So many dead. She felt a hot flush of rage, aimed mostly at Calidus and Nathair. All of this goes back to them, eventually. Calidus most of all, by whatever webs he has woven and pulled the threads; he is the author of this ill.

She turned and walked for the doors, suddenly feeling suffocated by the cloying stink of blood.

Fresh air, I need fresh air.

She walked out onto a balcony before wide steps; Buddai uncurled from the spot he’d been lying in, tail thumping on wood. Cywen made her way to one of the columns bracing the overhanging roof and leaned against it, taking long, deep breaths. There was a cold wind blowing through the hold, but right now it was refreshing, setting her skin tingling and easing the taint of death that was thick in the feast-hall. She looked at the bloodstains on her hands, under her fingernails, saw stains on the column she was leaning upon, pooled about her feet.

Blood, everywhere.

She forced herself to look away and saw that she was not the only one who had been busy.

The courtyard was clear of the dead, instead filled with a score of wains and a herd of horses, all being laden with goods – barrels, chests, clothing, weapons tied in bundles – harvested from the dead, no doubt. At the edges of the courtyard long stable-blocks rang with life, familiar sounds of saddling up, horses neighing, harness jangling that reminded her with sudden and sharp clarity of Dun Carreg, so much so that it almost took her breath away. Closer she saw Corban at the bottom of the steps. He was standing with Meical and Balur, in conversation with Wulf, now lord of this hold. Gar stood behind Corban, his eyes fixed grimly on the carcass of a great bear that had been dragged aside. Corban saw Cywen and beckoned to her.

‘The wounded, Cywen,’ Corban asked her when she reached them. ‘Can they travel?’

Brina should be asked this question. Where is she?

‘Most,’ Cywen said. ‘There are a few who could not sit on a horse, probably for at least a moon.’

‘How about a wain?’

Cywen looked at the wains in the yard. ‘Aye, that should be fine. Stitches will need to be kept an eye on, fevers and so on, but I’d say there’s none amongst the living unfit to travel.’

‘Good,’ Wulf said with passion. ‘I would be gone from this place.’

‘Agreed,’ Meical said. ‘We need to leave. Word will spread of what has happened here, and we need to be long gone before Jael sends a larger warband, or Ildaer braves the river with the full strength of his clan.’

Balur grunted at that.

‘There are so many of us, so much to bring . . .’ Hild said.

‘There is plenty of room in Drassil,’ Meical said. ‘But we must travel light – we will most likely be hunted. We must make it to Forn with all haste.’