‘That it is, lass,’ he said, looking at the dead giant and bear, doubting the song would mention his aching back. He turned to look for his horse, thinking he’d feel more stable back in a saddle, then saw Daria a dozen paces away, lying on her side. Half her flank was ripped open to the bone, and Tukul remembered the claw swipe that he’d leaped over.

He ran to her, staggering, and she raised her head at his voice, whinnied at him, pink foam frothing from her mouth and nostrils as she tried to stand, legs kicking. She got her front legs under her, then toppled back on her side, eyes rolling white with pain.

‘Easy, my brave girl,’ he soothed, tears welling in his eyes. He patted her neck, the battle about him dimming to a dull roar.

You’ll not be getting back up to run again, my faithful friend.

For a moment his voice alone seemed to soothe her pain and she lifted her head and looked at him with dark, liquid eyes.

Resting his head on her muscular neck, he breathed a prayer, kissed her and then put his sword through her throat, the last act of a faithful friend. He crouched beside her as the battle passed him by, only a few footsteps away, stroked and whispered to her until her eyes glazed and her legs stopped kicking.

He stood, a dark rage swelling in his chest, and looked about. Coralen was gone. Out here on the slope the battle was almost done, the enemy retreating back into the hold. His Jehar were pressing after them, sounds of battle ringing out from the courtyard beyond.

He stalked through the gates, the courtyard he remembered transformed, full now with heaving battle, the stench of blood and death, billowing smoke. He looked to the feast-hall, saw a great bear standing guard on the steps, two men behind it spiked to two thick columns.

Gramm. Wulf.

The bear swatted at anyone that came close, but did not move from the steps, a beast defending its kill.

Tukul ran across the courtyard, ignoring the pain in his back, past Coralen and Enkara fighting back to back, swerving around another dozen acts of combat, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. The bear saw him coming and roared, fur bristling, swung at him with one great paw. Tukul skidded under the blow and hit the ground, his body rolling before coming up underneath the bear’s snapping jaws and ramming his sword up, through fur and flesh, the blade going deeper still, through the lower jaw and on, blade almost to the hilt now, into the bear’s brain.