AT FIRST I THOUGHT the Heathen were monstrously tall, with strange-shaped heads. Then I saw that they had iron hats on which came high in the crown. The strange shapes were decorations made of feathers and tufts of fur and coloured tassels. They had tunics like the Heathen brat’s, but they wore long boots and gauntlets and flapping heavy cloaks, which made the outfit look a little warmer. They were all strong, strapping men. Three of them leant on spears. The other two carried what looked like short planks with a little bow on one end. We knew those were the bows Uncle Kestrel told us of, which could send a bolt through two men at once.

“The fire gave us away,” said Hern. “Pretend we’re Heathens too.”

“How can we?” I said. “With the One in his fire.”

“Shut up!” said Hern. The Heathen were shouting to us again to come over to them. “Why should we?” Hern shouted back. “What do you want?”

Several of them shouted back and beckoned. We could not hear what they said. “Are they talking about a King?” Duck said. The confused shouting and the beckoning continued, but none of the Heathen tried to cross the channel. They thought, as I had done, that it was still sinking mud there. As we still stood there, the two with bows pointed them at us.

“I think,” said Hern, “we’d better do what they want. Tanaqui, go and tell Robin to lie low and look after the One. Don’t upset her.”

They hoped to cross over to the Heathen while I talked to Robin. I would never have forgiven them for that. But when I went back over the hill, Robin was asleep with the cats curled up round her, and the One’s fire was blazing majestically. I threw some wood on the campfire and raced back. I was in time to catch Hern and Duck as they walked into the water. I bunched up Robin’s skirt and splashed after them.

The Heathens were taller than I thought. They wore iron waistcoats, which looked even odder than the hats. All of them had brown skins and long noses like Hern’s, and from below the metal hats tumbled hair that was either fair as ours or the brown colour of the sand. They stared at us with as much interest as we stared at them.

“Just as Ked said!” one of them remarked. “Who would have thought it! Tell me, your honours, which of you pulled a lad from the waters a while back?” The Heathen accent is hard to understand. Their voices lift in all the wrong places. That was why I had not been able to understand the Heathen brat very well. You have to listen hard, as if you were deaf.

“Er – that was me,” I said.

The Heathen raised frosty eyebrows at me. He had a very grizzled and important look. “The lad said it was a youth.”

“I was wearing my brother’s clothes,” I explained.

“She was soaking, and she had to change,” said Duck.

“If you think it’s important,” said Hern.

The Heathens heard us attentively, with strained frowns. I think they found us hard to follow too. “It is important, your honours,” said the grizzled one, “if I am to take the right one to the King.” Then he gave an apologising kind of cough. “Will it trouble you all three to come with us?”

It was strange that he was so polite. It ought to have made me much less frightened. But the men with the bows remained tense and alert, holding an arrow ready to fire and glancing from us to the land around all the time. Looking back, I think maybe that it was not us they intended to shoot.

Hern was very good all through. He did not understand what the man asked straight away, but he made it seem as if he was considering. “We shall be pleased to see your King,” he said, and pecked with his head, graciously.

“This way,” said the Heathen. He turned and walked off. Another spear-carrier stepped in front of him, releasing his spear from his cloak. The spear proved to hold a flag full of all sorts of coloured devices. We walked behind him over the sandy hills, feeling like part of the Shelling River Procession. I had only seen a flag used for religion before, but this one, as it clapped to and fro over our heads, held no religious picture that I could see.

It was not very far, on to higher land and crustier sand, where grew a stand of trees all bent as if to hold their backs to the sea. There, by another sandy river, was a collection of dwellings no larger than Shelling. As Duck said later, it would have frightened us to death if we had known our camp was so near the King of the Heathens – always supposing we had noticed the King’s camp when we saw it. It was of tattered tents and driftwood huts, with rubbish thrown about. It was poor beside the poorest village I have seen since. Yet more flags flew from the rickety roofs as proudly and religiously as you please.

“What kind of King have we come to?” Hern said out of the corner of his mouth.

Duck and I did not feel so scornful. The bowmen could shoot us here as easily as in a palace.

The grizzled Heathen stepped into one of the tattered tents. We waited outside with the flag and the crossbows. Since it was a tent, we could hear what was said inside amid the rattling of the canvas. But we had difficulty understanding it.

I heard, “I have brought no less than three young mages, lord, not knowing quite what else to do.” There followed talk I could not hear for the tent flapping. Then, “I think Ked told the truth for once, lord. I find them very hard to understand, and by their dress, they seem to have gone native.” After this they spoke so rapidly that I was lost, until the messenger said, “I agree, lord. It may be just what you were wanting.”

