We spent another year in the heights of Culon. A few days after the bloody night, we returned to the cabin, and soon we went back to our habits. When he wasn't perfecting my training, Ulrick would look for crayfish under the rocks above the falls, I would gather dead wood or roots from the west slope with Pike, and we would hunt together, enough so that the dry sausage and skins would accumulate again, not knowing what to do with them, under the roof of our little house. Winter came with its snow, the stream froze and the waterfall turned into a sculpture of crystalline stalactites that we cut with an axe to get water. The horses scratched the ground to find their food and, at the coldest, we had to give them our daily rations of grain.

Shortly after our return from Long-Vein, Ulrick used the boards and nails we had brought with us to make me a proper shield, a rondache a little too big for me with a lined leather rim, to which he sometimes hung stones to make it harder for me. Learning how to make a shield, as important as the handling of my wooden replicas, kept me busy until the following summer. I soon understood how my rondache was a precious tool, a weapon in individual combat, but also the basis of most military formations.

The shield of the vaïdogans had a peculiar shape, a sort of elongated and curved drop of water that protected the horsemen particularly well during charges, but Ulrick wanted me to learn on a simpler shield, more adapted to the hobblar he wanted to make of me. Soon we were able to engage in some real-false fighting, and even though I lost most of the time, Ulrick assured me that he could see the sign of a decent fighter in me, if I would only show a little perseverance.

We had retrieved the bandits' weapons and I had appropriated the veteran's spear, which was less damaged than the other. In addition, with the short bow of the beheaded man - less difficult to bend than Ulrick's - I practiced so much on the birch trees on the plateau, that I started what could be considered a small progression. Overall, however, I remained inexplicably bad and it all came together in a loop of frustration and discouragement that made me lose sight of my progress in other areas. My talents as a tracker were undeniable and, if I wished, I could move around the forest as quietly as a wild cat. The val-warrior felt that I had all the qualities of a promising hobblar and hoped that, when we finally joined one of Spinel's vaïdoerks, another teacher would be able to rectify my weaknesses and consolidate my strong points. I liked this idea as much as it troubled me, because our departure from the Heights would also mean that one day or another I would find the trembling violence of combat again.

I had put the memory of the killing out of my mind more than I had actually digested it. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, and I would guess the screams and the slashed flesh, buried beyond the darkness, on the edge of my dreams. I believe that even if our hunts had taught me how to kill, nothing could have prepared me to participate as I did in the suffering and terror of another human being. I don't know why, but I still had the somewhat stupid idea from my childhood that death came suddenly, as in the fencing games I sometimes practiced with Dera. It was all the more stupid because I had studied with Narsilap and even more so with Ulrick, and I had seen with my own eyes that things didn't happen that way at all.

The man who was killed was still alive when the blade left his body. He was in pain and fear, and often had time to realize that he was going to die.

The anguish that came to me at the idea of taking a new life or risking my own again was nevertheless contained by the ferocious conditioning that Ulrick imposed on me, which taught me in the course of our confrontations to display savage aggressiveness towards my future adversaries, without sacrificing my calm or reason. I always slit our prey's throat, and even though I didn't like it, I did it often and I did it well. I had thus come to accept - reluctantly - that I would kill again, and that this time, at least, I would do it better.

A new summer was coming to an end and there was a scent of change in the air. One storm after another, Ulrick had become more irritable than usual and we knew that soon we would have to leave our haven of peace for good. I think we were both postponing this moment, but this future was now part of our lives and hovered between us like a tangible threat whose name should be kept quiet. Even if, in the light of the revelations of the peregrine, the formulations that I made of the world I also felt an oppressive tingling, an itching of the mind and body that I increasingly assimilated to the plateau, the cabin, and the routine that followed it, day after day. The gleaning Moon was staring at us passively from its orbit, and our evenings around the fire were getting quieter and quieter. We were beginning to run out of white root, and time was stretching into a spiral as narrow and vicious as a noose.

