Benno insisted that they stick to the bottomlands, instead of tramping through rocks and brambles. But then the sky began to rumble, and the travellers could not be sure whether it was thunder, or the booming of orcish war drums. They chose the hills. Ekbert trudged with laboured steps; his coat hid the spreading blood that glued the shirt to his back. Gelfrat kept by his side, to steady the old man if needed. Angelika protected herself from the sight of this, and what it aroused in her, by keeping to the head of the party, alongside Benno. In today’s grey light, he didn’t look good from any angle. About two hours into their journey, a drizzle started up. They took a moment’s shelter beneath a tall and leafy oak; Gelfrat passed his wineskin. Angelika took a sip, but it was rancid. She wished she’d thought to bring some brandy. “It won’t get any drier,” she said, watching the sky darken. They pushed on. The rain grew heavier, soaking through their cloaks and tunics. Angelika spotted a small cave, and they all squeezed into it.