Meanwhile, we stood feeling slighted and uneasy. We did not know why the King should want us. We thought of Gull and of Tanamil. And we found it ominous that though there were numbers of Heathens about in the camp, they did not come crowding to see us, as people would have done in Shelling. I saw that women and girls kept quietly slipping across behind us to the sandy river, where they fetched water in iron pots. They could not all have wanted water at once. It was an excuse to see us. They were none of them as pretty as Robin, but I liked their clinging dresses. Men and boys were finding excuses to be about too. Someone tidied a heap of rubbish. Someone came past with a tall horse. A boy staggered with a sack from one hut to another, and so on. We were being seen secretly all the time we waited, and it made us most uncomfortable.

At last the messenger came out and held the flap of the tent for us. “Please go in. My lord is waiting for you.”

By this time we were used to the speech. We went in, all of us thinking of Gull and very suspicious. The King stood up to meet us. That was a politeness. But Duck had his mind so firmly on Gull that he said, “No one here’s going to take my soul.”

“I think you know more about that than I do,” the King said politely. “Let me assure you that there is no question of that.”

He was no older than Gull and not as tall as Hern. We stared at him awkwardly, and he at us. He was really very like Hern, except that he had a slender, unhealthy look, and I think he walked with a limp, though I am not too sure of this, because he was sitting down most of the time. Hern looked surprisingly tall and sturdy beside him. Hern, I am sure, has grown inches since we left Shelling. But they both had the same forward set of the head and the same sharp nose, and they both knew it too. They looked at one another with strong interest – that interest which can be friendship or hatred at the drop of a pin.

“I am Kars Adon,” this thin young King said, “son of Kiniren. The clans owe allegiance to me now my father is dead.” He was not boasting when he said this. He spoke as facts, to let us know who he was. I marvelled that he named himself Adon. It is one of the secret names of our One, and we do not say it openly. He added, “Perhaps you would like to sit down,” and smiled awkwardly at us, before sitting down himself in a folding chair of studded leather and wood.

That chair was not fine, but it was the only good thing in the tent. In front of it, someone had arranged a tree stump, a milking stool and a wicker basket. Hern sat on the milking stool, which I knew was a politeness because it put him lower than Kars Adon. Duck took the basket, and I sat gingerly on the stump. It rocked rather.

“Tell me,” I said, “does your name have a meaning?”

Kars Adon followed our speech well. “No,” he said, with only a small pause. “It is just a name. Why?”

“Our names mean things,” Duck explained. “I am Mallard, he is Hern and she is Tanaqui. Our father was Closti the Clam.”

I could see Kars Adon found this quite outlandish, but he was too polite to say so. “I am of Rath Clan, like Ked,” he said, and seemed to look at us expectantly. “I must thank you for rescuing Ked from the River,” he said. “I am deeply in your debt.”

He meant it. From what he said, I thought the brat must be his brother. “It was nothing,” I said, and I did not say what an ungrateful little beast he was. “Is he a near relation of yours?”

“I don’t think so,” Kars Adon said uncertainly. “He belongs to my clan, of course. But even if he didn’t, I’d be grateful. There are so few of us now—” He sighed, but it seemed as if he felt it wrong to be sad. He sat up straight and smiled at us. “What Ked said when he came back made me decide to send for you,” he said. “Forgive me. I know you mages are not subject to orders. But Ked swore that the person who rescued him had power to walk on the greediest waters and not only snatched him from the River’s mouth but bound him to tell the truth about it. And when Arin fetched you, he saw with his own eyes all three of you walk where he would have been sucked down, and he knew that Ked had told the truth. And we all know,” Kars Adon said seriously, “that anyone with power over that monstrous River is a mage indeed. Though I am inclined to think,” he added, with a little twitch of a smile, “that forcing Ked to tell the truth shows greater power still.”

I was getting truly uncomfortable. I could see Hern and Duck trying not to look at me and laugh. “I don’t think we are mages,” I said.

“Speak for yourself,” Duck said, creaking on his basket. “Personally I have some quite uncanny powers.” Sometimes Duck is as bad as Ked.

Kars Adon again looked at us expectantly, as if we were supposed to say something else. When we did not, he said, in an awkward way, as if he were having to remind us of a duty, “Before we go any further, you should tell me your clan and allegiances.”

That was a bad moment. Duck and I did not know what to say. I half expected Hern to make up something since I could see he was in that kind of mood, but Hern still said nothing. The stump wobbled under me with my fear and shame. I was ashamed that Kars Adon should so confidently think we were Heathen like himself, and I was terrified he would find out we were not and kill us for it.

“Ked and Arin both said that your speech was strange and you dressed as natives do,” Kars Adon said. “I can see that for myself. There are two things you could be.” His face grew red under its Heathen brown as he said this. I think, by his standards, he was being very impolite. “You could be of a small Western clan, one of those who came here before we did. Forgive me. Or instead you are some of Kankredin’s people.” He thought he was being so rude that he could scarcely bear to look at us.

