A carriage door opened. Moments later Bauchelain’s black-clad form appeared. ‘Our sticksnare returns . . . hastily. I suggest you call in the others and prepare your weapons. Tactically, attempt to hamstring these hunters, and stay low when you close – they prefer horizontal cuts. Emancipor, if you would kindly join us. Captain Gruntle, perhaps you might inform your master, though no doubt he is already aware.’

Suddenly chilled, Gruntle rose. ‘We’ll be lucky to see anything, dammit.’

‘That will not be an issue,’ Bauchelain replied. ‘Korbal, dear friend,’ he called out behind him, ‘a broad circle of light, if you please.’

The area was suddenly bathed in a soft, golden glow, reaching out thirty or more paces on all sides.

The cat yowled again and Gruntle caught sight of a tawny flash, darting back out into the darkness. Hetan and Harllo approached from one side, hastily tucking in clothing. Stonny and Netok arrived as well. The captain managed a strained grin. ‘Not enough time, I take it,’ he said to her.

Stonny grimaced. ‘You should be more forgiving – it was the lad’s first try.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘A damned shame, too,’ she added, pulling on her duelling gloves. ‘He had potental, despite the grease.’

The three Barghast had gathered now, Cafal jabbing a row of lances into the stony earth whilst Hetan busied herself tying a thick cord to join the three of them. Fetishes of feather and bone hung from knots in the cord, and Gruntle judged that the span between each warrior would be five or six arm-lengths. When the other two were done, Netok handed them double-bladed axes. All three set the weapons down at their feet and collected a lance each. Hetan leading, they began a soft, rumbling chant.

‘Captain.’

Gruntle pulled his gaze from the Barghast and found Master Keruli at his side. The man’s hands were folded on his lap, his silk cape shimmering like water. ‘The protection I can offer is limited. Stay close to me, you and Harllo and Stonny. Do not allow yourselves to be drawn forward. Concentrate on defence.’

Unsheathing his cutlasses, Gruntle nodded. Harllo moved to the captain’s left, his two-handed sword held steady before him. Stonny stood to Gruntle’s right, rapier and sticker readied.

He feared for her the most. Her weapons were too light for what was coming – he recalled the chop-marks on Bauchelain’s carriage. This would be brutal strength at play here, not finesse. ‘Stay back a step, Stonny,’ he said.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I’m not talking chivalry, Stonny. Poking wire-thin holes won’t hurt an undead.’

‘We’ll just see, won’t we?’

‘Stay close to the master – guard him. That’s an order, Stonny.’

‘I hear you,’ she growled.

Gruntle faced Keruli again. ‘Sir, who is your god? If you call upon him or her, what should we expect?’