Sig threw her own knife, the big blade spun, crunched into the man’s face, hurling him halfway across the room. A moment’s silence, then men were rushing her, swords, knives, axes in fists. Sig’s longsword scraped from its scabbard across her back and she snarled a curse at them, striding through the doorway, not waiting for them to reach her.

‘TRUTH AND COURAGE,’ she bellowed, swinging her sword, a head spinning with her first blow, the body’s momentum causing it to stumble on into her. Sig shoved it aside, fouling a man’s rush at her, her fist crunching into his mouth, lips mangled, teeth spraying as he dropped on top of the headless corpse. Steel clashed as blows rained upon her, catching some with her blade, others thudding into the shield strapped across her back, or glancing off her chainmail shirt. Then Elgin’s men were pounding up the stairs behind her to protect her flanks and rear as she forged into the room, carving her way to Keld.

Vaguely Sig was aware of a door on the far side of the room bursting open: the rest of Elgin’s men that had accompanied her storming in, falling upon the shaven-haired acolytes, and beyond the timber walls she heard the thunder of hooves. But it was all as if through mist, her focus on Keld and anyone fool enough to get in her way. She hacked, stabbed and chopped her way through flesh, bone and steel, men hurling themselves at her, one scratching at her face, raking her with blackened nails, teeth snapping at her neck. She headbutted him with her jutting brow, crushing his nose, grabbed a fistful of his cloak’s hood and slammed his head into her knee, then cast his limp body aside.

Then she was standing before Keld; his eyes were wild with pain, but he recognized her, mouth moving, words whispered, incoherent at first.

‘Forgive me,’ Sig finally heard.

‘For what?’ Sig grunted as she tugged at his bonds. They were tied tight, cutting into his flesh. She sliced through them, taking his weight as he fell onto her.

‘Failing you,’ he mumbled, spittle and blood hanging from his jaw.

‘Ach, my friend,’ Sig said, ‘it is I who has failed you. I should have been here sooner.’

‘Better late, than . . . never,’ he said, a twitch of a manic smile. ‘My bairns?’ Keld growled.

Sig took a deep breath.

‘Fen still lives,’ she said, ‘but Hella is gone.’

Keld’s face twisted, a blast of raw grief, then Sig was turning as an acolyte rushed towards her, sword raised high. Keld slumped to his knees. Sig caught the blow on her blade, but before she could retaliate, an axe slammed into the acolyte’s head, wrenched free in a spray of bone and gore as the man collapsed, twitching. Cullen stood over the corpse.

‘Brought your axe for you,’ he said to Keld.