The thud of running feet, more warriors emerging from the gloom. They saw him and slowed, came at him hesitantly, circling – hard-looking men with wiry muscle and weather-beaten features, all with dark, oiled beards, iron rings tied into them. For the most they gripped bucklers and short swords. Then Corban and others were spreading out from behind him. Tukul slipped his axe from its holster into his left hand and charged, blades swirling.

Men died.

Tukul left his axe buried in a skull, surged on, wielding his sword in great two-handed strokes. Blades stabbed at him, but he sent them all spiralling away. He carved his way down a narrow deck, an unstoppable force, his sword-kin spread either side. Soon the planks were slick with blood and gore. A shadow reared up on his left but then a mass of fur and teeth crashed into it. A glance showed Storm standing over a still form, her jaws dripping. On his other side Corban swept past him, dressed in his wolven cloak and claws. He blocked an overhead blow with his sword and opened his opponent’s throat with a slash of his wolven claws, kicked the dying man aside and ploughed on.

A hand touched his arm, Gar. Their eyes met for a moment and then they were following Corban, cutting into a retreating knot of warriors. A dozen heartbeats later and their enemy, those who could, were leaping over the sides. Tukul looked about for the next man to kill and realized the deck was clear of any resistance.

Is that it? Tukul thought. Not so hard to take a ship, then.

He glanced over the side at the ships moored close by. Combat still raged on them, battle-cries and the clash of weapons ringing loud in the still dawn, echoing back from the wall of trees on the far bank. On one deck he watched giants, war-hammers and axes swinging, saw one giant lift and hurl an enemy into the river.

Corban disappeared down an entrance in the deck and Tukul ran after him, fearing more enemy hidden below-decks. He almost gagged as he climbed down the steep steps, the stench of ordure almost overpowering. He blinked at the bottom, eyes adjusting to the darkness, the only light leaking in through oar-holes.

Men were chained in rows to benches, or what resembled men, all of them skeletal thin, pale and scarred. Most of them were slumped where they sat, regarding him and Corban with flat, empty eyes.

Corban lifted his sword and the nearest man flinched, then Corban swung his blade down and sparks flew, shattering the chain that bound the first bench of rowers.