That wouldn’t be so easy, though; most of the time I haven’t even been able to see beyond the riverbank. It had been choked thick with coppiced woods and undergrowth, trailing willow and black alder. Although now the banks were mostly clear, trees and undergrowth thinning, flat meadows visible through them. Why have our enemy not come after us? We were outnumbered, within their grasp. Whatever the reason, Coralen was starting to think that they were not being followed, that they had escaped.

It was a good plan, I can’t deny. Corban’s leadership skills had gone up in her estimation, coming up with the plan, and keeping a cool head to see it through. It had been well done, she had to admit, and she felt a swell of pride at her own contribution to it – the straw men and fires to draw the enemy’s eye.

Aye, it had worked a treat.

And now, to all appearances, they were free of pursuit and on the borders of Narvon and Isiltir, almost out of enemy territory. It was a strange feeling. Relief. It still didn’t stop her looking over her shoulder, though.

And now we are sailing to Drassil, instead of travelling south to Ardan. To Edana. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

A hand touched her on the shoulder.

‘You ready?’

It was Cywen, twirling a throwing-knife between her fingers and grinning.

During the first day upon the ship, after the heat of battle had left her veins and general tasks had been finished – clearing the ship of the dead, tending the wounded and mourning fallen comrades – Coralen had found herself in an unusual situation. Every day for as long as she could remember she had been in her saddle before dawn, riding out with her growing band of scouts, always active and contributing. But as the ships had rowed further and further away from Uthandun she had started to feel useless, obsolete.

Cywen had saved her, requesting that she teach her blade-work. Coralen had been more than happy to oblige, and asked for a lesson in knife-throwing in return. She wasn’t sure that learning to throw a blade whilst standing upon a moving, swaying ship was the best way to begin, but it was too late by the time she thought of that.

Since then Dath had filled the inactivity gap, giving orders to anyone whom he saw standing around – any small task to ensure the smooth running of the ship. Even now if Coralen stood still long enough she knew that she’d hear him calling her name.

‘Of course,’ Coralen said.

They stood and faced the raised deck at the rear of the ship. Upon its timber wall Cywen had painted a human outline, arm raised and brandishing a sword. Someone had, humorously, given it small horns and titled it a Kadoshim. Cywen handed her a knife.