It was Tempest Moon, the heart of winter, and they had carved their way over sixty leagues into Forn forest, following the trail left by the warband that had abandoned Gramm’s hold, following the markers left by Dag’s scouts. Felling trees, stripping them of branches, cutting them down to manageable strips, clearing thorn and underbrush, and all while hungry predators watched, prowled and occasionally ate someone stupid or unwary enough to wander too far alone.

Then Ulfilas and Dag were at the head of the column, staring up at what had caused the commotion.

‘Ah, well, at least we know what happened to your scouts, now,’ Ulfilas said to Dag. Four corpses dangled upside down from branches directly in front of the route of the new road. Dag gave him a sidelong glance.

‘They were good men,’ Dag muttered. ‘Huntsmen through and through; two of them I trained from before they were old enough to set foot in the Rowan Field.’

‘Oh. My apologies,’ Ulfilas said. He’d noticed himself making comments like that lately; insensitive, sometimes cruel. That is not the man I used to be. What is happening to me?

‘Cut them down before word of this spreads,’ he muttered to Dag. Warriors won’t like this. It’s the kind of thing that festers into fear around a campfire at night.

‘Too late to stop that,’ Dag said, looking back at a group of men supposedly working on tree-felling who were standing staring at the corpses.

Behind them Ulfilas saw a handful of riders approaching.

Jael.

‘What is all this?’ Jael called as he rode up. There were a dozen riders about him – Fram his first-sword and other warriors, the best in Isiltir. About them strode the black-clothed Jehar, Sumur close to Jael.

Jael has his own shieldmen, a bulwark between him and the Jehar. He remembered Sumur defeating Fram without breaking a sweat, and cutting down old Belo in Mikil’s feast-hall. I do not think they would protect him for long, though.

The Jehar spread to either side of the new road’s foundations, some looking up at the dangling bodies as men climbed trees to cut them down.

‘What is all this?’ Jael repeated, gesturing at the corpses.

‘My scouts,’ Dag said.

‘Ah. Confirmation that we are on the right trail, at least.’

We’ve hardly needed that so far, the path left by the warband fleeing Gramm’s hold has been wide and deep. I could have tracked them, and I’m no woodsman.

Dag didn’t answer.

‘How long have they been up there?’ Jael asked.

Now that is a sensible question. In other words, how far behind this Bright Star and his rabble are we?

Dag bent to look at the first corpse that was cut down, hitting the ground with a brittle crack.