‘DRAIG!’ screamed Coralen and the door came crashing down, all efforts at lowering it with control gone. Coralen had one last glimpse inside the tunnel, the draig looming close, someone upon its back, and behind it warriors, some mounted, others running, iron glinting, then the door was down, a cloud of dust billowing up.

Men were at the bolts, trying to throw them across, the giant and others reaching for the great oak beam that slotted through iron collars across the door.

Someone grabbed her arm and spun her. Meical.

‘What did you see?’ he asked, voice calm, controlled.

‘A draig, a rider upon its back.’

‘Nathair rides a draig,’ Meical said.

‘Aye, it was him,’ Coralen breathed. She would never forget the sight from Murias. ‘And the Kadoshim are with him, hundreds of them.’ She looked up at the scout rider. He was wild-eyed, in the grip of panic. Gripping his wrist, she shook him.

‘How are they so close?’ Coralen asked him. ‘Where are the other scouts?’

‘They move faster than the wind,’ the scout said, ‘that draig . . .’ His face spasmed, remembering something terrible. ‘They caught up with the other scouts, ran them down.’

The giant slid the oak beam through the first iron collar. Warriors were everywhere now, a few hundred at least, iron in their fists but most not in their war gear. More were pouring into the chamber as the horn blasts spread warning through the fortress.

‘Where’s Ban?’ Coralen asked Meical, grabbing his arm as he turned away.

‘He . . .’ Meical paused, a mixture of grief and guilt crossing his face. ‘He took Storm down one of the tunnels—’

‘What!’

‘Not this one – this one goes south, yes?’

‘Aye.’

‘No, the one by Skald’s chair. He is safe.’

‘Why did he do that?’

There was a huge, concussive boom on the trapdoor, shaking it, dust boiling from its edges, locks rattling, some of the bolts flying loose.

It’s not going to hold. Coralen knew beyond any doubt.

‘Make ready,’ Meical yelled at the top of his voice.

Gar swept through the doors, a few score Jehar at his back, other people appearing from all directions – Wulf and a handful of axe-throwers, Javed with his pit-fighters, Coralen saw Brina and Cywen standing upon the stairwell that led to Corban’s chamber, Dath and Kulla bleary-eyed and tousle-haired behind them.

At least he has his bow.

‘Where is Ban?’ Gar yelled as he drew near.

‘In the north tunnel; Meical says he’s safe,’ she said, nodded a greeting to Enkara, who was along with him, her leg not fully recovered from when her horse had fallen upon it.

Another impact upon the trapdoor, the oak beam the giant had slid across splintering with a piercing crack, another dust cloud rippling outwards.

‘Back, get back,’ Coralen cried, trying to herd them all away from the trapdoor. They are too close: if the doors break, a hundred men will be slain in the explosion.