Before he could respond to Cywen’s greeting there was a drum of hooves as a handful of riders crested the dell. Meical led, with the hulking forms of giants following behind. Corban could barely believe that what had once been mankind’s fiercest enemy was now their ally. Meical rode into the camp, dismounted smoothly and strode to Corban. Balur and another giant, a female, accompanied him, with Tukul following behind.

‘Only one of the Kadoshim survived last night’s attack. We tracked him halfway back to Murias before we gave up the chase. The land between us and the fortress is clear, for now,’ Meical said. ‘My guess is that the Kadoshim will stay within the fortress walls a while and become accustomed to their new bodies.’

‘Fech is watching them for us,’ the female giant said. ‘We will not have another surprise like the one last night.’

‘Good,’ Corban nodded, then looked at Meical. ‘What next?’

‘That is what we have come to ask you,’ Tukul said, staring at Corban.

‘Me?’

‘Of course you. You are the Seren Disglair. We follow you.’

Corban felt a shift around him and looked about to see the whole camp still and silent, all watching him. He gulped.

CHAPTER THREE

UTHAS

Uthas of the Benothi stared down at the dead. He was standing just within the great doors of Murias, the sun warming his back. The bodies of his kin were laid out before him, scores of them, the might of the Benothi laid to waste. Here and there survivors of his clan moved, a handful remaining of those who had joined him – little more than two score – pulling fallen Benothi from the mass of the dead. The whole chamber was clogged with corpses, giants, men, horses¸ the stench of blood and excrement underlying all else.

Other figures lurked in the shadows, the Kadoshim. They moved awkwardly, not yet fully accustomed to their new bodies of flesh and bone. Uthas suppressed a shudder and looked away; the sight was unsettling now the chaos and rush of battle had passed.

Most of his surviving kin were gathered around a large ink pot, dipping bone needles as they inscribed the tale of thorns on their bodies. All had killed during yesterday’s battle; all would have fresh thorns to tattoo into their flesh. He saw Salach, his shieldman, bent close over Eisa as he tattooed her shoulder. Uthas’ eyes strayed back to the corpses lined at his feet, searching the faces of the dead. One that he had hoped he would find was not there. Balur. I should have known he would not have the good grace to die. He felt a flutter of fear at the knowledge that the old warrior was still alive, knew what Balur would wish to do to him. He will carry this blood-feud until the end of days. He needs to die. His gaze came to rest upon the corpse of Nemain, once his queen, now so much food for carrion.