It was quiet, no sounds of battle, or anything, come to that. He remembered his conversation with Gramm, picked over it, looked at the knife Gramm had given him, lying on a flagstone beside his hatchet. The prospect of staying in this cellar for a moon or more made him shiver. Another day was too much.

‘Pots, what am I to do?’ He stroked the wire hair of the dog, wanting to leave the cellars, too scared to move.

Even if I wanted to leave, the trapdoor’s been blocked and hidden. I’d never get it open.

A crash echoed from somewhere above, making him jump. Sounds drifted down, men shouting, behind it a dull thud, repeated, like a heartbeat.

They’re attacking the gates again.

Another crash, this time much louder, and closer.

Are they inside the walls? Have they found me?

He clutched the hilt of the knife that Gramm had given him. More crashing, and Haelan realized with a start that someone was pounding on a grate high in the cellar. It shook in its foundations, buckling under the pressure as it was repeatedly thumped, then it was falling into the cellar, a face filling the space it had occupied.

Haelan brandished the knife, waiting for the enemy to come slithering through the man-sized hole in the wall. Instead he saw a face staring down at him.

Trigg.

The half-breed smiled grimly and stuck her arm into the cellar.

‘Think you better come with me – they’ll be through the gates soon.’

‘Gramm said this is the best place to hide,’ Haelan said.

‘I’m not going to put you somewhere to hide,’ Trigg said. ‘I’m going to get you out of here.’

Haelan paused a moment and then his feet were moving.

He dragged a barrel over, found that when he stood on it he could reach Trigg’s hand. All of a sudden he jumped down from the barrel, retrieved his hatchet and knife, threading them both through his belt, held Pots under one arm and climbed back onto the barrel. He lifted Pots up and Trigg took him, hoisting him out. The dog turned and poked his head in through the gap beside Trigg’s broad face, looking down at Haelan, then Haelan was being heaved through the hole, wriggling out, fingertips digging into the dark soil. Pots growled and pounced on his arm, began tugging on his sleeve as if it was some game. And then Haelan was out.

‘Where are we going?’

‘This way,’ Trigg said.

They headed towards the main gates, slipping into the deep shadows along the feast-hall, Pots trotting at Haelan’s heels.