We will still win. Cannot lose. Too much is riding on this. And we are meant to win. This is not just another battle, it is the fate of the world. He shifted the shield on his arm, shrugged the weight of his chainmail shirt, loosened his sword in its scabbard and kept marching.

It had taken them almost three moons to journey from Dun Taras in Domhain all the long way to Uthandun, travelling through three realms. Rhin had paused along the way, gathering warriors, sending others off to enforce her new sovereignty upon her newborn realm. They had reached Uthandun a ten-night ago, Veradis putting the time at camp to good use. His eagle-guard had drilled hard every day, working on horn signals from the back to signal front-line switches, or flank-strengthening and a myriad of other manoeuvres, working on the weaknesses of the shield wall, not that there were many. And Veradis’ excitement and anxiety had grown daily in equal measure as Rhin reported to him of messages that she had received from Calidus.

They are close, so close. It will be good to see Nathair again. And he has been successful, captured the cauldron, one of the Seven Treasures. He must be overjoyed. Veradis had felt a worry lift from his shoulders that he had not realized was there.

It is only a shame that Nathair will not be here to witness the defeat of the Black Sun. He will be disappointed at that.

Something drew his attention, a flicker in the corner of his eye, just for a moment. A bone-grey blur. His senses strained as he stared into the darkness.

Nothing. He looked back over his shoulder as he continued marching, could make out an embankment that dropped steeply away from the road, but beyond that he saw nothing to confirm that his eyes had seen anything more than a trick of starlight. He marched on, the distant campfires of the enemy growing as they got nearer.

Dawn was a sliver of light in the east, the land a uniform grey, punctuated with deep, impenetrable pools of shadow. Muffled hooves drummed behind him; even they had been bound with fur. Rhin drew up before him, Geraint riding at her side.

‘It is time,’ she said, her eyes wide and bright with excitement. He felt the same, a night’s march doing little to dampen his enthusiasm for the coming battle.

‘Proceed as we planned,’ Rhin said to him, then leaned in her saddle, reached down and stroked his cheek. ‘We’ll soon toast our victory over a cup of wine.’

He shivered, and not in anticipation. He knew that Rhin had a thing for younger men and he had no idea how he’d be able to reject her and live. She pulled on her reins and was gone before his mouth could work. His cheek felt hot where she’d touched him.