The commander was obviously wondering the same thing himself as he scratched his beard musingly. After a time, he came to a conclusion and nodded to himself. ‘Letherii,’ he murmured. ‘Some noble or trading house of the Lether Empire.’

Lether? Jute was surprised; the Letherii were not seafarers. But then, there was gold to be had, so he really ought not to be shocked that the Letherii were involved. Jute put their numbers in the hundreds. The contingent also appeared to have two commanders, as they were the only individuals mounted. One of these raised a hand, as if for silence, though no one was talking, and announced: ‘Very good, King Ronal. Your silence is answer enough. Remain cornered here in Mantle. You can watch while we take control of all the north.’

The speaker was a younger man in what was obviously an extremely expensive set of banded armour, inlaid and etched with intricate curling designs. His fellow commander sat tall upon his mount, boarding-pole slim, grey-haired, in much-worn leathers.

‘Your realm, King Ronal,’ the younger fellow continued, ‘has dwindled to a stone’s throw across. I understand that the custom here is that when the grip of the old ruler weakens, a new one arises to assert control. Who am I to argue with tradition? Sieges, by the way, are all about time. Time and suffering. We go now to take control of the goldfields – first things first, after all. Once that is done, we will return to relieve you of your suffering. Until then.’ He offered a mocking bow in farewell.

Wrapped in his bear cloak, King Ronal the Bastard cackled a grating laugh and waved him off. ‘Go on! The Icebloods will have your heads!’

The Lether noble was not concerned. ‘I think not. I wonder, if fact, whether there are any of them left.’ He turned his mount and cantered off, followed by his companion officer. King Ronal stormed from the wall. His bodyguard and crowd of court followers nearly tripped and fell over one another to keep from underfoot.

Tyvar pushed towards the man’s path. King Ronal caught sight of him; indeed, it was hard to miss him as he was as broad as a haystack. The king pointed, shouting: ‘What in the name of the ancients do you want?’

Tyvar bowed his head. ‘Once more, King Ronal, I humbly offer my—’

The Bastard threw his spindly arms into the air. ‘Another damned foreigner making demands upon me! To the Hooded Taker’s grip with all of you!’ and he barged onward without another glance. His entourage hurried after him.

Jute and Giana moved close to Tyvar who had remained quite still, his features controlled, but impassively so. Jute could not help but let out a growl. ‘I cannot believe such treatment. Tyvar, sir, you show astounding patience …’