“The end of the first Long Night,” Astorek said, “and the birth of the three tribes, dividing the islands between them. There were no shamans then, and life was hard. But still we prospered.” He moved along, the torch flickering over various scenes, the images becoming less crude as they progressed, so that soon there were no more stick figures, but clear depictions of people and beasts. Hunters speared walrus on the ice or cast harpoons at whales from the prow of boats, others raised dwellings among the trees. Vaelin paused at the next image, taking a moment to fully understand the scene; an island, Wolf Home judging by the shape of the mountain, and alongside it a vessel of some kind, but of completely unfamiliar design. It was long and low in the water with only a single mast and far more oars than any modern ship.

“They came from the west in the summer months,” Astorek said. “So many years ago the stars have changed their course since. A tall people speaking in meaningless babble but bringing gifts of great value, blades of iron stronger and sharper than any we could smelt, and wondrous devices of glass to cast sight over great distances. We called them the Great Boat People.”

He pointed to three figures depicted next to the ship, two men and a woman. The woman was of arresting beauty, dark-haired with green eyes, wearing a long white robe and a golden amulet around her neck: a half-moon adorned with a red stone. The man on her left wore a blue robe and was slight of build, his face handsome but narrow and seemed to be wearing a half smile on his lips. But it was the man on the woman’s right who captured Vaelin’s attention, an impressive figure, bearded, tall and broad across the shoulders, his brow furrowed as if lost in the depth of thought, the face near identical to one Vaelin had seen before.

“It’s him!” he said, turning to Wise Bear, his heart thumping in excitement. “The statue from the Fallen City! You see it?”

Wise Bear nodded, his expression markedly less enthusiastic. “Story known to Bear People,” he said. “Great Boat People brought death to the ice.”

“Yes.” Astorek moved on, his torch revealing a scene of devastation, a settlement like the one they had just left, but littered with corpses. “They came peacefully, seeking to trade treasures for knowledge. They had no warriors, offered no violence, but still they brought death. A great sickness that laid waste to every settlement they visited until the three tribes were but a remnant.”

The torchlight revealed the woman again, standing alone this time, her face shown in profile, lowered and drawn in great sadness. Her hands were held to her face, red with blood from finger to wrist. “It was the woman who saved us,” Astorek said. “How is not fully understood, but she gave her blood and it saved us, the sickness faded. But . . .” He illuminated the next image, the two men standing over the woman’s body. The handsome man’s smile had gone, his face now hard with anger, whilst the bearded man wore an expression of stoic forbearance, though whatever ancient hand had captured his face had clearly seen the grief he was trying to hide.

“The tall man took his great boat and sailed away,” Astorek said. “But the other man stayed, unwilling to stray far from the body of the woman, refusing to give it to the ice as was custom. Then . . .” He revealed a shadowy image in silhouette, a man pulling a sled through a snowstorm. “He took her body north when winter came and was not seen again by the eyes of the ice people. But . . . he did leave a gift.”

Astorek paused, regarding Vaelin with an expression that was part reluctance, part awe. “They knew many things, these Great Boat People, the working of metal and the reckoning of the stars, even the course of the future.”

The painting revealed by Astorek’s torch was the largest yet, covering the wall from floor to ceiling and executed with an artistry and clarity that would even have outshone Alornis. It was the face of a man, perhaps thirty years in age, his features angular rather than handsome, his eyes dark, a faint smile playing over his lips. It was a hard face, not unused to privation from its slightly gaunt aspect, or violence if Vaelin was any judge. He had looked into the eyes of enough killers to know . . .

All thought fled as the realisation dawned. He felt Dahrena move to his side, taking his hand which, he realised, had begun to shake.

“The one who will save us from a peril yet unseen,” Astorek said. “He called him the Raven’s Shadow.”

PART III

Anyone who claims they have a genius for war should be regarded as the greatest of fools. For the successful conduct of war is an exercise in the management of folly.

—QUEEN LYRNA AL NIEREN, COLLECTED SAYINGS, GREAT LIBRARY OF THE UNIFIED REALM

VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT

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