A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Parr Castle was a stern building, high and strong, made bleaker by the winter morn. A fortress on the water.

Just as Wulf watched the castle, so he, in turn, felt watched by it. It was a queer impression, given the building itself had so few eyes. One turret on the east side had no windows at all.

He shook himself. Stone and mortar could not have eyes. No, he was tired and bored, not to mention freezing his cleppets off, and it was making him imagine.

Thrit shifted in his sleep. Wulf covered him with another blanket, careful not to wake him.

Days they had hunkered down in here, in the skeleton of a sanctuary on a hill above Parr Castle. The ruin had sat untouched for decades, commanding a view of the lake and the two islands the fortress spanned. The banner of the Duke of Generosity still hung upon its walls – a sheaf of wheat on a green field – and from its highest turret flew the True Sword, the sign of royal authority. Together, they proclaimed that the Lord Protector was in residence.

The wind blew hard. Wulf coughed into a gloved hand. Inys might not be half as icy as Hróth in late winter, but their hideaway was damp and cold, and they dared not risk a fire.

As the sun rose, Mara returned from her scouting, coming on foot from the hills. Wulf stared when he saw who was with her. While Thrit slept on, he stood aside to let them in.

Lord Mansell folded him straight into his arms. ‘Wulf,’ he breathed. ‘Saint, I can’t believe it. You don’t even look hurt.’

‘I missed you, Pa.’

When Lord Mansell finally drew back, his eyes were stony with resolve.

‘I came from Langarth,’ he said to them both. ‘Father brought me abreast of your doubts.’ He set down a basket. ‘Last night, a messenger arrived from Lady Helisent – she paid him for his haste. Queen Glorian had word that Lord Robart means to stay here until the Feast of Early Spring.’

‘How does he explain that?’ Wulf folded his arms. ‘The regent should be with the queen.’

‘He claims to be taking stock of the trees in the haithwood. To see how much timber Inys has for weapons.’

Wulf rubbed his stubbled jaw. ‘By the Saint.’

‘The Saint wants nothing to do with this, son.’ Lord Mansell went to the window. ‘We all have our orders in the north. There’s no reason he can’t return to Queen Glorian.’

‘Has the plague reached this province?’

‘In one village, at least. Its inhabitants have sealed themselves off, so Roland and I have been leaving supplies at its boundary stone.’

‘They all mean to die there?’

‘If needs must.’ Lord Mansell nodded to the basket. ‘I brought you some more food.’

Mara passed Wulf a loaf of seeded bread. For now, it could still be made in the province, but when the wyrms returned, once the mills stopped and the flour ran dry, there would certainly be famine. People were already hungry after the poor harvest.

‘If Lord Robart does go into the haithwood on that night, we’ll need a member of the Virtues Council to act as witness,’ Lord Mansell continued. ‘The Dowager Earl of Goldenbirch has agreed to speak on behalf of his foresters, but one of the Dukes Spiritual should help us investigate, someone of the same rank as Lord Robart. I must ride to Lady Gladwin.’ He kissed Wulf on the cheek. ‘Be careful, all of you. Don’t be seen.’

When he was gone, Mara took out a pear. ‘I had an idea,’ she said. ‘If Lord Robart does leave on the Feast of Early Spring, I was thinking I might stay behind and have a look through Parr Castle.’

‘Sneak inside the home of the regent?’ Wulf sat opposite her. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘To see what I can see.’ She tossed him the pear. ‘You did tell me to find a pursuit I enjoy.’

‘Mara, I meant hawking, not housebreaking.’

‘I know which one is more useful.’

****

On the eve of the Feast of Early Spring, Roland arrived on horseback from Langarth, as finely dressed as if he were attending his own wedding, as usual. He had made a fair attempt to grow a beard.

‘Wulfy,’ he said as Wulf embraced him. ‘Never thought I’d see your face again. How are you?’

‘Always worse for seeing you.’

‘Ass.’ His brother patted his back. ‘I’ll kill you later. If Lord Robart catches us, he’ll bring a hammer down hard on Father. What do we think he’s doing in the deep, dark wood?’

‘Not his job,’ Thrit proposed.

Roland seemed to consider this. ‘Fairly put, Northman.’ He held out a hand. ‘Roland.’

‘Thrit.’

‘Good to meet you at last. Father’s half a day behind,’ he added to Wulf and Mara. ‘Pa will keep an eye on things at Langarth.’ He slung down a sack of food. ‘Whoever needs to sleep, do. I expected to be Baron Glenn, but perhaps night watcher was my calling all along.’

