And here he was still, what seemed like days later. It was full dark, Haelan knew that, as there was a grate at the back of the cellar that opened onto the world above. Moonlight shone through the bars, and wisps of smoke occasionally drifted down, bringing the smell of burning timber. Other noises filtered down to him through the gaps about the trapdoor. From the feast-hall came the sounds of injured men being tended to, or comforted as they died. Or not comforted. Just watched. Maybe holding their hands. He remembered his mam telling him sometimes that was all you could do.

Footsteps sounded above, dust shaken loose from the cracks in the floorboards, then the trapdoor opened. Light flooded in, making Haelan blink. Gramm stood there, silhouetted. He strode down the steps, ducking his head. Haelan saw blood on his axe, caught the smell of woodsmoke and the sharp tang of metal. No, that’s blood. I remember it from Dun Kellen. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stem the flood of memories that surged up.

Gramm sat on the bottom steps and rested his chin on his fist.

‘I can’t get you out,’ he said.

Haelan frowned at him, not understanding.

‘They’ve surrounded the hold, lit a ring of torches. I was thinking to sneak you over the wall and into Forn while it is dark, but . . .’ He shrugged.

‘They’re not attacking, then?’ Haelan asked.

‘Not any more.’ Gramm chuckled. ‘They tried that and it didn’t go so well for them. We’ve given them reason to stay back, at least.’ He patted the head of his axe. A waft of smoke curled down the steps.

‘What’s that smell?’

‘They’re trying to burn us out. The gate tower’s in flames.’

‘They did that at Dun Kellen,’ Haelan said morosely.

They sat in silence a while.

‘Thank you,’ Haelan whispered. He felt tears welling in his eyes at what Gramm had sacrificed to help him. ‘For all that you have done for me.’

Gramm nodded. ‘I’ll not lie to you, lad, I’ve always spoken straight. Things don’t look good. There’s over three hundred of them, all proven swords, eighty of us in here. Hard men and brave, and a wall between us and them, but . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I expected more. All my years I’ve been waiting for these days – the God-War. To be taken out of it before it’s hardly begun.’

‘Life’s not fair,’ Haelan said.

‘No. It’s not.’ Gramm sighed. ‘If they find you . . .’ His hand dropped to the hilt of a knife at his belt.

‘I know. My head will be on a spike.’

‘Aye. And maybe more.’

Haelan swallowed at that. He wasn’t sure what Gramm meant, but the edge in his voice and the look in his eye spoke louder than any words.