As Sumur moved, so did he, flicking his wrist to spray dirt from his blade-tip into Sumur’s face, blinding him for a moment. Sumur took a step back, raising his sword in front of him to defend against the blow that he presumed would come at his head, at the same time Corban spun in a circle to his right. He came out of his spin to Sumur’s left, ending up almost behind the Kadoshim, Corban’s sword chopping into the back of Sumur’s neck, landing perfectly at the spot where the skull ends and the back and shoulders begin.

There was the wet sound of an axe splitting damp wood and Sumur’s head flew through the air, a trail of dark blood arcing in its wake. The body collapsed, feet twitching, and a great black mist poured from the open wound, forming into a winged creature above the corpse.

Corban stood, feet planted wide, chest heaving, not quite believing what had just happened. What he had just done. Then he noticed the silence, heightened all the more by the thump and roll of Sumur’s head as it hit the ground and came to a rolling stop.

The winged shadow above Sumur’s corpse screeched in fury, its wings appearing to beat in an attempt to reach him, then the wind was tearing at it and in moments it became a tattered, shredded banner, and then, nothing – less than a sigh upon the air.

Corban looked up, saw Jael staring open-mouthed, behind him his warband, every last one of them silent in disbelief. Then he heard a roar from the walls of Drassil, rolling down to him like a great cascading wave, engulfing him, the sheer shock and joy of the moment making him grin. He punched his sword into the air and added his voice, exulting in his victory.

As the cheering died down Corban walked to Sumur’s severed head, reached down and held it high by its hair.

‘Keep your word, Jael,’ Corban yelled. ‘Your champion is defeated. Go back to Isiltir.’

Jael stared at him, something between awe, fear and rage flitting across his features, then he snapped a command to the mounted warriors around him. They looked at him, seeming to hesitate, but Corban guessed what was going to happen. Jael barked his command again and first one warrior kicked his horse and snapped his reins, then another and another, until a score of them were riding towards him.

Corban looked back at the gates of Drassil, knew he’d never make it in time, so he set his feet and held his sword high with two hands.

‘Come on, then,’ he said. And then, louder, he bellowed, ‘TRUTH AND COURAGE,’ more rage spilling from his voice than he knew he felt.