Orman backed off. He searched among the dark milling shapes for Jass. He found him being pushed backwards by an opponent, his spear held sideways across his chest. The lad’s footing became hung up on a corpse and he fell. The soldier reared over him, sword pulled back for a thrust. Orman screamed as he threw Svalthbrul. The spear pierced the man completely. He fell leaving the weapon standing from his back. Jass recovered his and backed away.

But the Reddin brothers were surrounded, while Gerrun had gotten free somehow and was duelling with a soldier while armed only with short knives. Three more were coming for Orman; he drew his heavy fighting knives and despaired. Too many. Just too damned many.

Then the very ground shook beneath his booted feet. A roar burst upon everyone like a blast of thunder. A massive mountain of russet shaggy fur came bowling in upon the scene, paws the size of shields swiping men left and right. Massive jaws crunched on an armoured arm and threw a soldier flying, legs and arms spinning. Another swat sent the two facing the Reddins down in a crunch of broken bones.

The remaining soldiers broke, running. The titanic humped bear roared again and gave chase.

And then it was quiet. Orman stood dragging in cold air, weaving on his feet. He retrieved Svalthbrul and staggered to Jass, who stood motionless, staring off where the great bear – Old Bear – could still be heard crashing through the underbrush.

‘Just in time,’ he gasped.

‘So it’s true,’ Jass murmured in amazement.

‘What’s true?’

‘The old tales. Shapeshifter. Old Bear. The last of them.’

Orman wiped his cold slick face. ‘Or a spell, perhaps.’

Wet coughing pulled his attention round. A soldier. Orman moved off to stand over him. The man lay peering up, his chest a crushed ruin. ‘They warned us,’ he croaked.

Orman crouched on his haunches. ‘What’s that?’ He could barely make out the man’s foreign speech.

‘Them townsfolk,’ the soldier said. ‘They warned us.’ He tried to laugh, but had no air for it.

‘Where are you from?’ Orman asked.

‘Don’t matter.’

‘Where?’

‘Long ways away. Half-fort, Genabackis.’

‘You soldiers?’

‘Mercenaries, lad. You won this one … but I’d run … I was you.’

‘Why?’

‘Straw hut in a flood is you, lad. Compared to what’s comin’ … straw hut …’ The mercenary’s mouth fell slack and his gaze fixed. Orman pressed a hand down the man’s face to close his eyes.

The Reddin brothers came up, Keth limping and Kasson cradling his bloodied left arm. Gerrun was hunched over the dead, rummaging through their clothes.

Orman studied the three of them: the brothers and Jass. He motioned uphill. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What about Old Bear?’ Jass asked.

‘He’ll find us.’

‘And these bodies?’

‘Leave them for the scavengers – as a warning.’

Keth nodded. He and his brother bound their wounds then waved to Gerrun. They headed back the way they came.