The sorceress was nodding through all this. ‘A very wise decision. For you see … I am not entirely unprotected.’ And she gestured, waving her hand forward.

Heavy thumping steps sounded from the dark corners behind the throne. Out stepped two giants, or so they appeared to Jute. Hoary shapes out of legend. Jaghut? Trell? Fabled Toblakai? Who was to know? Fully two fathoms tall they must have been. One wore a long heavy coat of bronze scales that hung to the floor in ragged lengths. He was bearded, his hair a thick nest, his jaw massive with pronounced tusk-like upwards-jutting canines. He carried an immensely wide two-headed axe; this he thumped to the flags before his sandalled feet in a blow that shook the floor. The other stood nearly identical but girt in armour of overlapping iron scales. Thrust through his belt was a greatsword fully as tall as any man, from its tip to its plain hexagonal pommel of bevelled iron.

Both favoured the party with hungry eager grins.

‘Allow me to introduce my sons,’ Mist continued. She extended a hand to the left. ‘Anger.’ She gestured to her right. ‘Wrath.’

Lady Orosenn lurched one step forward as if she would charge Mist. ‘You have not been kind to your sons,’ she grated.

Mist thrust a finger at her. ‘You I will allow to continue on to the north. All who come to pay tribute to our great ancestors are welcome.’

‘They are not my ancestors,’ Lady Orosenn growled, low and controlled, and Jute was shaken by the uncharacteristic ferocity in her voice. ‘They are more my great-nephews and nieces.’

Mist’s hands convulsed to claws on the armrests and she gaped. Then, recovering, she gave a girlish laugh and waved the words aside. ‘An outrageous claim. In any case, you have no stake in this. Stand aside.’ Her eyes moved to Tyvar, and she pointed to the entrance. ‘Go now, and convince your crews to cooperate. Any resistance or rebellion will be utterly crushed.’

Tyvar turned on his heel and marched from the hall. Jute glanced from the mercenary’s retreating back to Lady Orosenn, who had not moved, and chose to follow Tyvar. Leaving, he heard Lady Orosenn say, in a voice now touched with sadness: ‘It seems that we never learn, Mist.’ Then he heard her steps following in his wake.

The village, if it could be called that, was deserted. So too the slope down to the ships. Everyone knew to keep indoors. Jute noted with alarm the creeping banners of fog. They were coursing in towards them from all sides, as if they were streams of water sinking into a basin. Tyvar muttered to Lady Orosenn, ‘We cannot counter this sorcery. Togg is no longer with us.’

‘I will do my best. Push off immediately.’

‘I am not used to this crouching behind the cover of another.’

‘Think of me as your priestess, then.’

The big man barked a laugh. ‘Would that were so, m’lady.’