Sig looked down, saw Fen padding at Keld’s side, the surviving hound’s slate-grey fur striped now with thick scars, one ear almost missing, its edge jagged as a broken tooth.

Ach, the blood that has been spilt over the war between Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, and us caught in the middle.

‘All right, then?’ Cullen said to her. He was looking more himself, his arm out of a splint now, though it was obviously still causing some pain.

‘You need some poppy milk before we leave?’ Sig asked him.

‘No.’ Cullen shook his head. ‘Pain keeps you sharp.’ he grinned.

Sig sighed and shook her head.

There was a flapping of wings and Rab dropped from the sky, alighting on the pommel of Sig’s saddle. Hammer looked up over her shoulder and growled.

‘She doesn’t like uninvited guests,’ Sig said.

With a squawk Rab launched into the air.

‘You can sit here,’ Cullen called out and Rab flew to him and wrapped his talons around his saddle pommel.

‘Thank you,’ the white crow squawked.

‘You’re welcome,’ Cullen said with a smile.

‘Happy,’ Rab observed.

‘I am,’ Cullen replied. ‘I’ve fought Kadoshim, bloodied my sword and spear for the Order. Taken a wound for the Order. And there is more battle to be had out there,’ he said with a wave over Uthandun’s battlements.

To be young again.

‘What more could I ask for?’ Cullen finished.

‘My Hella back,’ Keld snarled. ‘My fingers back. Revenge.’

Cullen’s smile shrivelled.

An affliction of the young – speaking without thinking.

Sig muttered to Hammer and the bear lurched into motion, across the wide courtyard. The edges were lined with faces, the walls as well. Sig saw Queen Nara standing beside the open gates with Madoc and a handful of shieldmen about her, warriors and townsfolk turned out to bid them farewell, the battlements above crowded, too. There were more riders in the courtyard, forty or so of them gathered in front of a long stable block: those who had volunteered to finish their training in the weapons court at Dun Seren, hoping to join the Order and become men and women of the Bright Star.

They look like bairns, Sig thought, though she knew they were all aged around fifteen summers, a mixture of male and female, all having come through their first year in the weapons court. She stopped in front of them and spent a long, silent moment looking into each one’s eyes.