Damn, but it’s hot. Without a word Alazon handed him a skin. Lykos sniffed and drank, cool watered wine. A glance at the village on the lakeshore and Jerolin on its low hill had been reassuring. All seemed normal, people going about their everyday business. It’s as if there was no uprising.

The only visible difference was that there were more Vin Thalun about the place. In the village, on the lakeshore, standing watch on the walls of Jerolin alongside the fortress’ eagle-guard.

Alazon has done well. The situation could have polarized us.

The lake was a forest of masts and black sails, a Vin Thalun fleet settled on it like crows upon a field of corpses.

‘I’ve had word from Calidus. A fleet must be readied for sail. War-galleys and transporters for a warband two thousand strong. Room for horses and baggage.’ And something else.

‘That’s fifty ships, at least. We can do that,’ Alazon shrugged.

‘Good. We’ll talk more of it later.’

‘This way,’ Alazon said, striding bow-legged through the shipyard, and led him to the arena that still stood on the plain before Jerolin. Its earth was hard packed now, dried out by the sun. Dark stains betrayed the violence that it had witnessed.

There were cages on the far side, designed to hold pit-fighters. The cages were full. A score of Vin Thalun warriors guarded them, lounging in the sun, some sparring half-heartedly, some drinking.

Alazon called out a name and a warrior separated from the guards, a young Vin Thalun, his beard oiled and bound with only a few iron rings. He looked as if he’d seen combat recently, his nose crooked, his jaw swollen, bruises fading.

‘This is Senios,’ Alazon said. ‘He’s got something to tell.’

‘I saw Fidele and the Old Wolf,’ he said, eyes unable to meet Lykos’.

‘Where?’

‘The forest – I was guarding the timber fields, the day of your . . .’ He trailed off.

‘Aye. Go on.’

Senios told of his capture by Maquin, bargaining for his life and time. How he had tried to escape, fought hard with the Old Wolf, only losing because Fidele had struck him from behind.

Lykos looked him up and down. I saw the Old Wolf kill Herak, trainer of pit-fighters. Can’t see you besting him.

‘What did you offer in return for your life?’ Lykos asked him.

‘Information.’

Lykos just stared at him.

Senios looked at the ground, shuffled his feet. ‘The giantess and her whelp,’ he muttered, just above a whisper. ‘I took the Old Wolf and Fidele to see them.’

Lykos felt a hot gush of rage, fear entwined about it. His most closely guarded secret. Twelve years he had kept them safe from harm and prying eyes on the island of Pelset, but things had become so fluid, danger everywhere, that he had wanted them close to him. And now Fidele and the Old Wolf had seen them.