‘That would not change, if you were to win this little tournament,’ Jael said. ‘You’d just be busier.’ He flashed a grin. ‘But I need the best sword in Isiltir at my side. I have enemies, and they will try to bring me down.’

‘Most of your enemies are dead, my lord.’ Ulfilas glanced out of the open doors of the feast-hall. Late summer’s heat was lingering. He could just make out the iron spikes that decorated the courtyard, a series of heads in various degrees of decomposition adorning them.

‘I wish that were so,’ Jael said. ‘My enemies fill the shadows, biding their time.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes closed. ‘I dream of them,’ he said quietly. He shook his head. ‘Enemies are like rats, Jael: leave them alone too long and they will breed and multiply. Enemies don’t need culling, they need exterminating, to the last bairn of their bloodlines.’

A philosophy you have committed yourself to wholeheartedly.

‘Which is why I need the best sword in Isiltir at my side, not hired by my enemies and coming for me. So, if you are the best sword in the realm, I would like to know.’

‘Then I shall enter your tournament, my King.’

Jael nodded, eyes fixed on the two men duelling in front of him. One was retreating before an onslaught of looping blows. The one retreating stumbled; his opponent, sensing victory, stepped in quickly.

Too soon, Ulfilas thought.

The warrior who had stumbled dropped to one knee, straightened his arm and drove the wooden sword beneath the raised weapon of his opponent letting the man run onto his blade.

Even the most skilled can be defeated by a well-timed ruse.

‘Hah, nicely done,’ Jael cried out, clapping.

Beyond the open doors hooves clattered on the flagstones of the courtyard. A few moments later Ulfilas and Jael were approached by a messenger from King Nathair.

The rider appeared travel stained and weary, the eagle of Tenebral upon his leather cuirass dusty and faded. He presented Jael with a scroll and stood quietly by as Jael opened it and read.

‘We will have to finish my tournament in Mikil,’ Jael said. ‘Tell your King I shall be honoured to host the meeting there. A moon from this day.’

The messenger nodded.

‘Tell me, to whom else has this request gone out?’

‘Gundul of Carnutan and Lothar of Helveth, my lord.’

‘Very good. You are welcome to eat and drink with us, stay and rest.’

‘My orders are to return to King Nathair with your response, my lord, but some food and a fresh horse would be welcomed.’

‘Of course,’ Jael said with a wave of his hand and watched as the man was led away.

‘Mikil?’ Ulfilas asked.

‘It appears that our high king wishes to hold a council of war with his allies. He has asked that we meet him at Mikil.’