I was as shocked as you,’ Calidus had said. ‘But it is true. By all accounts Lykos is infatuated with her. But that is not the end of it. She arrested Peritus and Armatus, sentenced them both to death. That seems to have been the touchstone of this rebellion. There was rioting, Lykos and the Vin Thalun attacked by an angry mob. And now, moons later, Fidele has reappeared, in Ripa where the rebellion is centred. Now she is denouncing Lykos and the Vin Thalun, and inciting the whole of Tenebral to rise up against them.’

Veradis shook his head, eyes fixed on the tower. Fidele, my father and brothers. How can I fix this? I am a warrior, not a diplomat.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he had asked Calidus.

‘Try to reason with them. Peace is what we need, with Lykos in control. If that is not possible.’ He shrugged. ‘A decisive victory, show them the strength of your shield wall.’

‘All warbands in Tenebral have been learning the shield wall. It would be a bloodbath, and a waste of men.’

‘Aye, but your father and Krelis – they are not progressive. I doubt they would fight with it, and even if they did, you have faced giants, draigs, warbands numbering thousands. You are battle-hardened, veterans of a score of battles. You will not lose.’

‘How can I fight my kin?’ Veradis asked the waves now.

‘Whoever leads this rebellion must be put down. Fidele, Peritus, your father or brother, without sentiment. Whoever they are, they must be cowed, that is all. Taught that opposing Nathair is pointless. You can teach that lesson. Fidele you bring to me, the rest, deal with at your discretion. Bring them to me, execute them, exile them, do as you will,’ Calidus had said.

‘Deal with them at your discretion,’ Veradis murmured.

The port of Ripa was empty and silent. Veradis’ fifteen ships docked and his men disembarked, near a thousand men in iron helms and coats of mail, black cuirasses polished, silver eagles gleaming upon their chests. They were dressed in the modifications Veradis had implemented over the last two years: iron-banded boots instead of sandals, breeches of charcoal wool instead of leather kilts, longer, oval shields instead of round ones. They all wore two swords at their hips – short and long, and held spears in their hands, lighter and longer than the traditional hunting spears.

Lykos was waiting to greet him, a few hundred Vin Thalun about him, looking more like a rabble than a warband beside Veradis’ disciplined ranks.

They look dangerous enough, though. Especially him. Veradis was looking at a warrior beside Lykos, of average height, lean and scarred, but his eyes were cold and hard, grey and bleak like a stormy sea. They stared flatly back at him. Dead eyes.