It was as good as full dark; Sig’s preparations had taken a little longer than she’d expected. The wall was poorly manned and only sporadically lit, so it took just a few heartbeats to check they hadn’t been seen, and then Drem was padding down a stairwell, Sig jumping from the walkway into snow. They crossed an open space and hugged a wall, Drem slipping ahead, Sig confident to follow his lead. A hundred heartbeats and they were deep in the camp, an acid stench burning its way into the back of Sig’s throat. Drem turned and signalled, pointing up at the roof of a building, single-storey with a sod roof. Sig was on it in moments, then giving Drem a helping hand. They crawled across the sod, Sig careful to spread her weight. Grass tickled her face. And then they were peering down upon a scene that set even Sig’s skin to gooseflesh.

It was an open space, illuminated by many torches, their flames whipped and swirled by the wind. A boulder as big as a keep sat at one end of the clearing, the dull gleam of iron bars highlighted by the flames showing the countless gaols Drem had told them of. Veiled shapes prowled their shadows. The foul stench was emanating from those recesses in palpable waves. In the centre of the clearing stood a table, various butcher’s tools spread across it, as well as a profusion of body parts. In places the timber was stained black.

On the far side of the clearing more buildings sprawled. Sig could hear the occasional snuffling and lowing of a bear coming from their direction, though she could not be sure of the exact building.

And in the clearing a crowd of acolytes stood, forty of them, maybe fifty. Other forms moved amongst them, prowling, their movements unnatural, backs heaped and bowed with too much muscle, arms and legs too long for their bodies, mouths and hands razored with tooth and claw that did not belong upon men. More shapes moved in the shadows beyond the torchlight.

Drem did not exaggerate.

‘Can you see your friend, Ulf?’ Sig whispered to Drem.

He shook his head.

A hush fell and figures emerged from the darkness, a procession, a Kadoshim at its head. He was tall, dark hair swept back and tied in a knot at the nape, the sharp lines of his face and set of his eyes giving him a reptilian appearance. His nose was a thin line.

A chanting broke out amongst the gathered acolytes as he entered the clearing.

‘Gulla, Gulla, Gulla.’

Sig slid a hand to Drem and gripped his wrist.

‘Gulla, High Captain of the Kadoshim,’ she hissed. ‘Second only to Asroth.’