Lord Edrick arrived at dusk. He gathered his children close, and took Thrit by the shoulder.

‘This is the moment of truth,’ he told them. ‘I’ve just heard word from Ascalun. A host of creatures gathered there – beasts that might well have the plague. Saint knows what they are. Apparently, Queen Glorian emerged and rallied the city.’

‘Glorian fought?’ Wulf said, surprised. ‘How did she get out without his guards noticing?’

‘I have no idea, but this does not reflect well on Lord Robart. He should sail back at once, but I see his banner is still flying.’ Lord Edrick took a deep breath. ‘I like the man. I don’t want this to be true.’

‘I think we are right, Father. We need to stop him tonight.’

‘Aye. Thrit, Mara – you sleep. We may have a long night ahead. Roland, you take the first watch, if you will. I must speak to your brother.’

‘I never stopped watching,’ Roland said, staring out of the window.

‘Good lad.’

Wulf followed his father. They trudged a short way down the hill, out of sight of Parr Castle.

‘Wulfert.’ Lord Edrick embraced him, and Wulf held him close. ‘How are you, son?’

Wulf looked at him. ‘I feel cold,’ he said. ‘I see it, sometimes. The white ship.’

‘You might see that day for the rest of your life,’ Lord Edrick said quietly. ‘It will remain, and it will ache, but with every year, it will feel more a part of you.’ He grasped Wulf by the nape. ‘I have a task for you. Lady Gladwin is on her way here, to help us look into this matter. Should we follow the Lord Protector into the haithwood, I want you to wait at the boundary, ready to see her safe to her ship. A trapped animal will bite, and if the regent sees we have a witness of holy blood, he may try to remove the threat. You must shield her.’

‘No. Father. I want to go into the wood.’

It was only when he said it that he knew it to be true. His stomach gave a soft wintle.

All his life, he had lived in fear of it. He had run from it to the eversnow. But the haithwood had gazed into him when he was a bairn. It was past time that he looked back.

‘Wulf,’ Lord Edrick said, ‘as your father, I don’t want the same.’

‘Do you worry it will hurt my standing?’ Wulf asked him, strained. ‘It has. All my life. I have to see it for myself.’

He stopped, breathing hard. Suddenly his father looked tired, and desolate, and very old.

‘Wulfert,’ he said, ‘you remember the scratchings in Langarth.’ Wulf nodded. ‘Those are called witch marks. Our ancestors carved them to ward away the Lady of the Woods.’

‘You always said she was just a story.’

‘I told myself that. All your life, I told myself you were abandoned, like so many children, because your parents couldn’t feed you,’ Lord Edrick said. ‘But you came from that wood, and all these years, I have lived in fear that it might try to take you back. It’s the reason I asked King Bardholt to accept you into his household. It broke my heart to send you to Hróth.

‘The witch marks have been there for centuries. My grandmother had them rubbed down, thinking them ugly, but two days after I found you, I traced and deepened them again. I even cut marks of my own – beside your door, under your window, into your bedposts. Because a small part of me feared the witch was real, and that she did want you back.’

Wulf unfastened his throat. ‘We never spoke about that night,’ he said. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Lord Edrick cast his gaze south. ‘I woke in the black hour,’ he said. ‘One of my foresters was pounding at the door. They’re tough, foresters – have to be, to face poachers and heathens, to walk for hours in the dark. But this man looked as if he had seen his own death. He told me there were voices and fires in the haithwood, and that the trees themselves were twisting.

‘Mara was awake. She pleaded with me not to leave her, and since we had the foresters, I took her out with me. The first thing we saw was the glow in the sky – a white glimmer, stemming from deep in the trees.

‘I couldn’t hear any voices, at first. I thought the forester must have lost his wits to fear. Then Mara pulled my sleeve and told me she could hear a bairn. When I heard, I ran into the trees, following your cries, even as the foresters called after me to stop. They were afraid to follow.

‘And there you were, beside an oak, a wee lad. There was the grey wolf, standing near. I told you this,’ Lord Edrick said. Wulf nodded. ‘I loosed an arrow, and she ran. When I picked you up, you kicked and sobbed, shouting in a language I’ve not heard before or since.’

‘Do you remember what I said?’

‘Not any more. I carried you out of those woods, and found you unhurt, save one small wound.’

‘The wolf?’

‘Aye, maybe. Just a nip. By morning, the haithwood was still and quiet, and so were you.’

Wulf tried and tried not to imagine. His father held his face.

