‘I am grateful for your commitment,’ Corban said. That seemed to make Hamil incredibly happy and he gently took over as their guide, pointing out where vine had been sheared from walls, where stonework had been repaired, explained how they had made maps of the labyrinthine catacombs that burrowed for leagues beneath the stronghold and out beneath Forn. They passed a handful of cairns.

‘Those are new,’ Balur observed.

‘Aye. They are raised over our Jehar kin who died here. Sixteen years we were here as the Hundred. Some died of sickness, others met Forn’s predators. Daria is there, Gar’s mother.’

Corban looked at the cairns, stone slabs dotted with moss and pale flowers. He had never thought of Gar having kin elsewhere; the man had been such an integral part of his life, it felt strange to think of him having a life elsewhere.

‘Over there is the courtyard of forges,’ Hamil said. ‘You giants were very organized – nothing scattered, everything in its place.’

Balur just grunted.

‘We have only used one forge while we have been here, but they are all prepared for use.’

‘Thank you,’ Corban said. ‘We will need them all.’

‘This way,’ Balur said, changing their course.

‘Ah.’ Hamil smiled, but said no more.

Balur led them to a wide set of arched doors. He stood there a moment, hand on the iron handle, head bowed, and then tugged the door open. It was dusty inside, light streaming in on cobwebs thick as rope. Balur entered first, the others following.

It was a weapons chamber, as large as Dun Carreg’s feast-hall, lined with racked weapons – axes, war-hammers, spears, longswords, daggers, along the back wall coats of chainmail and leather armour, shoulder plates, cuirasses, arm-bracers.

Balur smiled.

They tarried in there a while, Balur walking down each wall, trailing fingers against axe-hafts and hammer-heads as if he were greeting old friends. He stopped and pulled a spear from a rack and threw it to Ethlinn, who caught it with one hand and spun it, cobweb flying from its iron-spiked butt. Corban paused before a dagger, its blade wider and probably a little longer than his own sword. He ran his thumb across its edge and drew blood.

‘May I have this?’ Corban asked Balur.

‘Of course,’ Balur said.

Corban drew it from the iron rack, found a leather scabbard for it.

For Farrell, when he needs to chop heads from the Kadoshim.

They left the chamber with some regret and entered a courtyard that was lined with stone buildings, hundreds of them, looking more like a row of stables than anything else, though taller and wider.

‘The bear pens,’ Balur said.

They were a hive of activity and appeared to be being put to good use. Corban saw some of the Jehar who had remained behind organizing the stabling of horses, removing tack, rubbing mounts down and providing water and food.