Orman edged to his left. He used Svalthbrul to part the brush and saw the glimmer of a campfire. He motioned to the Reddin brothers and signed ahead. Keth readied his bow and Kasson drew a hatchet. They all crept forward.

Against the flickering gold glare of the flames, he made out one of the guards. The man was standing with his back to the fire and Orman mentally cursed. Damned veterans! They know every trick. He almost backed out then, feeling that they were walking into a trap – yet how could that be with the Eithjar keeping watch? A bowstring thrummed and the guard pitched backwards.

Orman charged, Svalthbrul readied. At that moment the prone figures about the fire all threw off blankets and leapt to their feet – and not groggily, for they were armed and armoured, ready for the attack. There was no time to curse as one charged Orman directly. The man had his medium-sized round shield ready and he batted aside Orman’s thrust, but Svalthbrul was no ordinary spear and the edge of the lanceolate blade caught the shield and Orman used this to yank the shield aside and curve round it inward to thrust again taking the man through his chest armour and sinking deep. Too deep. The blade would not come free as the man fell. He held on hard, twisting, forgetting for the moment the boiling charging figures around him.

Someone shield-bashed him, knocking the breath from him and raising stars in his vision. The blow was so powerful it yanked Svalthbrul free and he turned it on the man, snapping up the haft as if it were a whip, taking him across the face so that he screamed as blood flew skyward.

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.