‘You,’ he said, ‘are not evil. Every night, I thank the Saint he brought you to this family. He saved you from the Ashen Sea. But it is possible that something dreadful had you in its grasp, Wulfert. Nothing magic – I don’t believe in that. But heathens, I can well believe.’

‘How do you explain the light?’

‘Candlestick mushrooms, maybe. They’re known to glow by night.’

‘I want to see it,’ Wulf forced out. ‘Father, it’s clung to me all these years. I might be able to remember the way.’

‘You were no more than two when I found you. You won’t remember.’

‘I might. Let me see it’s just trees. I need this,’ Wulf told him. ‘I need it.’

Lord Edrick searched his face. Wulf could see his fight behind his eyes, his instincts as a father pulling him in both directions. ‘You stay at my side.’ He used the voice he had used to warn them as children. ‘Promise me, Wulfert. You go no more than a few steps from me.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Very well.’ Lord Edrick kissed his brow. ‘Go, now. Get some rest.’

Inside the ruin, Wulf lay close to Thrit, who was already asleep. For all he tried, his mind would not close itself off.

All his life, he had heard bees, bustling in his every dream. By dawn, he might know why, or he might not. Lord Robart might be counting trees. Lord Robart might yet kill them all.

Some time later, a hand shook him awake. ‘Lady Gladwin is here,’ Lord Edrick murmured. ‘Will you watch, son?’ With a nod, Wulf rubbed his eyes and took his place at the window.

In the thick of night, he could see nothing from Parr Castle but the torches that burned at its gates. Behind him, his father showed Lady Gladwin in, and they spoke in low voices.

‘I have a ship waiting at Queens’ Lynn,’ Wulf heard the Duchess of Temperance say. ‘In the unlikely event that your claims prove true, I will go to Queen Glorian. If nothing happens tonight, I will have no choice but to inform the Lord Protector of your accusation.’

‘I understand.’

‘Father,’ Wulf hissed.

He had sharper eyes than most. Now he strained them, fighting the dark, to see a ruddy light in Parr Castle. With his father and the duchess beside him, Wulf watched it descend.

‘He really is leaving,’ his father breathed. Lady Gladwin came to join him. ‘Quickly.’

Wulf roused the others. Together, they stole from the ruin and climbed ahorse. Lady Gladwin had brought a small detail of armed retainers. ‘Mara, do as you will,’ Lord Edrick told her, ‘but—’

‘I’ll be careful,’ she said. ‘Saint go with you all.’

****

They could risk no light on the road. Still, the ground was dry, and before long, they had reached the shore of the lake. Twelve lamps had emerged from the castle.

‘This is it,’ Lord Edrick muttered. ‘We must keep our distance.’

‘And hope he has no hounds.’ Lady Gladwin sounded disturbed. ‘Saint’s tooth, what is he doing?’

They rode in the wake of the lights. After a while, the water fell away, and they were riding over the slanted earth beside a hill, across slick grass that seemed to knot and welter underhoof.

The lights drifted upward as the riders struck the bier road. Wulf spurred his horse after them, and its hoofbeats fell in line with his heart. He thought of the ride along the causeway, worrying a hag might drag him into the peat. Here, at least, the ground was solid on all sides.

It must have been hours they followed the regent through the countryside, beneath the milky sash of stars the Inysh called Ascalun’s Hew.

At last, the lamps stopped, and so did they. Ahead, the star belt disappeared into a wall of pure black, where the lights nodded closer to the ground. ‘They’re dismounting,’ Roland said under his breath. ‘If we lose those lamps—’

‘We mustn’t.’ Lord Edrick glanced at the narrow moon. ‘Roland, you stay with the horses.’

The lamps were already back on the move. Wulf urged his steed forward at a canter until they reached the boundary stone, where they hobbled their horses and lit three lanterns.

A rush of wind came from the east. The boughs creaked like old rafters, and the horses flicked their ears and snorted.

Wulf smelled it now, the louring wood. The old rot in its earth, the grave of animals and trees, all its life grown from decay. He looked up at the branches, drew a breath, and walked after his father.

In the distance, firelight winked between the trunks. Lord Edrick handed Wulf his lantern. ‘Keep your hand in front of it, Wulf,’ he murmured. ‘We don’t want them to see its light.’

Lady Gladwin held up a lantern of her own. Wulf glanced over his shoulder and found Roland already gone, as if the haithwood had sealed itself behind them. Above, the branches strangled the moon, leaving them with only their small flames to ward away the dark.

