‘I don’t believe that,’ Trigg said flatly, no anger in her tone, no insult, just a statement of a fact as she saw it. Pots was yapping at Swain’s feet, jumping up at the basket. ‘Looks like your ratter wants a go. How about a wager?’

Haelan had seen Pots sniff out and kill a score of rats down by the river, and he was good at it, quick and deadly, the rats always dead within heartbeats.

‘No,’ Sif said. She tugged at Swain’s hand. ‘Don’t do it,’ she said.

Swain peered back into the basket and frowned. ‘Old Kalf’ll catch us, then we’ll be scrubbing these barges till midwinter.’

‘There’s an empty barn over there.’ Trigg smiled, sensing a victory over Swain. ‘Are you scared for your pup?’

Swain snorted. ‘What’s the wager, then?’

‘My knife for your axe.’

‘No chance.’

‘Don’t have much faith in your dog, do you?’

Swain was silent a moment, then he nodded and they were all rushing to one of the timber barns. As he hurried with the others, Haelan glanced across the river. Beyond a strip of green vegetation the land to the north quickly changed, turning into a wasteland, barren and pitted, punctuated by a scattered range of mountains receding into the distance. The Desolation, it was called, a peninsula of land where the Scourging had raged hottest, so Tahir had told him. The battleground where Asroth and Elyon’s hosts had met, the Ben-Elim and the Kadoshim. The land was still scarred and broken from the outpouring of Elyon’s wrath, a place of rock and dust, of ruins and bottomless chasms. Haelan often looked out at the northlands, imagining the clash of angels and demons filling the landscape. He shivered. Now only giants were supposed to roam the wasteland, occasionally raiding across the river on their great bears. A huge war-hammer and a bear pelt hung in the feasthall to remind Haelan that the giants and their bears were more than just tales.

Once inside the barn Swain and Trigg threw together a circle from hay bales while others started shouting wagers. Haelan was holding Pots.

‘Kill it quick,’ he whispered in Pots’ ear; the dog gave his face a quick lick.

Swain came and took Pots, holding him by the scruff of the neck as Trigg placed the willow basket on the far side of the makeshift ring. Pots growled, his hackles standing, and Trigg opened the basket.

Something black and sinuous leaped out, a collective gasp issuing from the small crowd. It was a rat, but bigger than any that Haelan had ever seen before. From snout to tail it must be as long as my arm. Yellow incisors gleamed in a malevolent face, thick bristly hair coating its body, and suddenly Haelan was scared for Pots.

Pots was surging towards it, all fur and snarls.