‘But where is safe in this land of ours now? I’d like you to think on that. Of Rhin’s armies conquering nation after nation. Of the Vin Thalun enslaving our people.’ There were hisses at the mention of the hated pirates. ‘And of the Kadoshim, slaughtering men, women, bairns – innocents.’ A mass of faces gazed at him in silence. Corban sighed wearily, for a moment lost in a blur of memories – the Kadoshim in Murias, afterwards in the woodland of Narvon, one of them biting into the flesh of a terrified captive. He shook his head, forced himself to concentrate on those in front of him. ‘Tonight is for feasting, for celebrating our escape.’ He gestured to the fire-pits and the spitted meat. ‘And tonight is for making a choice. To join us or go your own way.’

‘Where are you going?’ someone shouted.

Corban frowned. How many will flee at the mere mention of our destination? They will think us mad. But I’ll not start our journey with a lie.

‘We are going to Drassil in Forn Forest.’

More silence.

Corban rubbed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. ‘Some of you will believe. Others will think we talk of myth and legend. But we have seen things – things that can leave us in no doubt. The God-War has begun. Sides are being chosen . . .’ He paused.

‘You must tell them,’ Meical had said to him earlier. Corban had looked pleadingly at Brina.

‘Might as well.’ She had shrugged. ‘Get it all over with in one go. Besides,’ she added. ‘It’s true.’

He sighed now and searched the faces in front of him. ‘I am the Bright Star spoken of in prophecy. I fight for Elyon, against Asroth and his Black Sun.’ He paused, the words sounding strange even to him.

Fighting a god – how can I do that?

‘I don’t want to fight,’ he said. ‘But what choice do I have? What choice do any of us have? I will fight to protect those I love. My kin. My friends – I fight for my realm. For our people. And for myself. Rhin, Nathair, the Vin Thalun – they will not stop until every one of us is dead or enslaved.’

Another silence, somehow deeper and denser than any that had preceded it.

‘So we get to fight the Vin Thalun if we stay with you?’

‘Definitely,’ Meical said quietly beside him.

‘Yes,’ Corban said loudly.

‘Good enough for me,’ someone yelled. There was a smattering of quiet laughter at that.

‘I cannot guarantee victory.’ Corban’s voice was rising now, echoing back from the ships moored along the river. ‘We may lose. We may all die.’

How can I ask this of them? Is this what leaders do – ask their followers for everything and offer them nothing in return?