To Tukul’s left Corban called out, glancing down the slope of the road’s embankment to the white-foaming river.

It is time, then. Tukul liked Corban’s plan; there was a simplicity to it that appealed to him. The only issue he had was the part that Brina and the giantess had been asked to play. Things could go drastically wrong where the earth power was concerned.

Brina was riding close by, Ethlinn the giantess striding beside her. They shared a look and started to chant, long rhythmic sentences in a language Tukul did not understand. Meical added his voice to theirs.

Ahead of them the river began to churn, a white mist boiling out of it, spreading across the meadow, creeping up the embankment and across the road, covering the warband. Tukul looked across to his son, riding just behind Corban. The mist swirled about their horses’ hooves like cords of silk, rapidly expanding, creeping higher until it engulfed them.

Riding in the mist was strange. It limited Tukul’s vision, Gar and Corban becoming fleeting shadows. He risked a glance behind him, at the handful of Jehar and giants he saw staring grim-faced back at him, then focused on the space in front of him, straining his ears for any hint of their enemy.

There was a scream to his left, a crash and a wild neighing, then silence. In front of him a shape loomed, solidifying in heartbeats into a warrior on horseback, his face twisted in panic, clutching at a horn hanging at his belt.

One of their scouts. We are close, then.

With a hiss, Tukul drew his sword and took the warrior’s head, blood jetting startlingly bright against the white mist. Sounds rang out along the line of the warband – similar encounters. Tukul felt a wave of exultation sweep him. Riding into battle with my son, behind the Seren Disglair. Praise be to Elyon, Lord of Hosts, that I lived to see this day. May our hearts stay pure and our swords sharp. He laughed, long and loud, adrenalin pumping through his veins. Now they were moving at a canter. Tukul yearned to kick his horse into a gallop, but he held back. The mist started to thin about them, evaporating. A horn blast rang out nearby, roughly where Tukul judged Corban should be.

‘With me,’ Tukul yelled, guiding his horse right, sweeping out from the warband. A hundred warriors followed him. They left the dissipating mist behind them, the sunlight suddenly bright, making Tukul blink.

The enemy were there, spread along the wide road, a mix of mounted warriors and men on foot, those mostly gathered about the wains that brought up the rear of their column. Three, four hundred swords. Tukul could see expressions of shock and horror upon his enemies’ faces as their warband emerged from the mist, wolven and giants snarling and yelling battle cries.

I think even I would be scared at the sight, Tukul thought.