‘The river Afren, which runs through the Darkwood, marking the border between Narvon and Ardan?’

‘Aye.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Corban said. ‘Then for a hundred leagues our journey would be the same, whether our destination was Ardan or Drassil.’

‘Aye, it would.’

‘Then let us do that. Ride south. The decision about our final destination can wait awhile, be thought upon.’

Meical frowned at that.

Meical wants him to lead us, Tukul thought. To be decisive. But it is a lot to ask in one so young, and one so unused to leading. Maybe he needs some time to adjust to the weight he now bears.

Meical considered Corban for long, drawn-out moments, his expression as flat and unreadable as any of the Jehar. ‘We shall ride south, then.’

Corban smiled, relief spreading across his face. He touched his heels to his stallion and rode over to the giants, stopping before Balur.

‘If we ride south it does not mean we are running away from Nathair and the Kadoshim, running away from this war.’

‘It is the God-War. There is nowhere to run,’ Balur said with a shrug of his massive shoulders.

‘The God-War – aye. I am not running. Nathair killed my da, burned my home, and now my mam . . .’ He gritted his teeth, grief mingled with anger washing his face. ‘Nathair and those he rides with are a plague that will sweep the land unless they are stopped. I mean to fight them, with all that I am. I have never met a giant before, nor do I understand your ways, anything about you or your people, except that we were once enemies. But now you are the enemy of my enemy. I would value your company, should you choose to come with us.’

Balur looked to the giantess at his side, Ethlinn, then at the rest of his group before turning back to Corban.

‘It has been a long time since we have seen the southlands. I think we will come with you, at least for a while.’

To Tukul’s surprise, Corban, sombre-faced, held his arm out and offered Balur the warrior grip. The giant blinked, then took Corban’s arm, engulfing it with his massive hand.

‘Fine. Then let us ride,’ Meical cried out and suddenly all were in motion, the Jehar mounting horses, giants making the ground tremble.

‘Coralen,’ Corban called. ‘Scout ahead, take whoever you wish.’

Coralen stared at Corban with one eyebrow raised.

Then she nodded. ‘I’ll take Dath,’ Coralen said, eliciting a look of shock from Dath and a frown from Farrell. ‘Enkara,’ Coralen called to one of the Jehar, one of the Hundred that had ridden forth from white-walled Telassar with Tukul all those years ago. ‘And Storm, if I may.’

Corban muttered something and his wolven padded over to Coralen. ‘And your crow,’ Coralen added to Brina.

‘Tired,’ the bird croaked from Brina’s shoulder.

‘Get on with you,’ Brina snapped, shooing Craf into the air.

Tukul looked back as they rode away, saw the flattened ground of their campsite, the stone cairns by the stream, and above it, like ragged banners swinging in the breeze hung a score of headless bodies, suspended from the cluster of trees, slumped, empty sacks of skin and bone.