisions. He carefully avoided looking at me and my armor, which I ended up taking badly, wishing that Berda would be less cooperative with him. Then we left the compound.

Ulrick walked swiftly and confidently, his hand on the pommel of his long curved sword, and I trotted behind him, pestering against the mail.

In spite of the smell of sewer, to which I was accustomed for having frequented the lower districts, the streets of Woody were rather pleasant to walk through.

The main reason for this was that there was no mud, and I wondered why the same thing hadn't been done in Brown-Horn: I liked this kind of coarse flooring. It was as if the whole village was floating on the ground, in a swirl so slow that it was invisible.

We walked south, the castle mound and the path that climbed up it in our backs, and Ulrick mumbled alone in front of me. I turned around from time to time, despite the effort it cost me, to contemplate the edifice. If I could eventually find a certain familiarity with the architecture of the rest of the village (even if in Brown-Horn they preferred thatch for the roofs), the castle was different. It reminded me a bit of the fortified domains that the old families had erected on Hill-Horn, but more imposing and more martial. Hard and sliced corners and little room for amenities. The faded banners of Cover-Pass floated on the battlements, a black raven on a white background, to remind me that I was now a stranger in a foreign land. What impressed me even more was the old, worn-out look of the fort. In comparison, if the two buildings had been placed side by side, Castle-Horn, although five times larger, would have looked terribly young and clean.

A militia patrol had been following us from a distance since we had left the hostel. They were keeping an eye on us, without approaching us openly. The news that we were wanted must have spread throughout the village and we entered without suspecting anything, like walking on a viper. However, when we left the center of the village, the guard did not follow us any further. Ulrick soon stopped to bang on the closed door of an isolated hovel, which, from the foul odor, could only have been a tanner's workshop. A forty-year-old with drawn features and black teeth finally opened the door, his scarred face cracked with a surprised smile. As he wiped his two gnawed hands in the thick stained leather apron that hung from his neck to his knees, the man welcomed us, then his gaze fell on the five gambisoned militiamen who were hanging around outside the village.

"Warrior," he said. "Come in." We did so, after I shook my muddy shoes at the entrance.

An old woman covered with black warts sat in a dark corner of the hovel where, from the soiled worktop, she meticulously drilled a series of holes in the joint of a yoke. As she concentrated on her task, her crusty eyes did not leave her work when we appeared on the threshold. The powerful, ammoniacal smell of the soaking tubs, yet somewhere outside, seemed to ooze through the walls to invade my mouth, throat, and nose, an alkaline drowning of the senses. On the walls hung leather pieces of various shapes and sizes, as well as several blackened cast iron tools, an awl, a few hardies, and other things that were unknown to me. After offering a small wooden cup to the Val, the contents of which were immediately swallowed, the tanner put his blue eyes on me, a curious expression on his face. "I heard that..." he began, before Ulrick cut him off with a gesture, and in a voice harder than I expected. "He's not mine. And I don't have time for small talk, Reut." The man frowned, and made a puzzled face.

"I understand," he said slowly without taking his eyes off me. Then his eyes turned to the face of the Val. "What can I do for you?"

Ulrick took a deep breath. "Do you still have your child? The youngest?" he asked in a low voice. Reut nodded, with a sorrowful look that I didn't understand. "The boy needs correct boots," continued the Val. "I'll pay double for your kid's boots, if they're in good condition. They should be about the same size." The man pouted. "Give me five hours and I could make him a custom-made pair," he said. The Val shook his head. "I don't have five hours, Reut," he said bluntly. The tanner hesitated, and then he agreed. "Out of friendship for you, warrior. Anything else?" Ulrick scratched his beard, looking thoughtful. "I'd also need a good bundle of wrought leather," he finally replied.

"I would have preferred your work, but that will have to wait until next time. I would also like you to keep the child at home while I take care of my business. It'll take an hour or so." The tanner's eyes darkened and he stared at me again. "A man from the League came by yesterday, I was told." The Val cut him off with a dry laugh. "And he must be far away by now, wondering how I could have pushed my horses so hard," he said. "But I prefer to be careful. There are people here who wouldn't spit on the gold of this assassin. I'd rather not wave the boy in front of them." Reut wrinkled his forehead, then, without a word, he swung on his heels and went to his back store.

He returned a few moments later, with a worn sword in his hand. The old woman looked up for the first time. "You can leave in peace," said the tanner, staring at Ulrick strangely. "I'll lock the door, even to the guard." The shadow of a smile appeared on the val-warrior's face. He bowed, turned around, and left me there in the stench of the tannery.

As soon as he left, Reut turned to me, beckoning me to follow him. "How long have you been with him, kid?" he asked as we walked through a small door behind the old lady's workbench.

