‘Well met,’ Lykos said, grinning at Veradis. They greeted one another with the warrior grip. Things had not gone well for Lykos in Tenebral, and not so long ago Veradis might have taken a little pleasure in that, probably because of his own deep-rooted prejudices against the Vin Thalun, but since Veradis’ failure to catch or kill Corban he felt mostly empathy for Lykos rather than anything else.

‘Nathair sends his greetings,’ Veradis said, ‘and he sends you this.’ Veradis reached inside his cloak and pulled out two scrolls, checked the seals on them, gave one to Lykos and put the other back in his cloak.

Lykos took it and slipped it into his belt.

‘Not going to open it?’ Veradis raised an eyebrow.

‘Later,’ Lykos said, linking his arm with Veradis’. ‘Right now we need to go and join a battle.’

‘What?’

‘Your timing is excellent, my old friend,’ Lykos said, his breath smelling of wine, ‘but any tarrying here and we’ll miss the fun.’

Old friend?

‘Three warbands are arrayed on the fields beyond Ripa, all of them eyeing each other with bad intentions.’

‘With all haste then,’ Veradis said and he led his warband through the streets of Ripa.

Veradis stood and surveyed the field. He was standing to the southwest, at the foot of the slope that Ripa was built upon. To his left, filling the meadows right up to the eaves of the forest Sarva, were the Vin Thalun, numbering well over three thousand men, at a glance. Upon the slope to the east stood the warband of Ripa, fewer men but appearing more formidable, all wearing the black and silver of Tenebral, though without Nathair’s eagle.

And to the north another warband, again men of Tenebral, the banner of Marcellin of Baran rippling above their formed lines. From this distance it was hard to reckon their numbers, but easily in the thousands.

Lykos wasn’t joking; he is fortunate I have arrived.

‘Lykos, I need a horse,’ Veradis said, ‘saddled and ready.’ The Vin Thalun frowned but barked at a warrior and sent him off running.

‘Caesus, you know what to do.’ Veradis’ young captain nodded to him and marched off with two dozen eagle-guard in tow.

It was not long before a white mare was presented to him, dancing with energy. Veradis adjusted the harness for himself and swung into the saddle, patting the mare’s neck. He reached out and an eagle-guard handed him a banner.

He cantered first up the hill towards his father’s warband, holding the banner high. It was white linen, the black branch and red berries of a rowan stark upon it, symbol of truce. As he drew closer he began to see faces he recognized – these were by and large men whom he’d grown up around for the first eighteen years of his life.