Do bears feel grief? Ulfilas rode towards the feast-hall, passing another giant who knelt upon the ground, cradling the corpse of the giantess that Gramm had slain.

Another brave deed. Songs would be sung about that leap, tales told around the campfires this night.

The courtyard was less frantic now, full of the dying rather than the fighting, combat drifting around the edges of the hall and amongst the outbuildings. More bears and their giant riders disappeared behind the feast-hall, part of the dozen more Jotun who had arrived with Ildaer at dawn.

‘No mercy,’ Ulfilas cried to his warriors. ‘Find the child.’

He dismounted, warriors falling in behind him, and approached the broken form of Gramm, who lay where he had fallen. Ulfilas stood over him, knew that the man was finished. Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose, his skin was ashen and pale. Broken ribs poked through the ruin of his flesh and leather war gear.

That was where Ulfilas kicked him.

Gramm screamed, eyes snapping open.

‘Where is he?’

Gramm’s eyes took a moment to focus. Ulfilas pulled his helmet off, hair sweaty and plastered to his head, but he saw recognition dawn in Gramm’s eyes.

‘Jael’s dog,’ Gramm whispered.

Ulfilas kicked him again.

‘Where is the boy?’

Gramm just stared at him.

Ulfilas turned to Ildaer, sitting upon his bear.

‘Ildaer, this is the man who killed your kin – Ilska was her name, if I remember right.’

‘You do,’ Ildaer growled, small eyes fixing on Gramm.

‘He was lord of this hold, and if anyone knows where the child is, it is him. Would you help me here?’

‘I will.’ Ildaer swung a leg over his saddle and slipped to the ground, pulled his war-hammer from a leather sleeve and strode over, his blond warrior’s braid swinging.

‘Inside this hall a giant’s war-hammer and the skin of one of your bears are nailed to the wall,’ Ulfilas said.

Ildaer’s eyes narrowed at that. He laid his war-hammer upon the ground, grabbed one of Gramm’s hands and heaved him from the ground, slamming his body against one of the broad columns that flanked the feast-hall’s steps. A cry of pain whistled from Gramm’s lips. Ildaer drew a dagger from his belt, as long as a short sword, and slammed it into Gramm’s forearm, halfway between wrist and elbow, impaling him against the column. He left him dangling as he searched the ground for another weapon, lifted a spear and impaled the other arm beside the first, hanging him like a snared hare.

‘Feel more inclined to tell me where Haelan is?’ Ulfilas asked, climbing steps to look Gramm in the eye. Gramm spat blood in his face.

Ildaer punched Gramm in his broken ribs, sending him swinging. Gramm screamed, loud and long.

‘Where is he?’ Ulfilas asked again.

Gramm squeezed his eyes shut.