‘They are not at Gramm’s hold any longer,’ Dag said. ‘I found Ulfilas, but we didn’t come straight back. Went and watched them for a while. They left later that day, near a thousand of them, by my reckoning, heading east. I put a few of my boys on their trail. We’ll soon hear where they’re going.’

‘They’re going to Drassil,’ the old man said.

‘What?’ said Jael.

‘You remember my father’s council at Jerolin?’ Nathair said to Jael. ‘He spoke of the God-War, the polarization of sides between the Black Sun and the Bright Star. The prophecy that spoke of the Seven Treasures and Drassil.’

‘I do,’ Jael said.

‘Well, that is what this is. It is happening now.’ He looked hard at Ulfilas. ‘Those who attacked you, one of them was the Black Sun, an upstart peasant named Corban, though he dares call himself the Bright Star.’ His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘The servants of Asroth are prone to lies and deception.’ His eyes flickered to Calidus. ‘This is why I am here, why a council of war must happen between our allies.’ He pinched his nose, closed his eyes. ‘Better to leave this conversation for the council. Are the others here?’

‘Lothar arrived yesterday from Helveth, but there is no sign of Gundul yet.’

‘Ach,’ Nathair sighed. ‘Well, we will wait, then. There is always the morrow. I need to sleep now. It has been a long road, but before I go and find my chambers, I have a gift for you.’

‘That is most gracious of you,’ Jael said.

‘It is a little unusual, but I think that you will value it more highly than gold. Or even the head of this child pretender to your throne.’

‘You have my interest piqued,’ said Jael.

‘Sumur. He is your gift. These are dark times and our enemies lurk in the shadows, waiting for any opportunity. A finer first-sword you shall never find.’

‘These are dark times,’ Jael agreed, ‘and my enemies gather as we speak.’ Though Jael was looking at Sumur with little joy. ‘But, as you saw, my new first-sword is a very capable man. And the best in all of Isiltir.’

The old man spoke up now. ‘No offence to your newly appointed first-sword, but Sumur is better.’

The newly appointed first-sword, Fram, snorted. He was looking at Sumur with interest, though, not anger, as some warriors would under the circumstances.

I like that about him. A calm head.

‘Nathair fears for your safety,’ the old man continued, ‘and this seems to us to be the perfect solution.’ He smiled genially, but there was more behind that smile. Daggers. An implied threat. Do not refuse me, it said.