He felt the patient, powerful movement of the horse beneath him carrying him relentlessly on.
I must be growing up, he thought. The notion caught him unawares and, surreptitiously, he glanced from side to side into the darkness as if concerned that some unseen eavesdropper might have mysteriously caught wind of this uncomfortable admission.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nilsson asked.
Farnor started. How could this man have noticed such a slight movement?
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly there.’ He leaned to one side and pointed to a light shining through the trees. ‘That’s it, over there.’
The light came from a small lantern that, like most of the valley dwellers, Gryss lit every night. The origins of the practice had long passed from memory. Certainly the lights were rarely of any value as