Such blackness. It was almost solid. The flames beyond floated in an abyss, like disembodied eyes.

There were yews and oaks so thick they could have fit whole families inside them. Some had bark scraped off. Birches rose and curved like ribs, dented with black, and reddish shoots sprawled everywhere, some with no apparent cradle. It was terrible and wild and quiet.

No, not just quiet, but silent, save their footsteps through the leaves. Not a dead silence, but a living one, as if the trees had simply held their peace. As if they, too, were listening.

The haithwood had only one path: the old bridleway that needled from north to south, connecting the Lakes to the Leas. This was deep and unmapped forest. An ancient beck – the Wickerwath – coursed somewhere in the dark, but there was no sound or sight of it.

It felt unnatural, this stillness.

At last, their lights caught on something with a dull shine. Wulf held his lantern up and saw a pair of iron jaws among the leaves, beside a blackthorn – a bear trap, not yet sprung. The tree was already in flower.

‘Watch your step,’ he muttered.

In hundreds of thousands of years, no one had tried to tame the haithwood, except to cull its wolves when they stole livestock. Its floor was a snarl of thick, gnarled roots and rotten logs, of thorny shrubs that threatened to unpick his cloak. Moss shrouded everything, so the drops of water from above made no sound. Several times they had to climb over fallen oaks, or crawl under a bough that had slumped over.

This was Inys as it had been before the Saint. Not even he had been able to break it. It was said that, long ago, a knight had tried to torch the haithwood, but the trees had absorbed the flames without burning, and water had come bubbling up to quench the embers on the ground.

It’s just a wood. Wulf tried to concentrate on his boots. Just a wood . . .

Close by, a wolf gave a howl, and others answered.

‘Oh, Saint.’ One of the servants made the sign of the sword over himself. ‘Saint, have mercy on us all.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ Lady Gladwin said testily, ‘and perhaps he won’t need to.’

The wolves kept calling, dire and doleful. Wulf felt the hairs on his nape stiffen – and out of nowhere, a memory landed, a feeling of being watched. He groped for a tree to steady himself, only for its bark to crumble in his grasp, and insects to swarm underneath.

He backed away and stumbled into Thrit, who grasped his elbow.

Ahead, the lights kept moving.

As he followed, Wulf found that he was no longer surefooted. The memory – the sudden, overwhelming terror – had unhinged his balance. He slipped in mud, almost fell into a pool. The haithwood rantered itself around them, until it seemed as if every step broke a twig. Wulf bit the inside of his cheek when a sharp branch lashed his brow. All the while, the lights were still ahead.

A grey wolf padded out from the trees and stood in front of Lord Edrick, who stopped, raising his dirk.

Wulf had only ever seen wolves from a distance. Though it stood tall, it was too thin, bone in a sack of fur. Long fangs reflected the firelight, which kindled the pale gold of its eyes.

‘Easy,’ Lord Edrick said, keeping his voice down. ‘There’s just the one—’

‘More,’ Thrit cut in.

Others were prowling from the gloom. Wulf drew his sax as they appeared – eight in all, muzzles seamed into snarls. The largest of the pack flicked its tongue over its teeth.

One of the first things Eydag had taught Wulf was how to face the wolves of Hróth. Always calm, she had told him. Always still. He tightened his grip on his sax as the largest snapped at them.

These wolves were not the sort that would have left a child uneaten. The first one flew at Lord Edrick, who slammed his lantern down in front of it, making the ground burst afire.

The rest of the pack lunged. Before Wulf could move, one of them had torn into him, pain searing along his forearm. He lashed out with his sax, forcing it to retreat, and then ran to protect his father, who was on the ground. Pinned beneath a snarling beast, Thrit brought up the haft of his axe to protect his face, while half the servants made a stout attempt to defend Lady Gladwin. The others fled into the night.

‘You fools, you’ll be lost,’ she barked after them.

Lord Edrick seized Wulf and pulled him close. ‘Wulfert,’ he said, panting, ‘go after Lord Robart.’ Blood soaked his collar. ‘Hurry. We’ll find you.’

Wulf snatched up a lantern and ran. He could draw the wolves off the others.

Branches grasped and pulled at him. The ground fell away, and he went rolling down a slope, roots and rocks thumping his back, to crash into a ditch. Somehow the lantern stayed alight. Dread pounded in his chest and slicked his nape. He reached out to grab a root.

The pack slewed in his wake. Back on his feet, he kept running, fear crushing his chest, as memories washed through him in cold waves. He was himself and not himself; he was in the wood and somewhere else.

