There was another explosion of feathers and one of the birds dropped straight down, plummeting into the tree canopy. There was a crashing and snapping of branches, then a black form fell to the ground. It flapped feebly, one wing twisted and not moving.

‘Craf hurt,’ he squawked as Brina rushed to the crow, sweeping him up in her arms.

Above the trees Fech and the hawk twisted, separated. An arrow whistled through the air, missed the hawk by a handspan, then they were together again, surging past the trees, over the meadow, hurtling towards the river. They were low now, skimming the meadow grass. The ground rumbled as Balur broke into a run, chasing after the two birds.

They crashed into a flat-topped boulder at the river’s edge, the two birds rolling apart. The hawk righted itself first, and with a flap of wings leaped upon the still-tumbling Fech and with another beat of its wings it was airborne, rising, gripping Fech tight. An arrow skittered off the rock, just missing it.

More arrows sliced the air as it rose – and the hawk veered, Fech wriggling feebly in its grip. The hawk hovered overhead a moment and gave a savage twist of its talons. Tukul heard the crackle of tiny bones snapping. The hawk’s beak slashed down, came away trailing droplets of blood and it dropped Fech. The old raven plummeted like a stone to the ground, hitting it with a dull thump.

The hawk rose swiftly, more arrows sailing past it. In moments it was out of range, flying north. Balur reached Fech and scooped him up, wings dangling. The giant’s face twisted and Tukul knew that Fech was dead.

They rode in silence along the crumbling road, a grim mood hovering over the company after the death of Fech.

He was only a bird, and three of my sword-kin died this morning fighting the Kadoshim. Yet Fech’s death still seemed to affect them all.

Corban had said that he’d recognized the hawk, had sworn that it had belonged to a trader who had betrayed him in the mountains near Dun Vaner. He called it Kartala. A servant of the enemy. That would make sense. And now we are no longer the watchers, but the watched.

Tukul shrugged to himself.

No use worrying about things I cannot change. A battle is ahead of us. That I can do something about.

It was highsun now, and they had made good time. The terrain was shifting from wooded hills to rolling moorland. We should be upon them soon. He felt the reassuring weight of his sword strapped across his back and his hand dropped to the axe at his side, gifted to him by Wulf at Gramm’s hold. It had served him well so far, split more than one skull. And there will be more to come.