‘I killed the Kadoshim that slew your mam. Took me half a year to hunt it down, but –’ he shrugged – ‘I took its head, brought it back to Dun Seren. I imagine it’s there still. Apart from this piece.’ Olin rubbed a finger along the sword hilt, where Drem thought the leather had frayed, revealing the hilt of bone beneath. He looked closer, saw that was not the case. A tooth was set into the hilt, a long, curved fang, the size of a finger.

‘That—’ Drem began.

‘It is the fang of the Kadoshim that slew your mam, aye,’ Olin said. ‘Couldn’t exactly be carrying its head all around the Banished Lands wherever we go, could I? A sword, though.’ Olin shrugged. ‘And it’s yours, now.’ He held the sword out for Drem, offering it.

Slowly, hesitantly, Drem reached out and took it, brushed his fingertips across the leather hilt and long tooth, felt a shiver run down his spine at the history within it, the tale it could tell. The pommel was round, engraved with a four-pointed star. He wrapped one fist around the hilt, the other gripping the scabbard, pulled it free. A rasping hiss of steel and leather. It was a long blade, a weight to it, though well balanced, the steel bright and gleaming, signs of notches in the blade worked on with a whetstone.

‘About time you had your own blade,’ his da said. ‘You’re making fine progress with the sword dance.’

‘Am I?’ Drem asked. It hadn’t been that long since his da had introduced him to their new morning routine of sword dance and sparring, but Drem felt it was going well. It felt like putting on an old cloak, a bit stiff from lack of use, but fitting well and moulding to him in no time. It felt like coming home.

‘Aye,’ Olin said. ‘But that’s no surprise. You were holding a blade at Dun Seren from the age of two, and Sig had to pick you up and sit you on a wall to keep you off the weapons court when we were sparring.’

‘Sig?’

‘Aye. And you remember her, too, I think. You have just spoken of her. A blonde woman, tall. You’re right there, she’s a giant.’ Olin snorted a laugh, his smile a rare sight. ‘She used to pick you up and perch you on a wall while we were doing the sword dance, else you’d run around with your own wooden sword, practising on our shins.’

Drem smiled at that. ‘Me?’

‘Aye. Sig was my weapons-master. A great warrior.’ He was silent a few moments. ‘And an even better friend.’

Drem raised his eyebrows.

‘Why have you never told me of this before. Any of it?’