“Who is Kankredin?” said Duck.

Kars Adon was in quite a taking at this. He knew he had been rude, and he wanted to look away, but he was also so astonished that Duck had not heard of this Kankredin that he wanted to stare at Duck to see if Duck was pretending. Between looking and not looking, twisting his hands together, and fumbling at the clasp of his cloak, he made us feel quite as bad. “Kankredin,” he said. “Kankredin is mage of mages. It is Kankredin in the ship beyond the sandbars. You must have seen the ship at least!”

Hern’s head pecked forwards at this. Duck said blandly – I never knew Duck was such a liar – “We suspected there was a ship there, but it was hidden in an enchanted mist.”

“Yes, that is Kankredin,” Kars Adon said eagerly. “We’ve been warned to keep clear of his mist. It was Kankredin I wanted to talk to you about. You see—”

“Just a moment,” said Hern. “Before you go any further.” Now Hern had not said a word up to then. He says he was absorbed in finding out what manner of person this Kars Adon was. “Before you say another word,” he snapped out suddenly. And he jumped up from the stool and pounced to the opening of the tent. Kars Adon stared at Hern. This was real rudeness.

“Hern!” I said.

“Stand back there!” Hern said at the door of the tent, speaking very loud and slow. “I want to say something private to the King.”

A great many voices made objection to this. I think everyone in the camp was standing there listening in.

“I know that,” said Hern. “But you can guard him from where you can’t hear. Get over near that hut, all of you.”

There were more objections outside.

“What do you take us for?” said Hern. “We could have had the King to the top of the Black Mountains by now if we wanted. I swear to you we are not going to harm a hair of his head or a hair of his soul’s head. But I must speak to the King alone. Now move away, all of you.”

Feet shuffled off, from all round the tent. It must have been every Heathen in the place. Hern peeked a look around to make sure they had all gone, and then he came back inside. Kars Adon lifted his chin and gave him a haughty stare. I admired that. Kars Adon must have been afraid Hern was going to work all sorts of terrible enchantments on him, but he let Hern know who was King here. As for Hern, I could see him shaking at his own audacity. When he saw the King look, he went bright red.

“I apologise for that,” he said, and sat on the stool again – I think his knees gave way. “I had to get them out of the way because I’m going to be frank with you, and I didn’t want to be murdered on the spot. Before you tell us about Kankredin, I want to tell you that we are not of your people or of any clan of your people. We are natives, as you would say.”

“Is it possible?” said Kars Adon. “You look as we do.” He was really frightened now. So was I. When Hern launches himself on one of his rash ideas, you never know what will happen.

“My father’s fathers,” said Hern, “were born here by the River, as far back as I know. I wanted to tell you that, by way of friendship, and to prevent mistakes. Otherwise – well, you’ve already let us know there are not many of you, that your father is dead, that you’re camped in a bad place without too much food, and in some trouble with Kankredin besides.” This astonished me. But Hern was quite right. What Kars Adon had not told us, we could see by looking at his camp. “So before you give away all your plans and secrets,” Hern said, “I shall have to tell you we are your enemies. If I didn’t, we’d have given ourselves away somehow, and you’d have killed us, and we’d have lost our chance to help one another. Aren’t I right?”

“I … suppose so,” Kars Adon said. He looked at Hern dubiously. He wanted to trust Hern, for whatever trouble he was in, but he was not sure at all. I did not blame him. I was not sure I trusted Hern either.

“So why did you send for us?” Hern asked.

“He probably doesn’t want us any more,” said Duck. He thought Hern was mad.

“I think I do,” said Kars Adon. “Only mages can understand a mage. I am sure you have the power to reach Kankredin in his ship. But I do not want to send enemies to him or tell you—” He did not seem to know what to say.

“Tell us as little as you can,” I suggested.

“If this will help you,” said Hern, “we were going to see Kankredin anyway. We just didn’t know his name. And though we are your enemies by birth, our people do not love us. They think we are Heathens too.” It is hard to explain the bitterness with which Hern spoke. He must have been remembering Zwitt and Aunt Zara and Gull in anger for a long time. Kars Adon looked at him and wondered.

“What makes you a Heathen?” Duck asked Kars Adon.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kars Adon said.

“Do you believe in the Undying?” I said.

Kars Adon smiled. “We’ve no use for dolls beside our fireplaces, if that’s what you mean. The Undying are not clay figures. But when I die, I hope to be gathered to them.”

This made me very indignant, but I could see, all the same, that Kars Adon did in some manner believe in the Undying.

