‘Stand firm!’ the commander bellowed. ‘Mere barbarian witchery. I—’ He stopped himself, staring upwards in disbelief. Orman followed his gaze: the roof fire was now completely out. Exposed blackened beams smoked, but no flames could be seen. The commander once more pressed a hand to his brow. He sounded an aggrieved sigh. ‘Oh – just kill them.’

Sergeants among the ranks bellowed, ‘Charge!’

The front rank surged forward to the barricade. They chopped and yanked at the heaped logs, barrels and equipment. One screamed as Bernal’s spear found him. Orman shook off his hesitation and thrust as well, jabbing at every soldier within reach.

He fully expected the soldiers to climb or push their way through the barricade in moments; it was undefended for almost all its length. Yet this did not happen. The men he fended off with thrusts of Svalthbrul retreated, nursing wounds, but so too did nearly all the others. These gasped and flinched, hunching, their breaths steaming. Many fell amid the dense fog. Over these humped shapes he glimpsed a fine glittering armour of hoar frost grow and thicken.

He stood back in wonder. True, it was damned cold; he felt the air biting at him and his own breath plumed, but somehow the frigid streamers were not so deadly to him. He ran to find Bernal.

The disembodied voice of the enemy commander shouted from somewhere behind the wall of churning vapours: ‘What are you waiting for? It is just a fog! Advance, damn you!’

Bernal stood on the log stairs together with one of the Reddin brothers, Kasson, Orman was fairly certain. ‘Now is the time,’ he said as he arrived.

Bernal curtly nodded his agreement. ‘You and the brothers must go.’

Orman cast a quick glance into the hall: mist choked it, but he could see that thick layers of icy hoar frost covered the walls and floor, while at the far end sat two figures, immobile, streaming with vapours – no doubt the very source of them. Iceblood magics, obviously. He turned back to Bernal. ‘What? No. All of us. Now.’

Bernal smiled behind his beard as he shook his head. ‘No. I will stay and hold the door. Now go.’

‘Leal and Ham, then.’

The commander’s voice sounded again: ‘I order you to advance!’

Bernal urged him onward with a push of his shoulder. ‘They sit now with the master and mistress. As I shall – so go, quickly. The spell is fading.’ He pushed Kasson off also.

Orman edged back down the stairs; he had his one last duty to perform. ‘Very well. Kasson, let’s find your brother.’ Backing away, he saluted Bernal with Svalthbrul. The fellow raised his great spear in answer and waved them off. Orman and Kasson jogged away round the Greathall.

They found Keth at the rear, the bodies of fallen soldiers all about him. ‘Jaochim has tasked us to bring word of this to Buri,’ Orman said.

Kasson nodded. ‘Bernal told me.’