The trigger came on a quiet afternoon. The air was still carrying the acidic freshness of the last storm and the sweet hints of rotting humus. Pike and Berda were grazing not far from us, under the birch trees and their silvery bark. I had taken them to wander the western slope that morning, where they had gorged themselves with forest sphagnum moss and sweet shoots, and I had left them there in the midday storm. As always, the shock of our wooden weapons had brought them back to the plateau, and they were now wandering between the clear trunks, feeling the ground with their thick lips and arguing over what they could find there. Near them, the rivulet flowed, troubled by the recent rainfall.

I squinted my eyes, ignoring the sweat and raised my rondache so that it would hit the shield of the Val, which hit back on my side. The slamming of my sword on Ulrick's put an end to our exchange. We were both panting under our armor, which we had lost the habit of wearing during the summer heat waves. The Val stepped forward and removed his helmet. "And there it is," he said quietly. "You're dead." I objected, knowing that I was wrong. Ulrick cut me off with an exasperated gesture. "There are no excuses, Sletling, I've told you a hundred times. You parry with the edge of the sword. Your sword is broken, and you're dead." I grumbled as I wiped my face. The Val put down his large shield. "I'm going to put my head under the waterfall for a while, and then we'll do a few more rounds." I sat down heavily, my back against a willow tree, waiting for the Val to come back.

I had the impression that I was steaming in my cloak, which I only wore as a makeshift gambeson under my mail, and in which I was more and more narrow.

"My shield prevented me from seeing that angle," I said to the Val, who had knelt on the pebbles. "I keep telling you it's too big." Ulrick snorted, blowing off the dripping droplets from his beard like a shaggy dog would have done. "Is that what you're going to tell in Spinel?" he replied, pivoting slowly. "When the Ktoï will come for you? Oh sorry, Leafy, but I didn't see you, because my shield is too big!" He turned towards the falls with a mocking grin, and poured some more water on his thick braid. "You're going to have to stop...," he continued, before interrupting his tirade. I saw him briefly scanning the forest below, whispering a "Fekk", before lying down on the stream bank. A few moments later he came towards me, bent in half and swearing profusely.

I was already on my feet and on the lookout, my heart throbbing, when he reached my level, dripping and troubled. "Don't panic, Fyss," he whispered. "The men of the lord are in the woods just below. They're coming this way, and I think they've seen me." I swallowed. Ulrick looked like he was thinking for a moment, and then he put a hand over his face. "We're going back to the cabin. With the horses." I nodded and we went as quietly as we could. I gathered our wooden weapons before mounting Pike, and the Val took the lead, leading Berda by the bridle.

When we reached the cliff, Ulrick rushed into the cabin and dragged his equipment out. "Saddle the horses," he ordered, without taking the time to look at me. "If they give us any trouble, we'll ride through the gully. The border of Cover-Pass is less than a day away. They won't follow us much further than that."

An hour later we had hastily loaded the horses. Berda had been dressed with her bard, and we waited nervously for the militia to emerge from the forest. Leading them were four riders whom the weapons, the linen clothes stuffed with fur and the beautiful riveted chain mail set them apart. They were men of a certain rank. I counted eight soldiers and thought I recognized one of them. I had a good memory for faces and it seemed to me that I had seen the soldier in question the year before, in the guardhouse at the entrance of Long-Vein.

When the procession reached the edge of the birch trees, the troop paused. After a brief exchange, the horsemen advanced head-on toward the cabin. It was a wrinkled man of a certain age, wearing the bulbous nose of those who drink more than they should, who talked to us. "My son was certain that there was a bandit camp here," he said in a high-pitched voice, pointing to the great horseman on his right. He gazed at us for a long time, his eyes squinted, and I could easily detect a liveliness in his reddened eyes that contrasted sharply with his appearance of an old alcoholic. "It would seem that he was mistaken," the man continued, observing Ulrick with interest, "nevertheless, warrior, I must ask you what you're doing on my land, and why you didn't announce yourself sooner."

The Val moistened his lips. "We cherished our solitude, lord," he replied cautiously. The son, whose brown hair was tied into a rustic tail, turned to his father and whispered a few words in his ear. The old man seemed to be listening attentively, and he looked at me curiously. His faded eyes sparkled. I stirred uncomfortably on my saddle. "I understand, warrior," he said. "Even so, it seems you've been living in my woods for some time. You undoubtedly eat my game, and you cut down my trees to build this house. Don't you think I'm in a position to ask you for compensation?" The patriarch had not let me out of his sight, so I answered.

