What am I doing here?

The answer to that was simple enough: he’d been ordered to come. Back at Dun Taras, when a hungry mob had opened the gates to Queen Rhin, Rafe had told Rhin and her force how he’d seen Edana and her companions flee the fortress. Conall had set about raising a pursuit, and Braith, Rhin’s huntsman, had been part of that. Braith needed huntsmen, had asked for any that knew how to handle a brace of hounds. Conall had volunteered Rafe. And that was that.

So here I am, hundreds of leagues from home, on a cold beach on the edge of the world.

Rafe grunted as he dragged the corpse to shore; another warrior came to help him as he struggled onto the shingle. A hound whined and sniffed the body as Rafe and the other warrior hauled the dead weight along the beach, laying it down alongside the other dead, over a score of those who had ridden from Dun Taras with Conall.

That Halion knows how to swing a blade, I’ll give him that.

As the battle had played out Rafe had been standing on a steep ridge overlooking the beach, gripping two hounds on a leash. Braith had been with him and together they’d watched as Halion’s defenders had held the quay against overwhelming numbers, until Halion had toppled to the beach below. Even then Conall’s brother had fought on, aided by a few who had leaped to his defence. It was only when Conall had faced him and beaten Halion unconscious that the path to the quay had been cleared. And by then it was too late: Edana and her companions were sailing away, along with Lorcan, the young heir to Domhain’s throne.

One of the hounds whined and nuzzled his leg. ‘There ya go, Sniffer,’ he said, giving the hound a strip of dried mutton from the pouch at his belt. He crouched and scratched the grey-haired hound between the ears. ‘You’ll be wanting to go home now, I’m guessing,’ he said.

Me too. Home. Dun Carreg, Ardan. Will I ever see it again? Memories swirled up, of long days in the wilderness with his da, Helfach the huntsman, as he taught Rafe the ways of wood and earth, of how to track prey and how to kill it.

The other hound padded over, Scratcher, seeing that he’d missed out on a treat.

‘Go on, then,’ Rafe said, throwing another strip of mutton. Scratcher caught it and swallowed, licked his lips.

Hooves drummed on the beach and Rafe looked up to see Conall returning, a handful of shieldmen riding behind him.

Conall was the closest thing to home now, the last remnant of his life in Ardan. Part of Rafe was scared of the warrior – quick-tempered and deadly – part of him liked the man, as swift to laughter as he was to anger. He’s risen far. Not long ago he was the same as me, just another sword in Evnis’ hold. Conall slipped from his saddle, scowling at any who dared meet his eyes.