They galloped down the hill, a summer storm; a few of those they were chasing were overtaken and ridden down. The ground rapidly turned to sucking mud, though. One horse fell, screaming as its leg broke. Swearing, Evnis dismounted, picking his way carefully through the spongy ground. Ahead of him men were leaping into boats, pushing away from the bank with long poles and oars. A few paces away one of his men fell with an arrow in the face.

Evnis paused, slipping behind the cover of a draping willow. He was calmer now, had a grip on the emotion that had overwhelmed all reason earlier. Think. Don’t repeat your mistakes, rushing in and nearly getting yourself killed.

His warriors were following him, dismounted and threading their way through the marshes. Some had forged ahead and reached the riverbank, swords clashing with a few stragglers. Another arrow sent one of his men spinning. Rafe appeared beside him, the two hounds flanking him. The fur of their jaws was matted with blood. Braith was a shadow further away, his back to an alder, stepping out to shoot an arrow at the retreating warriors. A man on a boat screamed and toppled into the water.

A new sound grew, rising above the cries of battle along the riverbank. Evnis looked back to see riders crest the slope, sunlight glinting on iron. He felt a moment of panic.

This is not a good place to be trapped, between horsemen and marshland.

Then he saw the black and gold, Rhin’s banner of the broken branch whipped by the wind. Morcant rode at their head, taking in the scene and riding hard for the marsh. Even as Evnis watched, he saw Rhin’s disgraced ex-first-sword rein in his mount and slip from his saddle, drawing his sword without breaking a stride. Grudgingly Evnis felt some admiration for his skill.

Not like me, rolling in the grass and losing my sword. He determined then and there to resume his sword training in the Rowan Field.

Morcant was yelling orders, pointing, a few score riders peeling off to ride back up the hill and through the tower wall gates. Then he saw Evnis.

‘What’s going on?’ Morcant called out to him above the din, striding over.

No ‘my King’, no bend of the knee? ‘Your hold appears to have been attacked,’ Evnis said, not wanting to talk about Halion and Vonn right now. An arrow whistled through the air, skittering off Morcant’s helm. He staggered a step, then joined Evnis behind the cover of the willow. His eyes glanced along the riverbank, then he froze.

‘My SILVER,’ he screamed, eyes bulging.

Evnis followed his gaze, saw a flat-bottomed boat quite a way down the river, a large chest sat within it. Another boat drifted between them, a handful of warriors rowing frantically. One was kneeling, bow drawn. An arrow leaped from the bow, thudded into the chest of one of Evnis’ men.

Camlin.