"Last year we killed three bandits near the road to Culon, my lord," I said shakingly. "It was during the lurs season." The old man frowned, and it was his son who spoke. "A pig keeper found the remains of Bodie's gang last fall, one day from the main road. You say you did this?" Ulrick answered without hesitation, in a clear voice.

"Yes, it was us."

In front of us, the Pulan horses were as agitated as Berda and danced under the horsemen who were conversing in a low voice. Then the old man put his foot on the ground and walked towards us, his wrinkles deformed by a slight smile, while behind him, the three others imitated his example. Ulrick left the saddle in his turn. When he reached our position, the old man grabbed his hand as a greeting. I was struck by the contrast between the shaggy Val and the well groomed old man, he looked like a bear hugging a man.

"I'm Petti Voln, lord of the village of Long-Vein. This is my eldest son, Tristof, my esquire, Morton Omfray, and the militia sergeant Geach. We've been riding for ten days already. Let's share some bread and wine too. I'm thirsty."

The Val bowed his head in agreement, while the esquire Omfray, a nervous little man came back towards us swinging a wineskin.

"I'm Ulrick, from the val country," replied the warrior simply. "Here's my yunling." The old man stepped back, folded down his cloak and quickly sat down on one of the stumps around the small fire pit we had dug in the gravel. Ulrick glanced at me insistently, then, seeing that I was not reacting, he grabbed me by the shoulder and grumbled. "Your manners, yunling," he said. "Go get dry sausage for everyone."

Further on, the militiamen had also made themselves comfortable and they could see us from the shade of the first birch trees. Omfray and Tristof's son sat too, while the sergeant returned to his men, a gnarled hand grasping the polished pommel of his sword. The old lord opened the wineskin with its teeth and drank. He then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and a red drop dripped from the corner of his beard as he passed the wine to Ulrick. "Thank you for your honesty," he said as the Val took a sip. "We knew who you were when we saw your armor. You're the Val and the child that the Lemis are looking for. Tell me, boy, is it true that you're a sorcerer as they say?" I handed a slice of dry sausage to the old man, while stammering confusedly.

"No, lord. And I've never killed anyone. Well, yes..." I clumsily said, "... but only last year." The old man laughed, his mouth overflowing with dried meat. "Too bad," he said. "I know many people who would have appreciated the services of a good sorcerer these days." Tristof unraveled his hair, which fell in greasy curls around his face, and handed me the wineskin with a grimace. The young man glanced at his father and then turned to Ulrick. "We don't like the Lemis," he said frankly, "and their League friends. Long-Vein was prosperous before the Franlake bankers opened their damn mines in Culon." I drank a swig of wine, a cheap plonk from Sarg or elsewhere, and coughed because of its acidity. The lord ignored me and resumed after the tirade of his son. "As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here as long as you like," he announced, while waving a piece of dry sausage in the direction of Ulrick. "For one or two bandits a year, I would even pay you a salary, and everyone would be happy. But understand that some of my men must have recognized you too, and that the bounty on your heads could make more than one of them happy. I'm afraid that following our unexpected visit, whether I like it or not, it would be more wise for you to leave."

The old man stared at Ulrick with interest, studying his every reaction. His trembling mouth was deformed by a strange contraction between apology and smile. The Val drank some wine again. "We were planning to leave anyway, lord," he said. "To tell you the truth, I was hoping to join one of the vaïdoerks of Spinel." Tristof looked at his father again, and he shook his head. "Spinel? Isolated like you are, it doesn't surprise me that you don't know anything about it," mumbled the lord. "The primate Vilan is dead. We've just returned from his funeral. He was killed by a leafy assassin, and his daughter Ovie took over. The canton of Spinel is in open rebellion. It's said that the nobles were all put to death there in the worst way and that a new king of the Elms has risen. I'm afraid that this will eventually spread here."

