The giantess whispered something and her bear lumbered forwards. Ulfilas resisted the sudden urge to take an equal number of steps backwards.

‘I saw him,’ the giantess said. ‘Creach smelt him.’

‘Creach?’

She patted the thick neck of the bear she was sitting upon. It raised its head, making a deep rumbling sound. ‘Creach,’ she repeated.

Jael shook his head. ‘Old fool,’ he muttered. ‘Gramm’s time is over. Help me take the boy from him, and his hold is yours, if you want it.’

Ildaer made a strange noise, like two boulders grinding, his shoulders shaking. Ulfilas realized he was laughing. ‘Agreed, little King.’ He grunted something in giantish to the giants behind him and their laughter joined his. It was unsettling.

‘Wait here one day for me. I will make arrangements.’

Ildaer grunted and Jael turned and walked away. Ulfilas took one last look at the giants and then followed his King.

They walked in silence back to the ruined building in the wood. As they passed into the embrace of the crumbling stone Ulfilas voiced the question that had been on his mind since they’d left the giants.

‘Why do they want it?’

‘Want what?’ Jael asked.

‘Land.’

‘Fertile land, perhaps. The chance to grow, to sow and reap. You’ve seen the Desolation. It’s . . . desolate.’ Men laughed at that. ‘In truth, Ulfilas, it doesn’t matter. I get Haelan, and in return they get something that is no hardship to give. And better. The Jotun will now be gathered where I can see them. Keep your friends close . . .’

And your enemies closer.

Dag paused at the trapdoor to the tunnel. He was frowning.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jael asked him impatiently.

Dag knelt and studied the ground before the trapdoor. ‘Someone’s been here.’

They drew their swords and stepped into the corridor cautiously. The torch was still burning. Dag took it from its sconce and studied the ground again.

‘Men have passed this way – see, footprints overlying ours.’

‘How many?’ Jael asked him.

‘Hard to tell. Not many. Maybe only one. No more than three.’

They sped along the corridor, buckles and shirts of mail clanking, Ulfilas’ breath loud in his own head. Finally they reached the doorway into Dun Kellen and slowed, Dag still leading.

Further along they found blood trailing into a side corridor. Ulfilas had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and knew what they were going to find before they saw two dead guards and the door open to the cell of Gramm’s grandchildren. The guards were stripped of their livery – cuirasses with Jael’s sigil and red cloaks.

Jael’s face whitened, first with fear, then a cold rage.

‘Dag, take a score of men and find them,’ he said, fury lurking in the depths of his voice. ‘Ulfilas, take two hundred swords and ride to Gramm’s. Take Ildaer with you.’

‘What of you, my King?’