Haelan ran to Gramm, Trigg trying to grab him and missing. He dropped to his knees beside the big man’s head, wiped hair and blood from Gramm’s face and the man’s eyes flickered open.

Gramm looked at Haelan, his lips moving, and Haelan put his ear to Gramm’s mouth.

‘Run,’ the big man whispered.

Haelan hesitated. He looked over at Trigg, still behind the wain, and she pointedly looked from him to the open gates. Then he was off, sprinting to the outer wall, then zigzagging across the courtyard, spinning around fighting warriors, ducking through horses’ legs, avoiding bears, until he was at the gates. They were empty now, the enemy warband had passed through, fighting within the courtyard or riding people down beyond the feast-hall. More fires were springing up.

Haelan stepped hesitantly through, looking out at the meadows beyond, huge pastures undulating into the distance.

Where do I go? Not that way – they’ll see me from a dozen leagues away.

He looked east, to Forn, and shivered, remembering his dreams.

Hunted.

Horses neighed in the paddocks, Gramm’s legacy, a lifetime of breeding. Haelan felt fresh tears spring to his eyes at that.

I need one of those horses, else I’ll never make it to Forn.

He was a good rider, had been trained by the best since he could walk, and even the prospect of riding bareback didn’t put him off too much. He looked about, then dashed away from the gates. Almost immediately he heard the sound of hooves, behind and to the left, closer with every heartbeat. He dived forwards, rolling away from hooves that thudded about him.

The horse was reined in, a warrior in chainmail leaning in his saddle to snatch at him.

‘Come here, you little brat,’ the warrior snarled, ‘or I’ll put my spear through you and we’ll see how you squirm then.’

Haelan rolled away and then Pots was standing over his head, snarling, teeth snapping and fur bristling at the horse and rider. If he had not felt such overwhelming terror Haelan would have laughed.

‘Have it your way,’ the warrior said, hefting his spear.

Then a sword-point burst through his chest and blood exploded, showering Haelan and Pots.

A hand shoved the dead warrior from his saddle and a man took his place, long arms reaching down for Haelan, a familiar face staring grimly at him.

Tahir.

Haelan just stared at him, not sure if he was dreaming.