What do you mean, Araluen? Death?" Halt made a careless gesture. "The usual, I suppose: the sudden cessation of life. The end of it all. Departure for a happier place. Or oblivion, depending upon your personal beliefs.

You may believe you're an excellent rider," he called, "but there are a score of Temujai back there who actually are.

Halt regarded him. He loved Horace like a younger brother. Even like a second son, after Will. He admired his skill with a sword and his courage in battle. But sometimes, just sometimes, he felt an overwhelming desire to ram the young warrior's head against a convenient tree. "You have no sense of drama or symbolism, do you?" he asked. "Huh?" replied Horace, not quite understanding. Halt looked around for a convenient tree. Luckily for Horace, there were none in sight.

Always expect something to go wrong," he told him. "Believe me, if you're wrong, you're not dissapointed. If you're right, you're ready for it.

I'll find you, Will!" Then the wind filled the big, square sail of the wolfship and she heeled away from the shore, moving faster and faster towards the northeast. For a long time after she'd dropped below the horizon, the sodden figure sat there, his horse chest-deep in the rolling waves, staring after the ship. And his lips still moved, in a silent promis only he could hear.

I nearly forgot, Ragnak had a further message for you. He said if we lose this battle and loses his slaves as well, he's going to kill you for it," he said cheerfully. Halt smiled grimly. "If we lose this battle, he may have to get in line to do it. There'll be a few thousand Temujai cavalrymen in front of him.

Do you think you could put that boot back on?" he added mildly. "The window can only let in a limited ammount of fresh air and your socks are a tough ripe, to put it mildly." Oh, sorry!" said Horace, tugging the riding boot back on over his sock. Now that Halt mentioned it, he was aware of a rather strong odor in the room.