Ulrick didn't say anything for a while, then he put his hand on my shoulder. "A second vine war. More work for us," he announced in a tone I didn't know whether he was amused or gloomy, but Tristof shook his head. "No, warrior," he said. "The Vals are gone. Whitewood and Culon tried to reason with her, but Ovie was inflexible. She wants to avenge her father and purify Spinel. Reconquer so as to make an example of the Leafys, once and for all. The Vals didn't want to take part in this. They left."

Ulrick sniffed."The vaïdogans don't slaughter peasants" he grumbled, as if he was trying to justify the choice of his comrades-in-arms. The old man in front of him smiled. "You're lucky to be able to make a choice. As a lord I owe the primate fifteen men, and Tristof will lead them in my place." It was Ulrick's turn to pout. "I don't envy you," he said to the son. "That's enough to stain a man for a lifetime." The man in question didn't answer, and took a sip of wine. The afternoon sun glittered on his chain mail. I noticed that it was well maintained, but much older than I had thought. Long-Vein wasn't as rich as before.

The old man raised his chin. "It takes more than that to stain the name of the Voln. Even if I don't agree, something must be done." Ulrick's expression froze before becoming more vague. "Brownian politics don't concern me," he finally replied. His face, however, spoke volumes about what he was really thinking. An uncomfortable latency followed these words. The val-warrior passed one hand over his wet braid. He didn't need to speak. With the vaïdoerks gone, we found ourselves alone and exposed, which let us foresee a dangerous end of the year, if we didn't manage to catch up with them.

"Do you know which road the Vals took to get back?" Omfray sniffed and wiggled on his trunk. "They're not all going back," he said in a hoarse voice, and the Val looked up at him with interest. It was old Petti who continued. "My esquire learned that some of them went east," he said. "Wadd and Hill are at war. There have already been a few skirmishes in the foothills and the seneschal of Nawd Corju has raised troops to lead the assault on the canton of Ac-Pass. Wadd recruited a rearguard of mercenaries in Garnear and that's where they intended to go, I think. Everything's falling apart. I never thought I'd say this, but I almost regret the days of king Ab."

Ulrick had his first real smile since the militia arrived. "Thank you so much, lord," he said. "This news may save our lives. This vaïdoerk will inevitably have to pass by the ferry of Gorwill, because of the chargers. We have a chance to join them there."

The lord squeezed the empty wineskin in his gullet. "In this case I wish you good luck," he said. "If I were you, I would avoid the road as much as possible. And in case you change your mind, don't go back to Cover-Pass without taking a lot of precautions. Even if you make it through the canton, the High-Pass road is easy to oversee." Ulrick nodded gravely. "A thousand thanks, lord, once again. We'll leave at once."

He stood up and cracked his joints. "It's not much, but there are supplies in the cabin, and some nice furs too. They're for you, to make up for the taxes we haven't paid. Between that and the bandits, I'd say we're even." The eyes of the lord sparkled and he reached out his hand to Ulrick, who shook it warmly before doing the same with Tristof and Omfray. "If everything goes as expected," Ulrick concluded, staring at the old man, "and that one day your lord needs a vaïdoerk, I assure you that at the mention of your name the price of the Vals will go down. You've been good to us. I won't forget that." As I hesitated, he grabbed me by the mail and put me on my feet. "Let's go, yunling," he said in a dry tone. I spat at his feet, then bowed towards the lord, as I had learned in Castle-Horn. He made a toothless grin and I headed towards the horses.

Some time later, the warm wind blew through my hair and between my thighs, Pike's powerful muscles rolled slowly as we went deeper into the forest. Ulrick, impressive in his armor, closed the march, a determined look engraved on his face. I looked behind me at the plateau, the stream and the cliff, and the militia troop settling there for the night. Something sad and beautiful took hold of me for a few moments and I turned Pike so that I could contemplate the ridge where sometimes wolves would come to howl. I took a deep breath of the fresh air from the tops, then with a pressure of my heels I turned my back on two years of my life, to that place where I had known as much suffering as fierce joy, and where the val-warrior had taught me how to be a man.

End of Part 3