Corban raised an arm and Dath blew on his horn, the whole column rippling to a halt. The riders approaching them were mostly warriors, dressed in leather and fur, with iron helms, straight spears and strong shields, their war gear looking similar to that of the surviving warriors from Gramm’s hold. Then Cywen saw the bairns – two riding together on one horse, a lad and lass, and another sitting before a thickset warrior with long arms and no neck. A small white dog ran along beside them.

They are from Gramm’s hold.

It was a good guess because Hild, sobbing and smiling, jumped down from the wain she was driving and ran to meet them, the lad and lass slipping from their horse to run into her arms.

Wulf and Hild’s children, then. The ones Jael had been holding hostage. But who is the other child?

Corban stopped before the warrior with the child sitting in front of him. The white dog ran around Shield, barking excitedly, then he saw Storm, tucked his tail between his legs and hid behind the horse. He stuck his head out from behind a leg and growled.

Storm looked disdainfully at him, then looked away.

‘Wulf tells me that you are Haelan,’ Corban said to the lad, who was dirt stained, and looked exhausted and scared witless, but he managed to sit straighter in his saddle, and when he spoke he looked Corban in the eye and his voice had conviction.

‘I am Haelan ben Romar, rightful King of Isiltir,’ the lad said.

‘Well met, Haelan,’ Corban said, speaking solemnly. ‘I am Corban ben Thannon, and I am prince of nowhere and king of nothing, but I do lead these people, and we are sworn to fight the man who has usurped your throne, because he serves Asroth and the Black Sun. So you would be welcome amongst us and, I suppose, as safe as it is possible to be in these times of war.’

Haelan looked up at Corban, then down at Storm, and finally along the column that stretched back almost out of sight, full of Jehar, Benothi giants, pit-fighters and so many others.

‘You are going to fight Jael? Going to defeat him?’

Corban smiled. ‘I cannot promise you a victory, only that I’ll fight him and win, or die in the trying.’

Haelan nodded, not looking like his eleven or twelve summers at all.

‘That is good enough for me,’ Haelan said. ‘I will gladly join your warband, Corban ben Thannon.’