‘Aye.’ Corban sucked in a deep breath. ‘I mean you no insult, Meical. You have saved my life, snatched me from the throne room of Asroth, followed me through the wilds of the north, advised me, fought beside me. I could not have saved Cywen if not for you. I am more grateful to you than words can express. And you are Ben-Elim. But . . .’

‘Yes. I know, your heart tells you to keep your oath.’ He sighed, but some of the tension that Corban had seen in him that morning was no longer there.

‘Yes,’ Corban said simply.

Meical had two cups in his hand and offered one to Corban.

He took it and sipped some mead.

‘At first, I was angry with you,’ Meical said. ‘But I have thought about it all this long day, and now I am merely annoyed, and anxious.’

Corban said nothing, just waited, a trick he’d learned from Brina.

‘We have had a few disagreements since Murias, you and I,’ Meical continued. ‘Elyon cut us from different fabric, I think – mankind and the Ben-Elim, I mean. Duty drives me, my duty to Elyon in his absence, unclouded by passion or emotion, whereas in you and your kind I see emotion lurking beneath each and every decision. Fuelling every decision.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Whether that is good or bad, I know not, but that is the way Elyon made you, and so I must accept it. Sometimes that is not easy for me to do.’ He glanced at Corban, the flicker of a smile touching his lips.

This is the most human he has sounded since I met him.

‘Thank you, for not disagreeing with me in front of them all,’ Corban said.

‘What point me declaring that I will follow you if I won’t? Or only when you do as I want you to do? Perhaps I have lessons to learn.’ He shrugged. ‘I will follow you to Ardan, Corban. I wish we were going to Drassil, feel that our hope is best served by going there. But, I am not Elyon. I do not know all things.’ He shrugged and drank from his cup.

‘Do you think we will win?’ Corban asked, voicing the thought that dominated most of his waking life.

‘Win? I don’t know. I have laboured for more of your years than I can remember in preparation for these days, and many of my plans have come to nothing, or been thwarted by Asroth and Calidus, his servant. I thought I had sought out the best of men to fight Asroth and his Black Sun, from kings to ordinary men. But so many of them are now dead – Aquilus of Tenebral, Braster of Helveth, your own King Brenin. Many others.’

‘Brenin knew you?’