In his dreams, he had always been searching for someone, and for the first time, he had an impression: kindness, a voice singing low, love that crushed the breath from him. Then another face, pale and terrified. The memories were far away, so far they no longer held a clear shape, and ran like water. But he knew he had been to this part of the wood before.

How had he escaped, the first time?

He was laughing and the sun was bright, and he tasted honey like a prayer on his lips.

Who are you?

He stopped, a stitch ripping into his side. His hand shook so hard the candle guttered in the lantern.

Light was glimmering through the trees. He stepped towards it, so entranced that all fear left his bones. Above him, a long mark was daubed on an oak, silver and faded, sending a sickly glow over the trunks. Even though its shape was strange, it was familiar.

He knew, then, to turn north. A few more paces, to another tree. As he approached, more marks flared to life on the trees, each one extending his path through the blackness.

At the end, there was light, both white and gold.

Wulf glanced over his shoulder. He had thought Lord Robart would have heard the commotion with the wolves, but the wood was so gathered and dense, there was no trace of anyone else.

It occurred to him that he might not find any of them again. There must be thousands of skeletons in these woods.

Keeping low, he moved into the undergrowth. He bent a branch aside, and it was suddenly there, the place he had sought – a clearing surrounded by hulking oaks and beeches. In front of them grew smaller trees, their branches heavy with white blossom.

Hawthorns. Growing them had been forbidden since the days of the Saint, who had ordered them all uprooted. Instinctively, Wulf knew this was the heart of the haithwood. Its very oldest part, its cradle.

Two layers of memory were purling over one another, both so distant as to be almost unreachable. The honeybees and the dark wood. Two faces and two voices. Cold and warm light.

He shook himself and kept watching. Lord Robart wore a green tunic, like a sanctarian, and the brown pelt of a cave bear over his broad shoulders. He, too, was crowned with flowers, though his circlet was also home to twigs and antlers and acorns. He stood before a yew that looked as old as Inys itself – twenty armspans wide, at least. Corpulent branches reached across the clearing, hung with hundreds of straw figures – some that looked coarsely human, others braided into wreaths or intricate loops and knots.

Below, the Lord Protector of Inys was intoning in a tongue Wulf knew. The realisation soured in him. Even if the song was nonsense to his ear, it was a salve to his heart.

He had heard it before.

Across the clearing, barefoot dancers circled among the blossom trees, moving widdershins to the beat of a drum, singing in the same language, their lanterns hung up on the lower branches of the oaks. Each wore a wreath of white blossoms and a mask of tree bark, crude holes cut for eyes.

Each time they passed the yew, they flicked a cup at it, wetting it with a darkness like blood. A figure in red walked among them to replenish their cups from a large cauldron.

‘Ondoth,’ Lord Robart bellowed to the tree, as if it could hear a word. ‘Ondoth und astīgath!’

Wulf stole closer. As he did, the nearest oak illuminated its queer rune, and the dance came to a sudden end, the drums stopping dead.

‘She walks.’ One of the dancers broke it. ‘Alderman, at last! The Hawthorn Mother walks again!’

Cries of joy and relief went up across the grove. The dancers embraced one another like family. Only Lord Robart did not join in. He considered his surroundings, his gaze sharpening.

‘No,’ he told his followers. ‘It isn’t who we hoped for, but one called by her, on the first of the spring.’ As they hushed, he lifted his chin. ‘You may as well come out, Master Glenn.’

Wulf stiffened.

Lord Robart waited. As Wulf slowly emerged, the markings gave a shimmer. Some of the dancers melted into the trees with gasps of fright, but most remained, still holding their bloody cups.

‘The Child of the Woods,’ came a reverent whisper.

‘Aye. I always did wonder if you would come, Wulfert. If you would feel the call,’ Lord Robart said, watching him approach. ‘Sometimes I thought I should invite you myself.’

‘You’re in violation of Inysh law, Lord Robart,’ Wulf said. ‘It seems you are a heathen.’

‘I presume you did not come here alone,’ Lord Robart said. ‘Better hope the others see our lights. The haithwood grows straight through the bones of those who lost their way. It opens only to those who know the path.’ He smiled. ‘She told me about you.’

Wulf swallowed. ‘Who?’

The trees soughed, as if they shared a secret.

‘No. There’s no witch.’ Fear had stripped his voice dry. ‘Only heathens, who do evil in her name.’

