Then something crashed into his back and he was falling, tumbling, his bow spinning from his grip. He rolled to a stop and saw Morcant emerging from the willow branches, grinning, sword in hand.

‘I could have killed you then, but I didn’t,’ Morcant said, the smile still on his face. Other warriors appeared behind him, four, six, seven, more in the shadows.

‘I remember you from the Darkwood,’ Morcant said, still smiling, ‘so thought it would be a shame to stab you in the back.’

‘Very noble of you,’ Camlin said as he climbed to one knee, his eyes flitting, looking for his bow. Morcant took a step and was beside it, kicked it away.

‘Perhaps you should draw your sword,’ he said as he advanced on Camlin.

Not that he thought it would do him much good, but Camlin did so, stood and set his feet.

‘Excellent,’ Morcant said.

His sword blurred, Camlin saw the tip lunge forward, spiralling somehow to curve around his attempted parry to scrape along his ribs. He grunted with pain, retreated, blocked an overhead chop and a slash at his belly, missed the thrust that pierced his thigh. Blood sluiced his leg and he stumbled back, realized that Morcant must have cut muscle as his leg gave way beneath him and he was crashing to the ground.

‘Well, that was fun,’ Morcant said as he stood over Camlin, sword rising.

Then an arrow punched into the meat of Morcant’s arm, making him stagger back a step. He snarled, looked about.

‘There,’ a small, high-pitched voice cried, ‘over there.’

Camlin rolled, concentrating on getting as far out of reach of Morcant’s blade as he could, no matter how many arrows the man had poking out of him, caught a glimpse of Meg standing with the half-bow he’d made her, out of boredom more than anything else, certainly not expecting it to save his life one day. Meg was calling to someone behind her, hidden in trees and rushes, then Pendathran’s bearded face appeared, blood-spattered and furious, a score of men at his back.

Morcant took one look at Pendathran and fled, his handful of warriors with him.

Boots thundered past Camlin’s head as Pendathran charged past him, his men close behind, and then Meg was helping him to stand, tying a ripped piece of cloth around his leg.

‘That’s two you owe me,’ she said with a smile.

‘I’ll not argue with that, lassie,’ he said. ‘How are things going out there?’ he asked as he retrieved his bow.

‘We are winning,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think we’ve won. They’re mostly all running away, Pendathran, Drust and some of the others chasing them for the fun of it.’

‘How about those on the lake?’ He was thinking of Edana.

Meg shrugged.

They went to see.