‘Pfah,’ Lykos grunted, waving an arm. ‘Papers. We are all on the same side here. What does it matter whose custody they are under?’

‘Exactly,’ Alben said. ‘So you will not mind if they are in Veradis’ custody, rather than yours.’ It was not framed as a question.

‘They are mine,’ Lykos snarled, feeling his temper fray. He was not used to dealing with so many disagreeable people all in the same day. He made to push past Alben, his Vin Thalun pulling the giants behind them. Alben stepped in his way.

Lykos put a hand to his sword hilt. Alben rested his hand gently on his. The hiss of swords being slowly pulled from sheathes sounded as the eagle-guard wrapped fingers around hilts.

Outnumbered. And I hate to say it, but those eagle-guard are Veradis’ veterans. In close quarters like this . . .

With a twist of his lips he pulled his hand away from his sword and barked a command at his men. They dropped the ropes.

‘And what does Veradis plan to do with them?’

‘Take them to Mikil with him.’

Lykos raised an eyebrow at that. ‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing at the open door and Alben stepped out of his way.

Lykos marched away, a seed of worry taking root in his gut. Mikil. Calidus will not look favourably upon that, and I will most likely get the blame. Ach, what a day. Still, it could have been worse. I need a good bottle of wine, and then I have an old friend to become reacquainted with . . .

CHAPTER SIXTY

ULFILAS

Ulfilas walked with a limp through Mikil’s keep, one arm bandaged and in a sling. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to use a sword with his old skill again. Yet he was thankful to be alive.

Though perhaps not for much longer.

He was about to see Jael, his first audience with the King since he’d been sent on his fateful mission in search of Haelan, the fugitive King of Isiltir.

A moon had passed since he’d led the attack on Gramm’s hold, since he’d ridden out against a warband of warriors charging uphill with long, curved swords. If he’d known they were the most skilful warriors the Banished Lands had ever seen he’d have organized a retreat before they’d arrived and left Gramm’s hold to them.

At least, the one that I fought was. And judging by the fact that I’m the only survivor of over three hundred men, I’m guessing that the others weren’t half bad with a blade, either.

Dag the huntsman walked beside him, neither one saying a word to the other. Silently they climbed a staircase and entered a long corridor, at its end shieldmen in red cloaks and black breastplates standing guard before a door. Sounds of combat drifted out, grunts and thuds, the clack of practice blades.