He had asked Fech to scout for them, but the raven refused, which annoyed him. Here I am, the chosen avatar of Elyon, the Bright Star; the high captain of the Ben-Elim listens to me, and yet a scruffy old raven refuses me. Apparently Fech was explaining something vital to Brina. For once she did not overrule the bird, but sat there quietly, just nodding her head. She had the book in her hands, the one that she had been teaching him from. It lay open across her saddle.

He stared at the book. The giant’s book from Dun Carreg, full of their histories and lore. And of their magic. Brina would have clipped him around the ear for calling it that, but that was how he thought of it. He remembered Vonn’s confession that he had stolen it from his da, Evnis, and then how Brina and Heb had taught him from it. When was the last time I even thought about that? Or Brina? I have just abandoned her. At least Cywen was with Brina. In fact, she seemed to be spending almost every waking hour close to the healer. I need to see more of Cywen, too. I ride hundreds of leagues to find her, and when I do, we hardly share two sentences.

Corban sighed. It seemed that being the Bright Star meant sacrifices. ‘Fine, have it your way,’ Corban said to Fech. ‘I’ll not be forgetting your helpfulness, though.’

‘Sarcasm won’t help,’ Fech squawked.

‘Bribery usually works,’ Cywen leaned in her saddle and whispered to him.

Corban considered. ‘Fech, the next thing that Storm catches, I’ll let you have its slimy bits all to yourself.’

Fech cocked his head at Corban. ‘Agreed. Fly soon,’ he croaked.

‘Good.’ Corban kicked his horse on, annoyed at Fech and just wanting to be alone, if even for a few moments without some decision or another needing to be made. He cleared the front of the warband, where Meical, Tukul and Gar were riding, Balur and his daughter Ethlinn striding beside them. He clicked his tongue and Shield opened his stride, pulling ahead into an open space. Corban leaned forward, patting Shield’s neck; the horse snorting with pleasure.

I’ve missed you, boy.

He looked back over his shoulder at the warband spread behind him, the bulk of giants mingled with the grim-faced Jehar. How did I end up here? Leading a warband, hailed as the champion of Elyon? I’m not champion of anything. And why would Elyon, maker of all, choose me? It doesn’t make sense.