‘His da’s been murdered by Jael, and his mam. Our rightful Queen.’ Gramm had continued. ‘When he came here I promised him sanctuary, gave him my oath. I’ll not break it. I’ll stand my ground. We’ll stand our ground.’ He’d put a big hand on Wulf and Hild’s shoulders. ‘We’ll get them back, somehow. On my oath, we’ll get them back.’

Something prodded Haelan’s shoulder and he blinked. It was Trigg, poking him with a finger.

‘You listening to me? I said you owe me for my rat, some kind of recompense.’

‘I don’t owe you anything,’ Haelan said. ‘You’ve got Swain’s axe. That was the bet.’

Pots growled.

‘Well, it wasn’t fair, was it? I think you should give me something for my loss.’

‘No,’ Haelan said.

Trigg stared at him, then nodded, humour in her eyes. ‘Fair enough – worth a try, but I don’t want you getting angry with me. I remember what you did to my rat.’

Haelan snorted, looking Trigg up and down, cords of muscle twisting about her arms. This was the most he’d spoken to her, the most he’d heard her ever speak to anyone.

Pots was still growling. Haelan thought the dog had been growling at Trigg, but he was looking the other way, towards Forn Forest. Haelan looked too, past the stream and the first line of undergrowth, deep in amongst the thick trunks. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, to discern shadow from bush. He was about to look away when he saw something move, deep amongst the trees, a hulking shadow that moved differently to the branches around it.

Haelan shivered, squinted as he stared harder.

It’s too far away.

A breeze blew across him, out of the forest. Pot’s nose twitched and he growled louder. Behind them horses whinnied.

‘Something’s in there,’ Trigg said, staring too. ‘Something big.’

Then there was other movement, blurred shapes, shrubs undulating, and suddenly the forest was seething, branches shaking, undergrowth crashing. A great roaring shattered the silence, followed by growls and snarls, thuds and screams. Everyone in the meadow froze, staring. Then Haelan felt a hand on his shoulder and Tahir was stepping in front of him, moving to where he’d stripped his shirt and vest, his belt and sheathed sword lying on top. He buckled on his belt and drew his sword.