"Since yesterday," I replied in a small voice. "He will protect you," he said. "He protected me. Here are your boots. My kid prefers to go barefoot, in this season." The man pointed to a pair of soft leggings that were lying on a shelf in the dark passage. "They should be waterproof," he said. "Put them on so we can see if you need to pad them." I struggled under the weight of the mail, leaving my muddy shoes where they had fallen.

As the boots turned out to be a little too big, the tanner carried them to his workshop. I watched him work patiently until they fit my foot properly. Next to us, the old woman continued her work tirelessly. Her breath was whistling. "You can take the leather off when your feet grow. Better too big than not big enough," Reut said when he was finished. "Your Val will probably explain that to you. A good pair of boots is the best. You run slower when your feet are bleeding." I looked up to see his scars. "You've known Ulrick for a long time?" I asked. The man nodded, and his blue eyes turned unintentionally on the chipped sword placed on the worktop. "Could you tell me how you met?" I continued in a small voice, when it was clear that the person I was talking to was not going to tell me on his own. Reut took a rather abrupt breath, and I thought he was going to turn me down, and then, in a low, abrupt voice, he started telling me his story.

"It was long before you were born, kid. When the last lord of Brican died, his sons fought for the succession. The eldest had spent his youth in the wars of king Ab, but when he heard about his father, he returned from Carm. The other had never left the canton, he was known to the people, and the people loved him. I too loved him, and I followed him even when the primate supported his brother's claim. I was his esquire, you see, the youngest to be appointed in the whole canton. We went into the woods. Two years, starving, and the dead piled up on either side. We were all tired, we wanted nothing more, except to go home. But we couldn't, because the other one, the child of war, would have hanged us. In the end, the primate sent the Vals to settle the matter. Well, they settled it. They came on us one evening, fifty men, and with the night we thought there were five hundred of them. They decimated our vanguard in two charges and suppressed the disorder that remained before them. Three days later they crushed those who still wanted to fight on the banks of the Brown. The man I served died, many others died, and I was not the only one who surrendered. Then they wanted to hang us. By that time, most of our people were so tired and cut up that we almost didn't care. But the Vals, who had given us enough blood to make the rope seem like a deliverance, they protected us from the man they had fought for. They protected us, and escorted us north to Woody. The primate proved them right within a year, so we didn't hang. That was it. Ulrick was one of them."

Absorbed by the story, I opened two big questioning eyes. "But then you fought each other? Did he cut your face?" I asked, really impressed. The other shook his head. "Not really against each other," he said with a bitter smile, and the painful tension he seemed to have built up during his monologue dispersed somewhat. "I wouldn't be here to talk about it otherwise, I guess. But we were enemies, I suppose." "But now you're friends," I insisted. There was a long silence that I didn't expect. "He killed my companions, and I can never go home again. But he also saved my life," Reut replied. "He saved my life, too," I completed joyfully. The tanner no longer looked at me, he stared at the emptiness, lost in his thoughts. "It's a strange thing, life," he ended up declaring softly, without looking at me. "Certainties change. Even those for which one has given the most."

I opened my mouth to say nothing, then the cracked voice of the old woman startled me. "They say it's a road that we trace. But it's a river that we're following." Her long wrinkled fingers stopped their work. She turned her wrinkles towards me, and offered me a toothless smile. "Don't make your river too red, little soldier," she squeaked, "you'll kill all the beautiful fish." I nodded, without really understanding what she was talking about. Then the horses made noise outside and Reut got up to take a look. "The warrior's back," he said, as he removed the bar blocking the door.

Ulrick was waiting for me on the road, where, bent in half, he was readjusting the stirrups of Berda. The tanner followed me outside, with a roll of leather under his arm. The Val gave him a silver denarius when the leather was strapped to the pack which overflowed from the broad back of the pack gelding: "We're going to Brenkepp, if you're asked," Ulrick said in an amused voice. Reut smiled, "I have no doubt, warrior," he said. "Safe journey to you both. May the Hunter protect you." The Val sniffed. "If I'd need the Hunter to protect me, I think I'd have known by now," he grunted. "I'm not going to be back here for a while, Reut. Take care of yourself and your people." As I looked at the saddle with envy, he added firmly, "Sletling, you're walking."

Grimacing, I followed in the footsteps of the two horses. We made our way to the Woody crossroads, before turning right towards Cover-Pass. The feeling of the boots was more unusual than uncomfortable, but I was used to shoes. My feet were trapped and I didn't really like it. We soon passed the group of guards who had followed us earlier in the afternoon. Leaning on the shaft of their spears, they let us pass without making a fuss. There were many stares and whispers that Ulrick ignored, but no militiaman with too much greed had the foolish idea of trying to make a name for himself by calling out to a val-warrior. We moved forward again, between the damp stone walls that snaked through the fields and the thick moss that covered them. I looked up when, high in the sky, a falcon sang its high-pitched scream. We left Woody behind, and, to the dull rhythm of the hooves on the wooden road, we moved deeper into the forest beyond.