Soon after, they crested a low hill and suddenly the Darkwood lay spread before them, Uthandun a few leagues away, sitting upon a gentle hill before the forest. Corban reined Shield in, just sat in his saddle and starred.

The meadows surrounding the fortress were filled with tents. Hundreds of them, men moving about like industrious ants. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Corban’s eyes were drawn to the river Afren, glistening between the meadow and the forest. It was full of ships with black sails.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

VERADIS

Veradis stared out of a window high in Uthandun’s keep. It was sunset, the day’s last rays washing the land in golden hues. And in the distance, far along the curving line that was the giantsway, Veradis saw a dark smudge appear upon it. The smudge glittered with sunshine on iron, like a dirty jewel.

‘How far away are they?’ Veradis asked Rhin, who was standing at his shoulder.

‘Three or four leagues.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘Too far away for a battle this night.’

‘And you are sure it is the Black Sun?’

‘Aye. Did Calidus not say so in his messages. That Meical and his puppet, this Corban, would be arriving at the gates of Uthandun within the next day or so.’

‘Aye, so you have told me, although I have not seen these messages,’ Veradis said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice and not entirely sure that he had succeeded.

‘Do you doubt me?’

Not now I don’t.

‘No, my lady. Of course not.’ He paused, straining his eyes to see the gathering warband in the fading light. ‘How many did Calidus say?’

‘Three hundred swords, or thereabouts.’

‘It looks to be more to me.’

Rhin shrugged. ‘Three hundred, four hundred, six hundred. It matters not. You have close to a thousand men. I have double that. We have our Vin Thalun friends on the river, another five hundred swords. And Calidus and Nathair are four days north of here, another thousand men. The Black Sun cannot win.’

‘They have giants and wolven.’

A remnant of the warband that Rhin had sent north had trickled into Uthandun over the last ten-night, a score of men. All of them told a similar tale – of magical mists, of giants and wolven and warriors silent and deadly.

‘They do. Forgive me, but you sound . . . scared.’

Veradis bridled at that. Am I? Maybe a little, but not of them; only of failure.

‘I have faced giants and magical mists before, wolven and worse,’ Veradis murmured, ‘but I have been taught caution since then. Courage does not always equal victory.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘It feels almost too easy.’

‘More wars are won by errors of planning than great valour on the battlefield, or at least that has been my experience. Plan well. When it is time to strike, do it hard and fast.’

Never, ever, underestimate this woman.