Jethiss joined them; the Andii had found a set of thick leather armour consisting of overlapping layers set with studs and bronze rings. Fisher nodded approvingly. The man rested his hands on the long handle of a twin-headed broad-axe. Badlands passed them on his way out, caught sight of the axe, and swore. ‘Gods, man, that monstrosity has rested on the wall since I was a babe! No one wields those clumsy things any more.’

Jethiss shrugged modestly. ‘I’ll do my best. The haft is a hard wood, is it not?’

‘Aye. Ash. Why?’

‘I had simply hoped so.’

Shaking his head, the Lost brother walked off.

Three figures obscured the light from the entrance then marched within. Cal-Brinn led, followed by a man and a woman, nearly identical in battered coats of mail that carried the remnants of once having been enamelled or lacquered a deep dark red. Cal-Brinn saluted Stalker. ‘Our scouts report the enemy entering the valley. Their own scouts are already watching the hall from the woods.’

Stalker nodded. ‘Very well. Everyone – take a skin of water and extra weapons and spread out.’

Kyle had pulled on a hauberk of boiled leather, its leather sleeves sheathed in mail, and belted on a set of heavy fighting knives. Into the belt he now gingerly tucked the sheathed Whiteblade.

When he looked up he saw everyone eyeing him, and he glanced down to see that the grip and pommel, carved from whatever unknown material, glowed now like ivory in the darkness of the hall. Feeling acutely ill at ease, he snatched up a spear and headed out, saying, ‘Yes … let’s go.’

When they had been readying the defences, Stalker had explained how he wanted everyone to spread out around the circumference of the building. They would hold the earthworks for as long as possible before falling back to the hall. The invaders would no-doubt set it alight; once that happened, they were to make a break to the north out the rear.

That at least was the plan. It appeared more and more flimsy as Kyle gripped the cold wood of the spear-haft and watched the three columns of the enemy, accompanied by many skirmishers, smoothly spread out to encircle them many layers deep.

The last stamp of marching feet resounded from the forest. Hundreds of breaths plumed the air. The front rank knelt a good spear-throw’s distance from the earthworks. All was silent until a nicker and a ringing of jesses announced a horse being urged forward.

The mounted figure gently eased his way through the ranks until he was directly opposite the entrance. Kyle stood off to the right, just within ear-range, with a Crimson Guard swordsman on either side.

‘Let us talk,’ the man called.

Stalker set one booted foot up on the earthworks and leaned forward on his sheathed longsword. ‘About what? The weather?’