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his head in a show of apology to Moryson. Moryson caught Jayme’s eye over Gilbert’s bowed head and a sharp look passed between them. Gilbert would receive a far stronger censure from his Brother-Leader when Jayme had him alone.
    “If I might continue, Brother-Leader,” Gilbert said deferentially.
    Jayme angrily jerked his head in assent, his age-spotted fingers almost white where they gripped the armrests of his chair.
    “Lord Magariz was able to retrieve some of the bodies of those he had lost. It appears they had been…eaten. Chewed. Nibbled. Tasted.” Gilbert’s voice was dry, demonstrating an unexpected flair for the macabre. “There are no known animals in either northern Ichtar or Ravensbund that would attack, let alone eat, a grown man in armour and defended with sword and spear.”
    “The great icebears, perhaps?” Jayme asked, his anger fading as his perplexion grew. Occasionally stories filtered down about man-eating icebears in the extreme north of Ravensbund.
    “Gorkenfort is too far inland for the icebears, Brother-Leader. They would either have to walk down the Gorken Pass for some sixty leagues or shortcut across the lesser arm of the Icescarp Alps to reach it.” He paused, reflecting. “And icebears have no head for heights. No,” Gilbert shook his head slowly, “I fear the icebears are not responsible.”
    “Then perhaps the Ravensbundmen themselves,” suggested Moryson. Ravensbund was, theoretically, a province of Achar and under the administration of the Duke of Ichtar on behalf of the King of Achar. But Ravensbund was such an extraordinarily wild and barren place, inhabited by uncouth tribes who spent nearly all their time hunting seals and great icebears in the extreme north, that both the King of Achar, Priam, and his loyal liege, Duke Borneheld of Ichtar, generally left the place to its own devices. Consequently, the garrison at Gorkenfort was, to all intents and purposes, the northernmost point of effective Acharite administration and military power in the kingdom. Although the Ravensbundmen were not much trouble, most Acharites regarded them as little more than barbaric savages.
    “I don’t think so, Brother Moryson. Apparently the Ravensbundmen have suffered as badly, if not worse, than the garrison at Gorkenfort. Indeed, many of the Ravensbund tribes are moving south into Ichtar. The tales they tell are truly terrible.”
    “And they are?” Jayme prompted, his fingers gently tapping his bearded chin as he listened.
    “Of the winter gone mad, and of the wind come alive. Of ice creatures all but invisible to the eye inhabiting the wind and hungering for human flesh. They say the only warning that comes before an attack is a whisper on the wind. Yet if these creatures are invisible before attack, then they are generally visible after. Once they have gorged, the creatures are slimed with the blood of their victims. The Ravensbundmen are afraid of them—afraid enough to move out of their homelands—and the Ravensbundmen, savages as they are, have never been afraid of anything before.”
    “Have they tried to attack them?”
    “Yes. But the creatures are somehow…insubstantial. Steel passes through their bodies. And they do not fear. If any soldiers get close enough to attack them, it is generally the last thing they get to do in this life. Only a few have escaped encounters with these…”
    “Forbidden Ones?” Moryson whispered, his amiable face reflecting the anxiety that such a term provoked in all of them. None of them had wanted to be the first to mention this possibility.
    “Wait, Moryson,” Jayme counselled. “Wait until we have heard all of what Gilbert has to say.” All three men had forgotten the tension and anger that Gilbert’s jibe had caused moments before.
    “Magariz’s soldiers have seen similar apparitions, although most who have been close enough to see them have died,” Gilbert said slowly. “One man they found alive. Just. He died a few minutes