Excerpt

He rested against the bole of a massive oak until the squirrel chattering a warning above lost interest and went away. Then he waited some more, listening to the birds that moved amongst the branches and the ferns, before he moved — cautiously — from the oak's shelter. His bow was half drawn, an arrow set firm on the string, and he knew that the deer he hunted was not far ahead. He crouched, a motley figure, dressed in a home-spun shirt and old leather breeches, all melding with the natural shades of the forest, as if he were part of the great woodland that stretched from the Alagordar to the farmlands beyond, where men had taken command and shaped the land to their desires. There were fields there now, tilled and hedged and marked off in orders of pos-session; cottages that connected with one another along roads of hard-packed dirt, some packed at the sides with dry stone walls. Some even had walls about them in memory of the Durrym raids, before order was imposed on Kandar and the firstcome folk driven out.

The nearest village was Lyth, and that was walled round, as if ancient memories could not be forgotten. There was a wide road leading there, and then on to the keep that dominated the hill above, with stone at its base and great wooden ramparts above, patrolled by Lord Bartram's soldiery, who wore mail and even plate armor, and looked down on the few who chose to continue their lives in the forest as if they were traitors, allied to the Durrym.

Cullyn could not understand that. He had encountered Lord Bartram's folk from time to time, and knew that most of the soldiers were from other provinces, or recruited from the fishing villa