They slammed together, bear and wolven, a collision of flesh, bone, fur, tearing teeth and ripping claw. Storm sank her fangs deep into the bear’s shoulder, her claws scrabbling for purchase, the momentum pulling her loose, tearing her free, leaving a great fold of flesh torn and flapping on the bear’s flank. It bellowed in pain as Storm fell to the ground, the giant’s war-hammer swooping through air, missing her head by a handspan. She rolled on the ground, gathered herself for another leap.

Then Corban was up and running, the bear’s charging momentum carrying it on, leaving Storm behind, surging straight at him. Corban swerved to the side, swayed out away from a slashing paw and talons and hacked two-handed with his sword, all his strength smashing it into the fur and flesh of the bear’s side, blood spraying, ribs crunching and cracking. There was a stirring of air above him and he swayed backwards, dropped to a crouch and a war-hammer hissed over him, the giant wielding it snarling in frustration.

If the wound Storm inflicted had caused the bear pain, this one gave it agony. It screamed its torment and halted its charge, sliding, tearing up the ground, crashing into a tree, the timber splintering and spraying, then the bear was rolling and its rider was sent flying through the air, hurled into the gloom and undergrowth. Storm bounded forward, leaping onto the bear as it lay on its side, trying to rise, blood frothing from its nose and mouth. She sank her teeth into its throat, the bear thrashing, trying to rise, but its lungs weren’t working properly, its legs scrambling for purchase. Then Storm shook her head, a violent twist and there was a wet tearing sound and a gouting fountain of blood and the bear was sinking into death.

Corban ran to Storm, put a hand on her shoulder.

‘Good girl,’ he murmured. ‘Now let’s get out of here.’

‘That’s the second bear of mine that you and your kind have slain,’ a voice said from the shadows.

Ildaer, warlord of the Jotun, emerged from the gloom, his war-hammer held loosely in one hand, his huge frame wrapped in leather and fur. At the same time two more bears and their riders crashed into view, lumbering towards them.

‘I remember you,’ Ildaer said, moving closer. ‘You stood over your friend at Gramm’s hold.’

‘Why are you here?’ Corban asked, eyes scanning the forest for routes of escape.

‘To give Jael my aid,’ Ildaer said. He paused and cocked his head, listening to the faint sounds of battle that drifted up from Drassil.

‘Jael is defeated, his warband broken,’ Corban said.

‘Then who is it that attacks you now?’ Ildaer asked.

Corban looked nervously towards Drassil.

‘I don’t know.’

I must get back there.