‘And you can always use it like I showed you,’ Gar said, strapping it onto Corban’s back. ‘So that your back is shielded in a melee. Which may happen today.’ He shook it, made sure the strap was tight.

They all stepped back and looked at him.

‘Thank you, all of you,’ Corban said.

‘You look almost like a hero, if I don’t say so myself,’ said Cywen.

Brina looked up at the window, sunlight streaming in now.

‘Time to go,’ she said.

They filed out of the room, Corban walking last, Buddai rising in the corridor to greet them. As he reached the doorway Coralen turned back to him, stopped him with a hand on his chest. She gripped a fistful of his surcoat and pulled him hard towards her and before he knew what was happening her lips were against his, warm and fierce. The world shrank to the two of them, for a few heartbeats all else fading as he kissed her back, then she was pushing away from him, turning her back, taking long strides to catch up with the others.

He stood there a moment, breathless, blinking, the faint taste of apples from her lips lingering, then he shook his head and followed after her.

Stairs wound about Drassil’s trunk and they walked in silence down to the great chamber’s stone floor, boots echoing. Gar and the rest of them paused, letting Corban walk ahead, and they followed close behind him.

Balur One-Eye was standing before the throne of Skald, the ancient King’s skeleton transfixed by the spear a constant reminder of the centuries of war that had spiralled from that one moment. Balur’s tattoo of thorns wound dark about both of his bare forearms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of a chainmail shirt; the starstone axe lay black and brooding upon his back. Ethlinn and the might of the Benothi stood behind him, grim and dour in leather, fur and iron. War-hammers and axes glinted. Even the giantlings were there, all ready for war. Corban saw Laith amongst them, her belts criss-crossing her torso, like Cywen, bristling with knives. Balur nodded to Corban and they followed silently behind him.

The great doors opened before Corban, light streaming in. A handful of the Jehar waited for him there, led by Hamil, dressed in black shirts of mail, swords strapped to their backs, each one wearing a black surcoat with a white star upon their chests. They parted for Corban and, as he strode through their midst, closed up behind him. He saw children standing in the shadows, running along with them. Haelan was one of them, his white ratter at his heels, and Corban beckoned him over, not breaking his stride.

‘I have a task for you, if you would help me,’ Corban said to the lad.

‘Of course,’ Haelan breathed, his face shining with pride, ‘I’ll do anything to help.’

‘Good. Follow me, then.’