For all of his bluster Braith is a careful man. He will not step within arms’ reach of me. I should be flattered that he thinks so highly of my prowess. He glanced at Vonn, who had clambered to his knees.

Rafe was calling the hounds but they lay still on the stream bank.

Camlin caught Vonn’s eye, looked over his shoulder, wiggled the knife in his frozen hands. Vonn’s eyes widened for a moment, then he looked away.

‘No funny business,’ Dai muttered, put a hand under Camlin’s arm and hoisted him upright.

‘Something’s wrong with my dogs,’ Rafe said, an edge of worry in his voice.

‘What do you mean?’ Braith asked, suspicious.

There’s a reason he’s lived this long.

‘Look.’ Rafe prodded one of the hounds with his spear-butt. ‘Scratcher,’ he called. It didn’t move, though its chest still rose and fell, breath misting about its muzzle. Rafe fell to his knees, dropping the spear on the ground beside him and shook both of the hounds.

Braith’s eyes snapped to Camlin.

‘Hello,’ a voice called behind them. Braith and Dai spun around; a figure stood on the snowy ground, surrounded by morning mist.

Meg. She looked more like a ghost than a person of flesh and blood. She stepped back into the mist, disappearing.

Braith reached for his sword and rushed after her. Dai let go of Camlin and took a step after Braith, then the knife in Camlin’s fist was punching into Dai’s back, through fur cloak, leather and wool into flesh, between ribs and into a lung. Camlin’s other hand clamped around Dai’s mouth, stifling the hiss of exhaled air. He pulled the knife free, stabbed again, and again. Dai slumped and Camlin let him go, grabbing his sword hilt as he dropped, the rasp of it sliding from its scabbard stopping Braith in his tracks.

‘Almost had me,’ Braith snarled as he stared at Camlin, hands free, a sword in one hand, bloodied knife in the other. It didn’t seem to put Braith off as he charged at Camlin, shouting to Rafe, who was oblivious, still shaking the hounds, looking as if he was crying over them.

Camlin rushed to Vonn, slashed and sawed at the ropes binding his wrists, painfully aware of the crunch of boots on snow as Braith sped to skewer him with his sword.

With a gasp, Vonn’s hands were free and then Camlin was turning, dropping the knife in the snow, for Vonn, Braith hacking at him, iron clanging as Camlin raised his blade in a hurried parry, staggering back, blocking a flurry of powerful blows.

He sidestepped, sweeping Braith’s blade away, the rage in Braith’s attack adding to his momentum, sending him stumbling off balance for a moment. Camlin hacked at him, chopped into Braith’s hip, blood spraying.