That had struck him as odd. His memory of the Otherworld was of shades of grey, land, rivers and sky, but this place was lustrous in its colour. He’d wandered, the beauty of the place seeping into his very being, filling him with a sense of calm tranquillity. And then he had seen Meical, flying high above with great beats of his white wings. Somehow he had known it was Meical, although he was too high to distinguish any features, and he had remembered Meical’s words to him, about Asroth hunting him, about the Kadoshim flying abroad in the Otherworld. Promise me if you find yourself there again, that you will hide, do not move. Asroth’s Kadoshim fly high, and they will see you before you see them.

So he had found shelter beneath a red-leaved maple, sat and watched Meical as he had alighted on the cliff high above him. He thought he glimpsed other white-winged figures greeting him, but then they all disappeared into a dark hole in the cliff face. And then . . .

Then I woke up.

He dressed quickly, strapping on his sword-belt and pinning his wolven cloak about him. Something struck him as wrong. He looked about and realized that Storm was not with him, remembered now looking for her when he’d awoken during the night, missing her presence. Perhaps that had contributed to his restlessness.

Probably off exploring, sniffing every corner of this place. Still, it was unusual, and he’d rather have her at his side. He opened his door to find Gar standing there with a fist raised to knock.

‘Sword dance,’ Gar said by way of explanation, then turned and strode away. Corban followed him, the slap of his boots ringing in the empty corridor.

The weapons court of Drassil was enormous, like everything else in this fabled fortress, most of it hard-packed earth and worn grass, to one side an area flagstoned. Weapons bins stood full of practice blades, and even though the Jehar didn’t use anything other than their curved swords, there were stacks of shields and spears, lined in racks, a row of straw targets at the far end of the field.

It is not so different from the Rowan Field at Dun Carreg.

Dawn mist clung to the ground, the air was chill and heavy with moisture, the sky above feeling as if it was pressing down upon them, clouds bloated and heavy with rain. As Corban hurried along behind Gar he saw Coralen, standing with Enkara and Kulla, Enkara showing them a combined rotation of shoulder and wrist. Corban recognized it as a technique that Gar had taught him a while ago, a way of getting a final snap into the strike of a two-handed blow.

The three women looked up as he approached them.

‘Coralen, have you seen Storm?’

‘Not since yesterday,’ she said.