Belo drew his own sword, backing into a column. Sumur reached him and struck an overhand blow, double-handed. Belo blocked it, but Ulfilas heard the unmistakable sound of bone cracking. Ulfilas, no stranger to battle, winced.

He’s broken Belo’s wrists.

Belo screamed, sword dropping from strengthless fingers.

No one is that strong.

Sumur raised his sword and struck again, Belo’s scream cut short, then again, the sound of meat being cleaved, more bone breaking.

‘Enough!’ Calidus yelled and Sumur froze, looked back over his shoulder, blood splattering his face. He licked a drop from his top lip.

A silence had fallen upon the chamber, kings staring in horror, Gundul’s eyes fixed on Belo’s corpse. He whimpered.

‘I was going to do this later,’ Calidus said with a sigh, ‘but perhaps it is appropriate now.’ He gestured for the feast-hall gates to be opened. Ulfilas thought about questioning him, then looked at the pile of meat and bone that had been Belo and decided to move, nodding to his men to open the great doors. Daylight streamed in, along with a bitter wind. Footsteps thudded and warriors marched in, black-clad men and women like Sumur, a hundred, two hundred, more. They stood before the council table, eyes black and empty.

‘They are a gift for my fellow kings,’ Nathair said. ‘One hundred warriors for each of you, a protection in these dark and dangerous times.’

A protection from whom? More your enforcers. Ulfilas did not like this, not one bit. He could see that the kings and their shieldmen felt the same way. The display of violence had been shocking, but the consequences of this were settling upon him now. Nathair was taking over this council of kings. If each of these warriors before him was half as capable as Sumur, then together they could carve up a warband.

This is Isiltir, not Tenebral. He looked to Jael, hoping that he would give Ulfilas the order to summon his warband and put an end to this. Jael just sat there, looking as shocked and scared as the rest of them.

‘Now,’ said Nathair, ‘let us discuss our assault on Drassil.’

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

UTHAS

Uthas strode along beside Rhin, Dun Carreg towering above them upon its cliff like some predatory bird. Horns blowing, Rhin’s honour guard rippled to a halt on the giantsway.

Honour guard! More like a warband – five hundred of Rhin’s shieldmen and fifty Benothi giants. Not a sight often seen in Ardan.

Uthas looked about him, drinking in the view like a half-parched man.

Ardan, they call it now, but it was only ever Benoth to me. There was a time when I thought I’d never see this land again.