“I will tell you,” Kars Adon said suddenly, “since you know so much already. Kankredin has been all the while out on his ship, wrestling with the might of your River. But when my father was killed, he knew, and sent one of his mages to bring us here, where he told us to stay. He promised us that he would conquer the land for us, through the River. But while we wait here, those of us who have not been killed by the natives are being sucked in by the River. The River is a greedy and devouring monster. It has carried off all our ships, except one. Kankredin has angered it with his enchantments, and it rises in ever-increasing might. And we suffer for it, not Kankredin.”

It really might have been Zwitt or Aunt Zara talking. But Kars Adon evidently believed it.

“I have known for some time that we must leave,” he said.

“Will you go away home?” I asked hopefully.

“That seems the only thing to do,” Kars Adon said. “We must build another ship and go. Now that my father is dead, my uncle will let us come back; they had quarrelled, you see. It means that I must give up all claim to the throne and perhaps have both hands cut off, but I owe it to my clans.” He seemed very calm about this. “But,” he added sadly, “Kankredin will not let us out through the Rivermouth for any reason. I want to ask you to make him let us go.”

“Fair enough,” said Hern. “But what do you really want to do?”

“What do I want?” Kars Adon said. He lifted his head and stared at the grey flapping wall of the tent. “I want to go inland and found my kingdom there, of course. It is a wide country. There is plenty of room for us and the natives. I think there are certainly scattered bands from the clans between here and the mountains. I shall call them in and make a city. I don’t pretend it will be easy, but someday we shall be a great people again.” The way he said this made me think of flags flying over stone roofs and golden towers, and I really believed he could do it.

“That’s a bit hard on us natives,” said Duck.

“I shall make treaties with you. If you choose to fight, I shall win,” said Kars Adon, lost in high dreams.

“Right. When do you start?” said Hern.

That brought Kars Adon back to earth. He put his chin down and looked bleakly at Hern. Hern looked bleak and chalky back. The windy air in the tent seemed full of flags and half-heard trumpets out of Kars Adon’s thoughts.

“You want me to go to Kankredin and get his permission for you to conquer the country?” Hern asked, in his most jeering way.

Kars Adon was so angry that he stood up and took a limping step towards Hern. “I am not the servant of any mage!”

Hern stood up too, showing himself again much larger – not that this daunted Kars Adon. “That’s more like it,” Hern said. “Then what’s keeping you here?”

Kars Adon glared at Hern. “The River. The River drowns anyone who tries to go inland. Tell Kankredin from me that he must leave the River alone.”

“I shall do that with pleasure,” said Hern. “We’ve already spoken to the River. You’ll find the waters are going down.” He could not stop himself from smiling as he said this.

Kars Adon smiled too. He was so pleased that he put out a damp knuckly hand and wrung each of our hands in turn. “Thank you,” he said. “I wish I could offer you a reward or something to eat or drink, but—” He paused a little blankly. I think the Heathen notion of gratitude was to shower food and drink on people, and possibly gold and silver too, and it seemed to hurt Kars Adon that he could not do it. “I give my protection and friendship freely to all three of you,” he said, rather lamely. “I suppose you’ll go to Kankredin when the tide starts running out?”

It was lucky he said that. We still had no notion about the tides. I turned to Hern and said knowingly, “Now, the tide turns when?”

“Um,” said Hern, pulling his chin wisely.

“It’ll be around sunrise tomorrow,” Kars Adon said obligingly, “won’t it?” He knew all about tides. His people came from the sea. It was odd that he knew so little of the River.

“We’ll set off at sunrise,” Duck said, as wise as Hern.

“And so will we,” Kars Adon said eagerly. “I shall have them strike camp tonight.” His flags and trumpets were back. “We should be many miles inland by tomorrow night,” he said.

After that we said goodbye with great politeness and went back to our island. Arin and his flag bearer did not come beyond the edge of the camp with us. They were too anxious to get back and find out what had been said. That was fortunate, because when we reached the channel, no one would have believed Ked and I had nearly drowned in it. It was nothing but a ditch of wet brown sand. They would have known we were not mages.

We could see the One’s fire flaring beyond the hill of our island. “I hope Robin’s all right,” said Hern.

“And the One,” I said. “Hern, what got into you?”

“I could see he liked straight dealing,” said Hern. “And I took a risk. I wanted to find out about this Kankredin. And we did. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind tomorrow.”

“But,” I said, “you’ve sent him off – Kars Adon and his Heathens – to get slaughtered inland. Just those few of them can never last.”

“We’ve done our people a service,” Duck said complacently.

But Hern said, as we trod across the brown ditch, leaving pale footprints, “It was better than sitting on a sandhill dreaming dreams. If I was him, I’d never have gone there in the first place.”