He’d come to a strange conclusion. For most of the time that he had lived at Gramm’s hold his thoughts had ever returned to his mam, to Jael, to the throne of Isiltir, and he remembered spending days plotting his vengeance upon Jael, or how things would be different when he was king, or how he would make someone else do his chores. He didn’t think like that any more, couldn’t remember the last time anything like that had crossed his mind. After much thought he’d decided that there was only one conclusion to be reached about that.

I’m happy. At first he’d felt guilty about that realization, his mam’s face springing instantly to mind. I shouldn’t be happy. She gave her life for me, so that I could one day be king. But he didn’t want to be king any more, not really. He wanted Corban to be king instead. Never had he come upon a man whom he thought so highly of. From his first words Corban had made him feel himself, made him feel that he didn’t have to pretend to be anything. And he liked that. And Corban was everything that he imagined a king should be. A skilled warrior, courageous – he’d heard the tales about him, fighting demons, wyrms and wolven, setting slaves free, and he’d saved Wulf and the others at Gramm’s hold. Despite all this, and the demands on him, he made sure he had time for everyone who sought him out, always listening to their problems, big or small.

Pots whined behind him and he threw the dog some more biscuit.

And when Haelan spoke to Corban, he felt that he listened, really listened to what he had to say. No one else had ever treated him like that, even Tahir, whom he loved like an older brother. He always looked at Haelan as if he was a duty he had to fulfil.

Which I suppose I am, to Tahir. To a shieldman.

His happiness had been tarnished with the recent news, though. A warband had been spotted, creeping in from the north-west, building a road. They were almost on a direct course for Drassil, though of course moons away as they had literally to cut their way through the forest.

It’s Jael, I know it is. Am I never allowed to be happy while he draws breath?

Tahir had told him that Corban had led a few raids on the enemy camp, using the trapdoors situated along the tunnels – not large attacks, but hunting down their scouts and stragglers, and Tahir said that Corban and those with him had dressed in wolven furs, killed with their gauntleted claws.

Pots whined again behind him, scratched at something. Haelan rooted around for some more biscuit but couldn’t find any.