‘Evil?’ Lord Robart glanced at the tree, the glister on its bark, and sighed. ‘It’s wine, Wulf. Blood of the vine, not the vein. Our ancestors made such offerings from the dawn of time.’

‘Do you think your ancestor would hold with this?’

‘Mine?’

‘The Knight of Generosity.’

Lord Robart smiled, but his blue eyes remained bleak. ‘Her name was Sethrid Eller, and she knew the old ways as well as I do.’ He seemed to admire the brightest mark, the one closest to Wulf. ‘You have seen better than anyone what happens when we neglect the earth.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The wyrms. What do you expect, when we abandoned the trees, when we stopped the harvest rites to praise just one man and his lie?’ Lord Robart asked. ‘Small wonder the earth now cries for our notice. Small wonder its torment produced such a reckoning.’ He took a step towards Wulf. ‘Tell me, Child of the Woods. Do you really think some dancing worse than forcing queen after queen to bear fruit, all to uphold a story?’

‘You are forcing Glorian.’

‘Oh, no. I never would have forced her. I meant to mould her into a Queen of Inysca – one who honours the sacred truth of this isle. The truth her own father once knew.’

‘With help from Prince Guma, I assume.’

‘If you expect me to betray any other believer, you will be waiting a long time, Master Glenn.’

Lord Robart did not sound as Wulf had imagined heathens, cruel and arrogant. He sounded perfectly reasonable.

‘How do the trees glow like this?’ Wulf said, hoarse. ‘What did you do to them?’

‘Not me, Wulfert. It’s you they see.’ Lord Robart walked around him. ‘I envy you. I had to draw her attention, but you – for a time, you were hers. You were meant to be her successor.’

‘You think she’s going to come now?’ Wulf managed a weak chuckle. ‘That she’s brought me here?’

Lord Robart beheld the marks.

‘For a moment, I did,’ he admitted. ‘I thought she had heard the summoning. Spring is her time, you see, when the hawthorns bloom – or did, when they still grew wild in Inysca. I managed to plant some here, after many years of searching for seeds. See how early they flower.’ He motioned to the white petals. ‘Each year I have tried to bring her back, but she never returns, for we drove her away. She would know what to do.’

Wulf grasped the hilt of his axe. ‘Lady Gladwin is among those who came with me to the haithwood,’ he said. ‘Once she sees this, she’ll be able to speak against you.’

‘Not if you come with me, Master Glenn. I can tell you far more.’ Lord Robart held his gaze. ‘Will you embrace your rightful place as heir to the haithwood, or return to the deceiving Saint?’

A part of Wulf – a tiny kernel, buried deep – wanted to go with him. To understand.

But that was not a part of him he could ever allow to speak.

‘You know the answer,’ was all he said.

Lord Robart looked weary. ‘Then I have no choice,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Wulf, but I can’t let you leave to bear witness to this.’

‘You mean to fight a housecarl.’ Wulf stayed where he was. ‘I’d counsel you against it, my lord.’

‘Alone, I would certainly lose,’ Lord Robart conceded, as the masked dancers closed in. ‘But I am not alone.’

‘Neither is he.’

Wulf turned at the firm voice, heart clobbering. There was Thrit, smothered in dirt and gore, both axes at the ready, and from behind him came Lady Gladwin and a bleeding Lord Edrick.

‘Robart,’ Lady Gladwin said in astonishment. ‘What in the Saint’s name is this?’

As one, the dancers bolted for the other side of the clearing, disappearing into the trees. ‘Alderman, hurry,’ one of them cried, but Lord Robart shook his head, waving them away.

‘I have done nothing in the Saint’s name. This was for the Lady of the Woods,’ he said to Lady Gladwin, as self-possessed as ever. ‘I have kept my faith a secret for too long. I have no shame, Gladwin. Your Saint has done nothing to stop the destruction. He is dead and gone.’

She beheld him with something like pity, this man in petals and dead bear, looking as if he had grown from the earth.‘I imagined many things,’ she said, ‘but not the ravings of a heathen. I’m disappointed in you, Robart. I thought you would be our noblest regent.’

‘I have tried to be. Let me continue my work, Gladwin, in the shadows. It matters.’

‘You know full well I can’t.’ She nodded to her remaining servants. ‘Seize the Lord Protector.’

They moved towards Lord Robart, who held still as they bound his wrists, with no expression on his face.

‘Heed what you saw tonight, Master Glenn. Continue my work,’ he said. ‘I know she hears the haithwood call.’

The grove was all too still around them, but the markings still shone. Eyes among the trees.