Brina plucked it from the pillow and slid it up over Corban’s hand, until it rested about his bicep. Laith gripped it and gently squeezed, the metal moulding itself to the contours of Corban’s arm.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Corban muttered, gazing down at the arm-ring, then out at the crowd about him. ‘I have done nothing to deserve this.’

‘You freed us,’ Javed said, taking a step forward. ‘We were slaves, we would have died with collars around our necks.’

‘You came to our aid,’ said Wulf, stepping beside Javed and Atilius. ‘Our home was burning, our warriors broken; we’d have died without your help.’

‘You saved us,’ Balur rumbled. ‘We would have perished in Murias without you.’

‘And we’d have been slaughtered by the Kadoshim had you not intervened,’ Teca from Narvon said.

Cywen stepped forward. ‘You crossed realms and mountains to find me in Murias. In the middle of battle you came for me. I owe you my life.’

‘You give me hope that all is not lost,’ Brina said looking at him with a sharp smile.

Gar stepped close to Corban. ‘You give me the strength to go on,’ he said. ‘You give my life meaning.’

‘You will save all the Banished Lands,’ Coralen said as she stepped forward. ‘And I will follow you to the ends of the earth, or die trying.’

Corban was looking at all of them, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Meical stepped forward.

‘Corban, give me your sword.’

Corban slid it from its sheath and shakily offered it to Meical hilt-first.

Cywen smiled through her tears.

My da made that sword. Fashioned the wolven head as pommel, worked the iron, bound the leather. He and Mam would be so proud of Corban.

Meical took it and held it high over his head.

‘Oscailte,’ he yelled and stabbed the sword down into the flag-stoned floor. There was a concussive crack and a flash of incandescent sparks, the sword sinking half its blade into the ground. Meical released it and stepped back, leaving the sword quivering, a fading hum emanating from it.

‘Corban ben Thannon,’ Meical cried out in a voice that swept the room like the north wind, ‘our Bright Star, the Kin-Avenger, Giant-Friend, Lightbringer, Rock in the Swirling Sea, will you bind yourself to these people, be their sword and shield, the defender of their flesh, their blood, their honour, unto death?’

Cywen stared at Corban. Saw him look around the room and straighten with pride and resolve.

‘I will,’ Corban said. His voice trembled. He gripped the blade of his sword, his blood dripping down the cold iron, finding the fuller to flow into.

‘People of the Bright Star,’ Meical cried out, ‘will you bind yourselves to Corban ben Thannon, become his sword and shield, the defender of his flesh, his blood, his honour, unto your dying breath?’