### 175

You collect your horse and accompany Fyrad to his camp which is hidden in a hill cave. The hunter has made this bare rock hollow surprisingly comfortable with a fire, a straw mattress, and a rock-lined food store dug into its earthen floor. The two corvayl pelts he spoke of are hanging on wooden frames near the smouldering embers of the fire, and his mule, which he calls ‘Izzy’, is dozing at the rear of the cave.

As you enter, a hawk swoops down from the roof and lands on Fyrad’s arm. He produces a strip of dried meat from his pocket and the hawk takes it back to his perch to consume at his leisure.

‘Fine bird, that ’un,’ he says, fondly. ‘He’s led me to some rich quarry over the years.’

Over a meal of rabbit and wild berries, you ask Fyrad what he knows about the Acolytes of Vashna and the Maakengorge. He says he has seen their camp on the east shore of the lake but, like the infamous gorge, only from a distance. His main cause for concern has been the storms and the Vakovarian bandits. If he did not have a hungry family and debts to meet in Karkaste, he would have packed up and gone home a month ago.

After your delicious meal, you attend to your horse before settling down for the night. You offer to share the watch but Fyrad says this will not be necessary.

‘Best watchman you could ever wish for,’ he says, pointing to his pet hawk. ‘He’ll let us know in good time if trouble comes a-callin’ tonight.’

Turn to 66.