She burst into an open space, the town square, the long feast-hall of timber and thatch before her. Skidding to a halt, churned mud spraying, legs scrambling, arms windmilling desperately to stop, she just stood there for a frozen moment staring at the scene before her in horror.

In the centre of the square, placed immediately before the steps to the feast-hall, stood a mountain of severed heads, steaming in the winter’s cold.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: SIG

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SIG

Sig swung her weapon, a swooping curve, from high to low that arced around her opponent’s attempt at a parry. Too late he tried to dance back out of reach, but the length of Sig’s arm with a blade was too far for any man to evade in half a heartbeat. Her weapon crunched into his leg, just below the knee, lifting him from the ground and spinning him a full circle in the air before he crashed to the hard-frozen grass, flat on his back, the air leaving his lungs in one massive whoosh.

The scuff of feet behind her and, without a second’s thought, Sig spun on her heel, parrying the axe blow aimed at her head, flinging it high and stepping in close to stab her sword-point into the chest of the giant before her. As he stumbled back, dropping to one knee, Sig ducked, air hissing over her head as she spun again, this time chopping her blade two-handed into the waist of another giant, seeing him sway and slowly topple to the ground. Sig took a step forwards, standing over him, sword-tip at his throat.

The giant on the ground looked up at her, then swore.

‘Ach, you’re just showing off for the new bairns,’ he said gruffly.

‘Give me your hand,’ Sig replied, lifting her wooden practice blade away from Tain’s throat.

He smiled then, that infectious grin, even as he was wincing with the pain of moving as his waist twisted and bruised ribs contracted.

‘I’m going back to my Crow Tower,’ Tain said with a mock groan, ‘it’s safer up there.’

‘Not by the looks of your cloak,’ Sig commented, looking at what was once a black bearskin cloak, now streaked and strained with the arse-end of crows.

‘That I can live with, pain’s a much deeper issue,’ Tain grunted.

Behind her Fachen, another giant warrior of the Order, was climbing to his feet.

‘You all right?’ Sig asked.

He raised a hand to Sig, nodded.

‘You’re slowing down,’ he grunted.