His father returned the next day, with company. At his side trotted a fur-clad savage, pock-scarred and covered in matted hair. The stranger smelled foul. He ate raw meat and slept through the afternoon in filth of his own making, near the back door of the house. With the sun setting, he rose, and Hallyd recalled watching the man lope out into the gloom.

The stranger returned three days later, dragging a mass of boiled skulls on a rope. There had been, it turned out, twenty-six dogs in the feral pack. In payment, he was given a cask of cider, which he drank while sitting on the ground in the front yard. The liquor made him vicious, growling when anyone drew near – as word went out, and curious villagers came by to look at the skulls, and at the Jheleck who had collected them – but eventually the cask was empty, and the hunter passed out.

He was gone when Hallyd woke the next morning, though the dog skulls remained, heaped into a pyramid. Hallyd’s father cursed upon discovering that the Jheleck had stolen the empty cask.

To this day, the dogs gave shape – flitting and deadly – to Hallyd Bahann’s fears, and in his nightmares he often saw their bared fangs, and imagined in their eyes something remorseless, untamable.

The scout was huddled before him, shivering, wrapped in furs. A soldier of the Legion, reduced to this pitiful state.

‘We were on her trail. We were closing in. Then everything changed – the night came alive. Arrows, sir, they attacked us with arrows, as if we were wild beasts! Deniers. I was in a squad, me and four others. I alone escaped. There were hundreds, captain, moving in packs – those wretched, stinking forest-grubbers – and we thought we’d killed them all!’

Weary, disgusted, Hallyd waved the soldier away. Two of his guards closed in, dragged the man out of the tent. Nothing disappointed him more than seeing a soldier reduced by terror. You ran, you fool, abandoning your squad-mates. You ran, when you should have stood your ground, when you should have fought. Even so, at least now he knew what awaited them behind the treeline to the west. The hunt for Sharenas was now incidental. It seemed that they were far from done with the Deniers.

Arrows. The coward’s way. Well, that should not surprise anyone.

Wicker shields. But where will we find what we need to make them?

‘Lieutenant Esk!’

The tent flap was tugged aside and a tall, willowy woman entered, armour clanking. ‘Captain?’

‘You commanded the south flank yesterday, yes? Did you draw within sight of Manaleth?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘What flag rode the high winds?’

‘Neither the lord nor the lady was present in the keep, sir.’

‘You are certain of that?’

‘Yes sir.’