The battle was done, an overwhelming victory made all the more joyous when Tukul had seen Gar striding through the dead. They had hugged fiercely, only their eyes betraying their secret fears for one another. The body count so far was fifteen dead Jehar and three giants, against three hundred or so of Rhin’s warband. In the end the enemy had broken and scattered, many leaping into the river rather than face the Jehar swords and Benothi hammers and axes. A score of prisoners had been rounded up and were kneeling in the grass before Corban and Meical. Along with a handful of Jehar guarding them, Storm was prowling a circle about them, her jaws bloodstained, Buddai lying in the flattened grass, watching.

I don’t think any will be stupid enough to try escaping.

Further along the meadow Brina and Ethlinn were treating the wounded, Cywen helping, as well as a handful of the Jehar and some of the giantlings. The smell of burning flesh wafted on the breeze to Tukul as wounds were cauterized.

‘I’ll not murder men that have surrendered,’ Tukul heard Corban say, his voice rising. Meical just stared implacably back at him.

Tukul shared a look with Gar, and with a sigh he rose, his muscles complaining, already stiffening, and strode to join them.

‘This is war, Corban,’ Meical said as Tukul reached them. ‘It is not murder; it is the execution of an enemy that fights on the side of Asroth. There is no moral dilemma here. Let them live, they will join with Nathair and Calidus behind us, swell their ranks, give them information, and fight against us again.’

Corban pinched his nose.

Leading is a hard task, Tukul thought. And he is bowing beneath the weight of it.

‘They are warriors following orders from their Queen. Not innocent, but not knowingly Asroth’s servants,’ Corban muttered. ‘I understand your points, and they are practical.’ He sighed. ‘But there is no honour in killing helpless men.’

‘This is the definition of honour,’ Meical said, frowning. ‘They chose a side. They were not helpless when they made their choice, or indeed half-a-candle ago, when they were set on separating our heads from our shoulders. They fought. They lost. And they have failed their lord. There would be more dishonour for them if they lived.’

I do not think they would agree, Tukul thought, looking at the captives.

Corban looked at the prisoners kneeling in the grass, many bloodstained, wounded.

‘I cannot kill them.’

‘Break some bones,’ Tukul said.

‘What?’

‘Break the thumb and a finger or two of their sword hand. Break an ankle. They’ll not be able to hold a weapon or move in combat. They’ll not face you in battle any time soon. And they’ll be alive.’

Corban thought about that a few moments. A relieved smile spread across his face and he squeezed Tukul’s shoulder.